Page 138 of Where Roads Lead

Either or. He didn’t need to know which.

He flicked the light on, revealing a space that was so perfectly Will, I couldn’t help but smile.

There was little in the way of furniture besides a couch on one wall, a wood-burning stove on the one across, and a coffee table in between.

The curtains were rustic, as was the section of the room dedicated to fishing poles and tools, while all along the perimeter of the wall there was a makeshift ledge serving as a home to Will’s CD collection and other trinkets.

Right as I was about to make a quip about the Bruce Springsteen collection, sprinkled with a surprising array of John Mellencamp, something more interesting caught my eye.

“Shut up,” I said, feet padding across the floor toward the sliding glass door that led to his backyard. “You live on a ? I didn’t even know Colbridge had a lake!”

“Glad you approve,” he said, and though he muttered it in his usual tone of sarcasm, something in his eyes told me he really meant it.

“This is, like, the perfect place for a writer’s retreat,” I told him, moving around to inspect further. “You know you could make a ton of money renting it out for a few hours to people who need the peace and quiet to work.”

He looked at me like I was insane.

“The only writer I want in my space is you.”

He gestured for me to sit before moving to start a fire. I settled down on his couch, surprised by how comfortable it was.

“So, are you saying you’ll let me come here to write sometimes, then?”

“Whenever you want,” he said, making some gooey, sentimental feeling bloom inside my chest.

If I were a lesser woman, I might’ve let out an embarrassing giggle purely from the giddiness I felt at having him here like this, with me.

“You know, there’s something very attractive about watching you start a fire,” I told him as he worked.

“Yeah?” He snorted. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess it just seems masculine.”

The fire came to life under his hands, and he turned back to face me, noticing my grin.

“Your standards are low,” he said, coming to sit down beside me. “Lucky me.”

He stretched an arm around my shoulders, and I nestled into his side, wondering how four hours ago I’d wanted to scream in his face, and now I was in his house, never wanting to leave.

“I also like watching you hold tools,” I admitted.

“Tools?”

“Yeah, watching you fix things is very hot,” I said with an air of drama to underplay how honest I was actually being.

He laughed. “That’s just a basic human skill, Elsie. Anyone can do it.”

“Not everyone looks as good as you do doing it.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and in the matter of full disclosure, I kept going, just so he knew where I stood.

“And you know what else I like?”

“I can only imagine.”

“I really, really like watching you make me coffee. That one’s probably my favorite of all.”

“Good thing I like making you coffee,” he said, fingers tracing circles on my wrist.