She mumbles something else I can’t quite hear as I flip on my turning signal. I go left and follow the winding driveway towards Maggie’s house.
“Up this way.” She points at the Y and directs me away from the house towards the side yard and a tiny trailer.
“You don’t want to go to the house? That’s where I picked you up on Sunday.” I glance at her and then back towards the silver Airstream nestled amongst the tall pine trees. A red picnic table sits out front alongside two lawn chairs.
“Nope,” she says, popping thepas she looks out the window. “I live in the trailer. I was using Aunt Maggie’s kitchen.”
“Can I ask why?” I pull to a stop beside the trailer door.
She shrugs. “May as well get some use out of it.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Turning in my seat, I rest my forearm on the steering wheel and look at her profile.
“It’s a long story,” she whispers as she watches the rain run down the windshield.
Against my better judgement, I say, “I’ve got time. I’ll even share my food with you if you want to tell me.” It’s not like I can go for a run in the rain. It’s only takeout; no big deal.
“Really?” Slowly, she turns her head towards me and gives me an appraising look before saying, “I won’t say no to food; I’m hungry. Come on, then.”
I watch her get out of the truck and run towards the trailer, dodging the puddles in her path. I can’t help but notice how myhoodie hangs over the curve of her hips and down her thighs.Get it together,I admonish myself.
Grabbing the bag of takeout, I quickly follow her inside. Closing the door behind me, I take in Beck’s current living space.
What it lacks in size, it makes up for in charm. Personal touches and hints about Beck’s life fill every small nook and cranny. Fairy lights twinkle around the room. I recognize the thriller and true-crime books that fill the custom-made shelving. A violet blanket and throw pillows rest on the back of a couch. Black-and-white photos of our friends cover all available wall space. There is even a picture of me playing pool with Carson. But what I notice the most is the scent of cherries that fills the air. It’s intoxicating.
“This is not what I was expecting,” I muse, looking around.
“And what exactly were you expecting?” She pushes her wet bangs away from her face and narrows her eyes at me.
“I don’t know—more camping, less tiny house, I guess.” I wave my hand around the room.
“Is that good or bad?” she squints her eyes and asks suspiciously.
“Why do you think the worst of me? I’m not judging you. I’m just surprised at how you turned a trailer into a home.”
“Trust me, it didn’t look like this when I bought it. I had to strip it down and rebuild it.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I say, cocking my head to the side. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I didn’t learn many useful skills growing up. When I was at home, we had staff to take care of everything. There was no way my father would ever have picked up a tool to do something useful, let alone shown me how.
“Let me get out of these wet clothes and I can tell you about it while we eat,” she says as she slips off her shoes with a squelch. “Do you want a towel to dry off?”
“No, I’m good.”
Placing the takeout bag on the table, I take off my jacket and watch Beck retreat behind a red velvet curtain that divides her bed from her compact living space. I quickly avert my eyes when I see a glimpse of her bare shoulders and back through an opening where the fabric doesn’t quite meet. This was a bad idea. I should have given her my food and gone home instead of suggesting we share.
“There are plates and cutlery in the cupboard beside the sink,” she calls over her shoulder. “Sorry, I have nothing but water to drink.”
After collecting what we need, I place it all on the table. Sitting down, I quickly shoot off a text to Dillon.
Moments later, she returns wearing grey waffle-knit pyjama bottoms, a form-fitting white long-sleeved shirt, and red fuzzy socks. She has taken out her braids, and her long black hair now hangs down her back. She has washed her face clean. I don’t think I have ever seen her without her signature red lips. Even in her pyjamas, she’s breathtaking. Being this attracted to her is annoying.
The sound of rain is heavy on the roof when she plops herself down in the seat across from me and gestures expectantly towards the bag. I mumble an apology and begin removing the large containers of pad Thai, Massaman curry, and chicken satay and placing them on the table.
The rich smell of our food is mouthwatering. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“My God, Ryan, there is so much. Did you really plan on eating all of this yourself?” she asks, spooning rice noodles onto her plate. “It looks like there is enough here for a family of six.”
Shrugging, I reply, “It all sounded good, and I couldn’t choose, so I ordered it all.”
