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‘Pancakes? Wow. Aren’t you having any?’
‘Already eaten. Been up for a while. I’m going to go change my pants, and then once you’re finished we’ll head out and get you that tire, okay?’
For a moment, I’d almost forgotten about needing the spare tire. And, with a stack of fluffy pancakes in front of me, I don’t exactly feel in any hurry to run off.
‘Ilikeyour pants,’ I find myself saying, and then blushing a little, because I’m referring to the way that his ass looks in them — whether he realizes that or not, I don’t know. ‘Do you really need to change them?’
‘These are my meditation pants,’ says Finn.
‘Not even gonna ask,’ I say, helping myself to a large mug of coffee. I find it kinda cute that he’s got special meditation pants. ‘You got milk?’
‘Nope. Don’t bother with milk,’ he says.
Normally, I have my coffee extra milky. Never mind. If it takes away the early morning brain fog, what does it matter? I sit back at the counter and pick up my knife and fork.
‘So, come on, what’s special about your meditation pants, David Blaine?’
Finn starts climbing the ladder up to his bed area in the loft. ‘It’s all about the power of different colors, like I told you before,’ he calls down. ‘Green is for change. I wear green when I’m meditating to get in the right mindset.’
He sure is an odd one. I only called him David Blaine as a joke, but the more I think about it, the more he reminds me of the eccentric magician. Except, you know, a thousand times hotter. I pour on heaps of maple syrup, and then tuck into my pancakes, and I’m immediately transported back to being a little girl, eating pancakes at my favorite diner in the city. Melt-in-the-mouth, sugar-sweet, perfect.
‘Oh my goodness,’ I call up to Finn. ‘These pancakes are ridiculous!’
Finn’s head appears at the top of his ledge. ‘Hope that’s a good thing,’ he says. I wonder if he’s wearing pants right now, or if he’s just in his boxers. I wish I was sitting just a little further along the counter, so I could see.
I take a tentative sip of coffee. Eep. It’s so strong, and so very black. It’s actually quite invigorating, though. Been years since I tried black coffee, and there’s something almost intoxicating about having it as velvety and dark as this. Maybe I could get used to it.
I actually feel quite guilty as I chew on the pancakes. I feel as though Finn has provided for me really well while I’ve been here, cooking for me and everything. Seems a little ungrateful for me to just run off, even though that’s probably what he wants. Bet he can’t wait until I’m gone, so he gets his peace and quiet back.
But Icouldperhaps stick around for just an extra half hour or so.
‘Hey, Finn,’ I call up to him. ‘Okay if we stop at a grocery store while we’re out getting the spare tire today? I’d like to make you lunch as a thank you for all your hospitality.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ he says, climbing down the ladder. I watch his tight butt, rippling in a pair of black shorts as he climbs down the ladder. I love seeing the way his biceps tighten and release too, as he moves down each rung of the ladder.
This man is puremuscle. Must be all that cabin-building he does. Hammering and chiseling and sawing. Moving his strong arms back and forth, manipulating those planks of wood, getting them just the way he wants them…
Watch out, Addison. You’re getting on to dangerous territory again…
I finish up my breakfast and we get into the truck, with Eric in a special fleecy box in the back of the truck. This little dog gets treated like royalty! He pops his head out of the box, happily panting, and we drive off.
The road feels a lot less bumpy in the truck, and it makes me feel kinda silly for riding out here in a vehicle meant for city driving. I’m actually dreading the ride out of here in the Suzuki now. What if I break down again, and I can’t get any reception to call for help?
Finn doesn’t say much on the journey to the garage. I get the feeling he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to broach the subject. He keeps glancing over at me, like something’s on his mind, and opening his mouth, as if about to speak, and then biting his tongue.
I wonder what goes on in that head of his. Even though I’ve spent a little time with him, I feel like I’m only just scratching the surface of who he is.
After a while, he switches on the radio, to a station playing country music, and we drive through the pines without speaking, to a soundtrack of Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn.
‘Well, here we are,’ says Finn. ‘Back to civilization.’
It startles me to hear him speak after so long without talking. I was daydreaming, thinking about that horrible fashion article business again, but now I find myself looking around at my surroundings.
Civilization is a highly generous word for where we are. It's basically a fire department, a grocery store, a gas station and a few ranches — all spread over a half-mile stretch.
‘Is this it?’ I ask.
‘There’s a sheriff’s, a diner, and a gun store over in the next village,’ he says, as he pulls into the garage car park, ‘but that’s another twenty minutes up the road.’
