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“I still have time. It could be my second career. What would your second career be?”
“The same as my first.”
“There’s really nothing else you’d want to do?”
“Maybe blacksmithing.”
“That’s even more manual labor than what you do now. You wouldn’t rather do something less physical where you never had to work in a hot attic again?”
“No. That’s the kind of work I like. You’d be a detective after being a nurse. Why wouldn’t you choose something with less stress?”
“I’d choose detective because of the challenges and rewards of doing the job, which is the part I love about my current job.”
“Same. I like completing a project, no matter what obstacles come up.”
“Okay, yeah, I get that.”
He opens a music app on his phone, and I lean against him, securely wrapped in his blanket, snugly tucked under his arm, and listening to his favorite songs. His musical taste is all over the place. Mine is, too, but there’s little overlap between our playlists. I’d have never listened to some of these songs on my own, but I like them.
Angus climbs up onto the couch and lays his heavy head in my lap for neck scritches. He’s supposedly not allowed on the furniture when I’m not around to fight for his right to do it. Teague doesn’t try to make him get down, just shakes his head.
I doze off with my head on Teague’s shoulder, and only wake partially when he lays me down and covers me with the blanket. Angus jumps up to claim the space next to me, and instead of shoving him down, Teague takes the recliner.
I startle awake when I roll and nearly topple over the edge of his couch cushions. Oh, right, this is where I slept. The house is quiet, except for the fire crackling in his fireplace, and the sound of Teague moving in the kitchen. Why do I smell food cooking? He can’t be cooking. His stove is electric, and the power hasn’t come back on. It’s still raining outside, so he couldn’t have cooked out there.
With the blanket wrapped around me, I waddle into the kitchen to see what he’s up to. He’s scrambling eggs in an electric skillet. “How is that working?” My eyes follow thin cables across the countertop.
“I connected an inverter to a marine battery and plugged the skillet into that.”
“How did you know that would work?”
“It’s what I do, Elise. I make shit work. I find a way.”
He’s not talking about the power thing and the battery; I know him well enough to pick up on his meaning. My stomach flips at the implication that he could make things work with me. That we could work. But what if we could? It could all go so terribly wrong. But what if it didn’t?
I pull plates from his cabinet and casually set the table. “So, if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”
“Wherever you wanted to go.”
“What if I told you that travel sometimes stresses me out, and I’m kind of a nervous flyer?”
“I’d tell you there wouldn’t be anything to stress about if you were traveling with me, and everybody on the plane is nervous to some degree.” He stirs the eggs. “And if it’d make you feel better, we could start with a road trip.”
“I’m very controlling in the car. I need to control the temperature and the music. And I will totally monitor your speed and tell you to slow down.”
“I don’t mind stopping at every roadside attraction or weird little shop you want to check out. Stopping along the way doesn’t bother me. It’s part of the experience.”
Damn. I love that shit. How did he know that?“What if it’s on the wrong side of the road?”
“Steering wheels turn for a reason.”
“What if we got into our first fight while we were traveling together?”
“Then I guess we’d end up having our first makeup sex away from home.” He unplugs the skillet and reaches out to me for a plate.
I take the plate full of eggs he’s returning and hand him the empty one. “What if you didn’t want to make up with me?”
“I would. Eventually.”
