Chapter 15
Levi
The only good thing about the early winter storm was the built-in excuse not to interact with Claire at all. She would have enough food and wood to last weeks if needed. The snow continued through the night, and we woke up to almost a foot and a half. I had to put Ripley in booties and a puffy vest before she even deemed it enough to sniff the air outside the door. Then I had to carve out a few cubic feet in the deep snow for Princess Feather Butt to use the facilities.
Things were settled with Claire. There would be no surprise visits to use the phone. She had her own internet now. And if she tried to go out and hike in this weather, well, there was only so much a man could do.
This was all good. Freedom from her was exactly what I wanted.
I leaned against the counter the next morning, waiting for my coffee and mentally planning what I could get done in this weather.
My phone vibrated on the counter, and I glared at it. Claire sent a message.
I’d forgotten that she had my number from the listing, and we’d messaged for instructions all those days ago. It hardly seemed like we were the same people. It vibrated two more times before I sighed and finally picked it up to read her messages.
“Thanks for the internet!! You’re a lifesaver!”
“Now I won’t bother you anymore, I swear.”
“I will finish this article any day now!”
She had a problem with using too many exclamation points.
“Ridiculous woman,” I muttered, but when I looked up, I found half my face quirked in a smile in the reflection of the microwave. I fixed that instantly.
I didn’t respond.
For the next couple of days, she was true to her promise and was locked away and silent. I went out to work on my new piece, waiting for it to tell me what it needed, and got back into the groove of life. It was almost like I’d never met Claire at all.
After that initial storm, Colorado did its thing, and the sun came back out the following day. Within twenty-four hours, most of the snow had melted except for the shadowy areas that never got direct sunlight. I went around the property to check for felled branches or any other issues caused by the heavy snow .
The first time I had to pass the guesthouse, Claire was hunched over her computer typing. The next time, she was leaning all the way back in the chair, arms flung out to the side, pen in her mouth as she stared up at the ceiling. The last time I passed, she was hunched again and typing furiously, the pen now in her hair and her features creased in focus.
Not that I was checking on her.
When I got back to the house, I had another text from her. I grunted as I picked up to read.
“Tell me that was you that just walked past my window.”
Before I could even get my thumbs ready to respond, two more messages came through rapid fire.
“Follow-up question: do you have a gun?”
“Second follow-up question: can you teach me to use a gun?”
I scrubbed at my chin. My face on the reflection of the screen was doing that thing again. I scowled to fix it back into place.
“I was checking the property for damage,” I typed.
“Yeesh. Warn a lady next time.”
“It’s my land.”
“I think you like scaring me.”
“Did you turn in your story?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
A couple of days later, I was finishing up in the garage when I felt my phone buzzing with another message. A thrill went through me when I saw her name on my screen before I could catch myself. At least with text, I didn’t have to see her smile. This was slightly better .
“There is an insanely loud bird outside my window.”
“It’s black but not a crow. I think it’s possessed.”
“It will not SHUT. UP.”
Once again, her texts came rapid fire instead of as one cohesive thought. She blurted whatever came to mind.
“Constant interruptions must be so annoying,” I typed back, wondering if the dry tone came across. Would she pick up on my teasing or think I was just being a jackass like so many people often did?
I watched the little dots, indicating her reply.
“Just so you know, when you admit that I’m annoying you, it only makes me want to do it more. I WILL CHARM YOU YET, SIR.”
I moaned out loud. Little did she know …
“Please stop yelling.” I typed. “Those birds are grackles. Their calls can get annoying.”
This time, I didn’t bother hiding my smile. My mother often complained about the same thing.
It sounds like an old grinding, rusty gate all the time.
“Unrelated to the gun thing, do we know if grackles are a protected species?” More texts followed instantly.
“I’m just kidding.”
“Mostly.”
I chuckled loudly. I couldn’t help it. At least nobody was here to see me.
“You don’t count,” I said when Ripley raised a hairy brow at me .
“I think you’re just avoiding your work,” I typed to Claire.
“I’ll have you know I turned in my story.”
My heart stuttered. She was done? Did that mean she was leaving? She signed for two months. She paid for those two months. She was responsible for fulfilling her end of the deal. My jaw ground together. If she thought she could get out of that contract?—
“I’m boooored,” she wrote.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss peopling.”
“Think the road to town is okay? I think I need to interact with a human before my reflection starts talking back to me.”
“Do you always text in threes?” I messaged instead of answering her questions.
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want her going into town alone and couldn’t explain why. An offer was on the tip of my tongue. A much more unbelievable and awful idea gained momentum and moved through my mind. It was now mid-October, and Cozy Creek did autumn up in a big way. The town drummed up tourism outside of the ski season, and that meant all the fall things: hay rides, carnivals with caramel apples and kettle corn, costume contests with cute kids, and a pet parade with even cuter animals. If it was fall-themed in any way, Cozy Creek did it.
And I was avoiding it at all costs. So then, why was my thumb twitching to text her all about what the town had to offer? Why bother planting the seed?
There was a knock on the door. I jumped so hard, my phone flew in the air, but I fumbled to catch it in time before it crashed to the ground.
