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But something about taking my invitation to grill dinner at my house, which has really been the designated hookup zone, and moving it to his with the demand I bring my pillow makes it more intimate.
“Door’s open,” I hear him call out, so I twist the knob and enter.
The cabin is gorgeous, with timbered walls, wide plank flooring, and vaulted ceilings. The furniture is heavy and masculine, but it fits in the huge open space. A massive fireplacetakes up most of one wall, and I’ll bet it’s perfect to sit before on cold nights and watch the snow fall through the floor-to-ceiling windows flanking the hearth.
It’s an open floor plan, so I immediately see Coen in the kitchen opening a box of frozen burgers. I wrinkle my nose because I was going to make handmade patties with minced onion and spices, but this is his show.
“Brought beer,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.
He glances up at me as he works at the box, then nods toward the fridge. “You can put them in there.”
I frown. He seems off. While Coen isn’t the warmest or fuzziest guy, since we’ve been sleeping together, he’s always had a smile for me when we first see each other.
Tonight he seems a bit reserved.
I chalk it up to maybe he just had a bad day and move to the fridge to deposit the beer.
“Fuck,” he growls and tosses the box onto the counter. “Why do they have to make these childproof?”
I shrug off my purse, set it on the counter, and move to his side. I take the box, flip it over to the pull tab, and open the end.
A frustrated sigh escapes him, and he mutters, “Figures.”
He reaches for the box, but I twist my body, keeping it from him. “I’ll do this. Did you start the grill?”
“No,” he says sullenly, eyes finally rising to meet mine. “Got sidetracked.”
I nod toward the door. “Go get it started. I’ll open these and get everything else ready.”
“There’s nothing else,” he says. “I only got buns.”
“Condiments?”
“Ketchup and mustard are all I have.”
“That’s good enough,” I assure him.
Without another word, he heads onto the deck, and I’m left to puzzle out this bizarre behavior. It’s not quite reminiscent of our first few meetings because he was an all-out asshole then.
But I sense something brewing underneath, and I’m feeling a bit on eggshells that he might explode.
Glancing out the back door to the deck, I see the grill has been lit. Coen is now sitting in a chair, staring out at his backyard. I pull open the plastic covering and set the burgers on the counter. Nothing else to do until the grill heats up.
Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I follow him out onto the deck. Just before walking into his home tonight, I would’ve felt comfortable enough to hand Coen his beer with a teasing remark or sexual innuendo. And it probably would’ve ended with him pulling me into his lap.
But his posture and the fact he doesn’t even look up at me when I reach his side has me poised and ready to deflect an attack.
“Here you go,” I say, holding out the beer.
He grabs it, twists off the cap, and mutters, “Thanks.”
I don’t sit but move to the edge of the deck and lean against the rail. “Your backyard’s coming along nicely. The koi pond looks great.”
I knew he’d worked on cleaning it out and patching it up. It’s filled with water, the fountain is running, and all it needs now is fish.
Coen doesn’t respond.
Turning to face him, I ask, “Are you okay?”
