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“Huh?” she asked, her hands deep in the beef mixture.
“Your dream. Last night you said you had a bad dream.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “I dreamt my gran had died. Sorry about that.”
“About what?”
“Crawling into bed with you.”
“It’s fine.” I pointed to the mixture. “You can make those into balls.”
It was a second before we both started laughing and the tension formed a few minutes ago drained away. We found a rhythm making balls and then into patties we placed on the indoor grill. Once she felt comfortable with that, I moved to cut up some potatoes to make fries.
“Are you sure someone didn’t teach you to cook?” she asked.
“YouTube. Someone had to learn to cook. Dad was happy eating out every night.”
Our lunch conversation topic ended up being about our favorite things to eat. Hers was anything Italian. Mine was steak. And just like that, I found myself liking her more and more as we talked.
Giving her space while she figured out what she wanted was going to be a challenge.
Later that night, I wasn’t exactly surprised she ended up in my bed. There was nothing more than the comfort that comes from being close to someone when you don’t want to be alone. I didn’t try for more and neither did she. We just enjoyed being close.
The next morning, wound up as I was, I went for a run. At first, it was a jog and then it was a sprint weaving through trees, my personal obstacle course. When I made it back, not all of my pent-up energy was used up. I jumped up and caught a branch, and did several reps of pull-ups until my arms couldn’t support my weight any longer.
When I entered the house, a sleepy-eyed Jolie was exiting my room.
“I made coffee.” I’d set a pot going before I took off for my run. “I’m going to grab a shower.”
If she’d been mine, I would have kissed her as we passed. But she wasn’t. So I took a cold shower for more than one reason.
When I got out, dressed for the day, I found Jolie in the kitchen staring at items she’d taken from the refrigerator.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
In normal circumstances, after seeing her somber expression, I would have put my arms around her and murmured anything to bring a smile back on her pretty face. But there we were, in a situation I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how to handle.
“I feel useless,” she whined. “This is your house and you cook for me. I feel bad.”
“We’ve cooked together,” I said. She glared at me. “Okay,” I said, unable to hold back a grin. “Tell me what you want to cook.”
Large puppy dog like eyes held mine. “An omelet,” she said, her lip poking out some.
This woman would be a test of my resolve as I looked over the ingredients she’d already taken out.
“You have everything you need. Let’s get a bowl and crack some eggs.”
One thing Jolie wasn’t was a quitter. She botched the first eggs, more shells than egg ending up in the bowl. She persisted, though, and in the end, we had omelets.
That night we watched a movie before we went to bed.
I stood in my doorway without saying a word before I moved inside, leaving my door open as an invitation for her to join me. When she did, like the night before, I didn’t ask what brought her to my room. I just held her in my arms like she seemed to need.
The next morning, she woke up when I did just before dawn. “You should get coffee and watch the sun rise.”
“Only if you’ll join me,” she said.
I took the time to get her a full mug before I grabbed the throw from the sofa. We walked to the swing, where she sat with the steam warming her hands.
