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Brass candelabras decorate the mantle, along with several framed photographs of Matthew and who I assume to be members of his extended family. I notice the similarities across the images—his eyes, his strong jawline—it runs through the whole Parker bloodline.
“We have it burning every day,” Matthew says. “I love the smell, to be honest. We have central heating installed but—”
“Yeah, the fireplace definitely has its unique charm.” I cut in.
We move into the kitchen next, where I’m charmed by the vintage-looking cooking equipment and the caramel-brown countertops that play sweetly against the cherry-red drawers and cabinet doors. The flooring is done in a rustic style, with roughly polished stone tiles and thick grout lines, while the walls are painted cream. Simple, but homey and elegant at the same time. I’m enthralled by everything I see—the design was so neatly thought out down to the last detail. I’m looking forward to spending my time here admiring and studying every nook and cranny to better understand the aesthetic ethos behind each choice that the decorators made for this house.
“It’s like a home away from home, so much more than just a cabin,” I say when Matthew takes a break from his history tale. “And you’ve done a wonderful job with the upkeep. It looks pristine.”
“Oh, that’s Mrs. Swanson’s territory. She gets all the credit,” he replies. As if summoned, I hear the front door opening with a loud creak, followed by steady footsteps through the hallway. Mrs. Swanson comes in with a bright smile and ruddy cheeks—a big woman with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and a sunburnt face. Her mousy brown hair with gray streaks is combed into a tight bun at the back of her head, and a green plaid shirt and wool scarf peeks out from underneath her mustard-yellow parka. On her feet are black mountain boots laced up against forest green cargo pants. Judging by the deep lines on her face and the way she carries herself, I’d say she’s somewhere in her late fifties or early sixties.
“There’s my favorite boys!” she exclaims upon seeing the guys.
But her joy momentarily fades when she notices me. I offer a faint smile and a friendly nod. “Hi, I’m Selina.”
“Selina,” she says, repeating my name as though I’m some kind of exotic creature before she gives Matthew, Sully, and Jason a rather stern look. “So, you have a guest here for the winter.”
“We do, and you’ll love her,” Matthew replies.
As if Matthew’s words were instant reassurance, Mrs. Swanson shifts her focus back on me and offers her hand. “I’m Mary, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Selina.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here, Mary,” I reply, briefly surprised by her firm handshake. “And I have to say, you’ve done a splendid job of keeping this cabin as beautiful as it is…”
“Oh, thanks, honey. It takes a little bit of love and a lot of patience,” she replies, and I can’t help but feel like she is actively scanning me for authenticity, as if there might be something off about me, and she’s going to figure out what it is. Maybe I’m just being paranoid but being homeless and constantly looking over my shoulder has affected me on a deeper level. Getting out of survival mode will clearly take some time. “I come out here every day to make sure things are right where I left them. Cleaning is done on a weekly basis while the guys are gone but I have changed the bedding and spruced up the restrooms in preparation for their return.”
“Thanks for getting the place ready on such a short notice,” Matthew says.
“I’d better find that black label whiskey under my Christmas tree this year, boy,” she shoots back with a wry smile. “I’m getting too old for the whole ‘we’re coming this weekend, Mary’ shtick.”
Jason giggles as he puts an arm around her shoulder. “We’re going to take good care of you when you’re too old to keep up with our shtick, I promise.”
“Men,” she says, glancing my way with amusement twinkling in her eyes. “They promise the moon and the stars.”
“We do but we also deliver,” Jason says.
I know Matthew definitely delivers on a certain level. The events of that night at the hotel are forever seared into my memory. More than once, I’ve thought back to that moment while pleasuring myself—I’ve been doing a lot more of that, too. These men have an intense effect on me, and I’ve got a feeling it’s only the beginning. I shake the thought away and give Mrs. Swanson the most innocent smile that I can muster as she eyes me once more.
“What’s your story, sweetheart?” she asks.
“Where do I begin?” I chuckle nervously.
Matthew comes closer, discreetly taking my hand in his. He gives me a reassuring squeeze as he focuses his attention on Mrs. Swanson. “Selina works at one of our favorite stores,” he says. “And this winter, the guys and I agreed that she deserves a bit of R&R for all the hard work that she has been doing.”
“In fact, Selina is responsible for how well-dressed we’ve been over the past couple of years,” Sully adds, giving me a subtle wink.
“Ah, so I have you to thank for getting these two out of their old jeans and even older tees,” Mrs. Swanson shoots back, nodding at Sully and Jason.
“It was a team effort,” Matthew chimes in.
She claps her hands once, rubbing her palms together to warm herself up. “Alright, then. I left the spare keys on the mantle for you,” she tells Matthew. “If you’ll all excuse me, while I’d like nothing more than to hang out with you for the rest of the day, my lazy dog is waiting for me to come back home with his meat cans.”
“How is old Phil?” Jason asks.
“Still as wrinkly and as moody as you remember him.”
“And still dying to get a bite out of Sully,” Jason laughs.
“Yup. Anyway, I’ll let you kids get on with your day,” Mrs. Swanson replies. “I’ll be up at my house and one phone call away if you need anything, okay?”
