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Apart from the fire’s glow, the cabin was dark. The day was gone.
“Grant?” she croaked. Great. She was a frog again.
The gargoyle swiveled its shaggy head and dark eyes zeroed in on hers. She saw concern. And from the way her head was pounding, the concern might be warranted.
“Head hurt?”
“Yeah.” Now the frog was gone but her voice faltered and she hated it. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their evening together. Why the hell had she ignored his warning in the snow? Why had she wanted to go for a walk at all—who went for a walk in a blizzard? A self-proclaimed adventurer. She was disgusted with herself. Adventures didn’t always end well. Real adventurers knew this. More evidence that she was a fraud. Failure was a lot easier to take when it was in the kitchen and she could spin it as unimportant or fun. Buy a replacement quiche at the store for the photo.
She ran her fingers through her hair, over her scalp. Even places that weren’t injured hurt. Gingerly, she turned her head side to side. Ow. No, not a good idea yet.
“Is it time for another round of Advil?”
“I doubt it,” Melinda said with regret. She didn’t like the way he looked at her: pity, compassion. Don’t waste your sympathy on me. Not after the foolish mistake she’d made. But she’d be damned if she was going to act the martyr. “Where’s my sandwich, you big bully?” She cocked her head to the side, smile faltering only a millisecond as she flinched.
His jaw tightened, but he only said, “Hungry? Nothing like boysenberry preserves and six slices of bread to dial back that inflammation.”
She couldn’t suppress a laugh and winced.
“Sorry,” he said, concerned.
“No, it’s good. Laughter is good. I just won’t throw my head back and cackle,” she said. “Let’s eat. That second nap really gave me an appetite. What time is it?” Was he fooled by her bravado? He didn’t seem to be. Yet. She’d get him eventually. She got everyone.
“Around seven thirty,” he said, passing her a plate.
The meal was an elementary school feast, she saw with delight. Huge dinner plates stacked with almond-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, cut diagonally. Diagonally! Be still my heart! Two different flavors of chips. Pickles stacked in a tower on their own plate. Sparkling water in...what were those? Old-fashioned sundae glasses? Divine.
“Paul had lemons?” Melinda asked in surprise after her first sip of bubbly water.
“He had a bottle of lemon juice concentrate,” said Grant with half a sandwich in his mouth.
“Nice job, Chef Grant!” she said with real appreciation. She inspected a sandwich. “What kind of jelly, did you say?”
“Strawberry and boysenberry,” Grant answered as he opened his second sandwich to layer both barbecue and salt-and-vinegar chips inside. The crunch satisfied her even vicariously. “So I used some of each.” A third of a pickle disappeared between his teeth. Then the next third. Then it was gone.
Melinda watched the show with her first sandwich still untouched in hand. “Wow.”
“I’m tall,” he managed through crumbling chips and sticky jam, and she laughed, but delicately this time.
Melinda took a bite. “Ohhhh.” She closed her eyes. “It’s like fourth grade all over again. This is the best.” She stopped talking. The meal was humble and perfect. Soft slices of bread, sticky and sweet almond butter and jelly, crackling, salty chips, and crisp, tangy pickles. The bubbly water balanced the palate. She made it through two sandwiches and most of her chips before her stomach said uncle.
“That was incredible,” Melinda said with what was surely a dopey expression. Her hand toyed with chip remnants. “Is there more water?” she asked. “And lemon? It was so fancy.”
He chuckled. “On my way,” he said. When he returned from the kitchen, he squatted next to the coffee table to refill her glass. “A capful is just right,” he said as he tipped lemon concentrate into her glass and followed it with sparkling water. “I added more to mine by mistake and I think the acid ate its way through a couple teeth.”
She laughed. “Good to know.” She rubbed her neck and his eyes narrowed.
“Would you get me the ice pack?” she asked. “And maybe I need some fish oil or something with this meal. I might not be acting in the best interest of my head.”
Grant stared at her and she laughed. “That probably made no sense. Fish oil helps inflammation, and with that bump plus all the bread, I bet there’s no small amount of that going on. But it was worth it,” she hastened to add.
“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I was just thinking what an idiot I was.”
“What?”
“My dad is going to kick my ass,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen again. She heard cupboards opening and pill bottles rattling.
“What?” Melinda repeated to the empty room.