I looked around the room in panic, verifying that nothing incriminating was lying around. I scoffed at myself. It wasn’t like my thoughts of Claire had jumped out of my brain and lay strewn around the room like dirty boxers. It was probably just Pace. Regardless of sending texts, the man felt obliged to drive up every so often, especially after a storm under the ruse of some flimsy excuse. Last time, he said he missed Ripley and wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing him too much. I pretended to go along with it, secretly grateful that anybody was left that cared enough to check in after I’d been so shitty the past few years.
Nevertheless, I glanced at myself in the mirror and ensured I was properly dressed in jeans and a flannel. I ran a hand over my face and smelled my breath in my palm before finally opening the door.
It was her. She flashed a large smile, dimples popping as my blood started pumping. The sun shone brightly today and haloed her in light.
“Hi,” she said.
I opened my mouth, then closed it and swallowed. She was in simple jeans and another Henley, this one a light lavender that made her expressive brown eyes pop even more. Her long hair was down in waves that went past her shoulders, looking soft enough to sleep on. I held her gaze, fighting to keep from memorizing her figure.
“I just thought this would be easier than texting. You don’t seem like a big texter,” she said .
She was right about that, but seeing her after managing almost four days without direct contact well and truly assured me that I was crushing on this woman. And hard.
Her smile did something to my brain.
I had missed her.
Her gaze flicked behind me. “Sorry to just drop in, though. I know ‘the rules.’” She did air quotes as she said the last bit. It occurred to me that she texted exactly as she spoke. All the thoughts, none of the filter. It didn’t bother me, though. I appreciated her earnestness. Better than game-playing or subtle manipulation tactics. “I was just worried about Ripley. You know. Maybe she wanted to go for a W - A - L - K ,” she whispered as she spelled.
I used the opportunity to look for Ripley to hide the smile, trying to break through.
A flimsy excuse if I ever heard one.
I hadn’t spoken a single word yet. Speak, man!
“She’s not a walker. More of a couch potato,” I said.
Well, that wasn’t the warm introduction I meant for. I could have gone with “I’ve liked texting with you. Even if it is mostly one-sided.” Or how about, “How are you? If you’re done with the story, then what?” Or maybe even, “I like working and knowing you’re just down the hill. I can’t stop thinking about you …”
But my short rebuff of her offer was great too.
I should take her into town. It wasn’t that hard. People did things with people all the time. That was how this living thing worked .
“Ha. Okay. That’s true. It is pretty cold still.” She rocked back on her heels and thumbed back to the cabin. “Okay, well. I’ll let you get back to it.”
Any second now, the words would come out of my mouth.
Oh, for crying out loud, just ask her out.
I pointedly ignored the exacerbated voice of my mom in my head.
“Actually—” I said.
“Yes?” she said, instantly stepping closer, eyes bright with hope as they looked up at me.
I cleared my throat, heat burning the back of my neck. “If you’re bored, I-I—uh?—”
We both stepped closer at the same time when my voice came out much quieter than I meant. It was like it took too much emotional energy for me to form words at a normal, socially acceptable volume when I was nervous like this.
Her gaze flicked to my mouth, most likely to understand what I was saying. “I am bored. Dreadfully, incurably bored,” she said.
Her eyelids grew heavy; her mouth parted as her head tilted back to wait for my response. My whole body was too hot, my skin too tight. Why had she said “bored” like that? Why did it feel like she wasn’t talking about boredom at all?
I lowered my head a fraction of an inch. Her cheeks were so full of color, her lips softly parted and pillowy. Those dimples were barely visible. She smelled freshly showered, warm, and floral. A hint of toothpaste. If I kissed her lips, she would taste amazing. I wanted to kiss her so bad.
At that moment, her eyes widened at the sound of tires crunching up the drive. Claire stepped back, putting space between us as she tucked her hair behind her ear. I stepped back too, my heart hammering against my chest.
We’d been standing so close, breathing the same air. Had she wanted—? Was I about to?—?
My brain was a maelstrom of hypotheses as Pace parked his truck. Claire looked at me but furrowed her brow at my unreadable features.
Pace skipped up the steps, and his eyes flickered with glee when he registered Claire. For some absurd reason, he wore his firefighter uniform pants and suspenders under a light jacket and baseball cap.
He scooped off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. The gesture was one well and truly rehearsed. “Well, hello.” He extended a hand toward her. “I’m Pace Leigh. This goober’s best friend.”
Claire’s dimples came back out as she shook his waiting hand. Her gaze flicked to his pants and suspenders peeking from under the coat. I wanted to pull them all the way out just to snap them back and whack his nipples.
“Hi. I’m Claire. I’m renting the cabin.” A small blush crept along Claire’s collarbone.
“Well, how about that? You are the illustrious C.L. Wells?”
“Oh.” She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “Yes. That’s me.”
“I read your piece about the oil fracking in Texas. Fascinating.” Pace had turned to her, his shoulder to me, almost his whole back.
Why had he looked up Claire? What was he trying to prove? The suck-up. I’d also looked her up and read everything she ever published, but you didn’t see me gloating. With every word of their exchange, a low, simmering tension started to bubble, pushing impatience closer to the surface, close to overflowing. Pace had his charm turned up to eleven.
This had to end now. If she fell victim to his personality, I had no hope.
Hope for what? I wasn’t ready to process that yet. I needed to get him out of here. I’d lost most of my friends at this point. Honestly, what was one more?