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“Let me walk you over. I will check your cabin and ensure the roof is all right. The wind was strong this morning, and I want to check that everything is still secure.”
She stands, and I put my large coat around her and give her a pair of boots, then together we trudge over to her place, neither of us talking. Both lost in our thoughts, me feeling sad that I can’t just grab her and make her stay with me. Her, probably glad to get away from an old guy like me.
Walking into the cabin, it looks like it survived pretty well.
“Let me get changed, I will just be a moment.”
Again, I nod. While waiting for her, I start her log fire. I want to keep her warm, because even though the storm has passed, it is still cold outside. The sun is now low in the sky, and night time is not too far away. I look over the ceiling, prodding at the weak spots, but it all looks okay for now.
Standing, I watch the flames as they gain momentum and get lost in their dance, daydreaming of thoughts I have no right to be thinking.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers to me, now back by my side.
I turn to look at her. She is in a warm, soft pink wool sweater and light blue jeans. Her hair is tied up in a loose top knot, and she looks like an all-American girl, the kind I used to dream about when on deployment. The light from the flames flutters against her pink cheeks, and she is fucking beautiful. I am seconds away from pulling her close and taking her lips in mine.
“Thanks for your coat,” she says as she hands it back to me.
Again, I nod, not able to form words as I begin to retreat. Not wanting to leave her but knowing I need to.
21
Isabelle
He leaves.
He just turns and leaves. He walks straight out the door.
I really want to ask him to stay, but he always leaves in a hurry. Maybe these insane feelings I am having for him are not reciprocated? Maybe it is all in my head. Does he not feel the pull toward me like I do with him?
When he touches me, how he cared for me today, perhaps he is just a really good guy and feeling sorry for me because he was friends with my dad.
Oh God, have I read this all wrong?
I gasp at the realization that perhaps yes, I have read this connection all wrong. Oh God, how embarrassing! I mean, at least I haven’t thrown myself at him, but still, how am I so out of touch with men? I really feel like we have a connection, but now I think it must be all in my head.
With the fire going and the cabin quiet, now is a great time for a glass of wine and some girl time. I text Kelly to see if she is home and free to chat, because it is late afternoon on a Saturday, and in D.C., she could be out anywhere. As I pour the wine, my cell rings, and thinking it is Kelly, I go to answer but stop as I glimpse the words Little Dickie on the screen, and I roll my eyes. God, I wish he would just go away.
Once the call goes to voicemail, I notice that since this morning there are three more missed calls from him and one from my mother. The mere thought of them both has me gulping from the glass. Deleting all the messages, I take my glass, phone, and the entire bottle of wine to the sofa and sit and relax in front of the fire.
I sit quietly, sipping the wine, watching the flames dance, lost in thoughts of the past few weeks. I enjoy not having to go anywhere, not having to do anything. If I was in D.C. now, I would be getting ready for a social event, or dinner, or some other type of activity with a lot of people who don’t really matter in my life. Just sitting here in the quiet of the cabin feels nice, and I am so relaxed. The wine is certainly helping in that regard too. As I study the wine label, making a mental note to buy it again, my cell phone rings, and Kelly’s name lights up the screen. I answer quickly.
“Hey!” I am so happy to speak with her. I do miss her.
“Why are you calling me instead of having insanely hot sex with funeral guy?” she demands without any greeting.
Surprised, I nearly spit out the wine from my mouth, and it is all I can do to quickly swallow before it ends up on my sweater much like the raspberries this morning.
“Kelly!”
“What? I mean, you said yourself he was hot, and if I remember correctly from the funeral, he was damn fine. Did you not bake that pie I told you to?”
“Ugh, he is so not into me, I read the situation all wrong. He is just looking out for me because he knew my dad, he has no feelings for me whatsoever,” I say, disappointment in my tone at the verbal acknowledgement of that fact.
“Yeah right, he was practically undressing you with his eyes at the funeral, and that was at a fucking funeral! Up there in the wild, I bet he is itching to get into your pants!”
“Nope, he is not. I think Little Dickie has tarnished me.”
“Oh God, is he still calling? What an obsessive ass.”
