18. Sydney
“I’m not going to feel guilty about giving you a cot and not the bed,” I say into the silence, knowing full well he’s wide awake, just like I am. The cabin lights are off with only a faint glimmer of light coming from the small lamp on my nightstand.
“Didn’t ask you to,” he mutters calmly from down below. I pull the comforter all the way up to my chin, appreciating the fact that at least I don’t need to see him from all the way up here in the loft.
Do I love that I’ll be sharing a small space with Cole, of all people, for the foreseeable future? Absolutely not. Will it be uncomfortable to have him stay here? Probably, yes.
But…he’s done a lot to help us out lately. I suppose it’s the least I can do. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of practice with compartmentalizing my emotions.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. With all the work we got done today, one would think sleep would come easily, but as I lie here, hyperaware of his presence, tired is the absolute last thing I feel.
In the span of a few short hours, we used every last minute of daylight to get as much done as we possibly could. Shirley is officially moved into Cole’s cabin and has a fully functioning kitchen all ready to use in the morning. We set up picnic tables on his grass for the guests to eat their meals on, and Blair and I even created a sign pointing where to go if any non-guests stop by looking for food. We put it right next to the Excuse our mess sign that’s been hanging by the lodge entrance. Arrows now line the path to Cole’s cabin, and the ATV will be making continuous runs back and forth.
It’s not ideal, but I suppose that’s life when trying to operate through a renovation. We’re doing the best we can.
The cot squeaks from down below, groaning under his weight as Cole shifts.
My mouth parts to ask if he needs anything, but I promptly clamp it shut, fighting a war in my head. I was raised to be a good hostess—it’s in my blood. But this isn’t just anyone sleeping on my cabin floor.
It’s him.
I roll my lips, trying to make sense of his presence and how I feel about it, while he clears his throat. I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’ll speak, but there’s nothing but the faint whistle from the fan whirling overhead. I force my eyes closed once again.
“Thanks for letting me stay here.” His quiet voice has my eyes flying open.
I bite back a comment pointing out it wasn’t exactly my choice. I take the high road instead and offer a simple, “It’s no problem.”
“I would head down to Longville to get out of your hair, but I need to finish your brother’s statue first,” he explains.
“Is that the lump of wood I saw down by your beach?” I suppose some conversation wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“That would be the one.”
“What will it be? Graham didn’t mention anything about a statue.”
“A bear.”
“He loves bears.” I smile to myself, remembering the time we went camping as kids and came within forty feet of a brown bear. The look on Graham’s face was one of pure joy, while Mom’s, of course, was the polar opposite.
A knife twists in my heart, and I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the sudden spark of grief for the way things used to be. For the innocence of my childhood that’s long gone.
I’m reminded, yet again, that I can’t escape thoughts of my mom like I can when I’m home in Minneapolis. She’s everywhere here, at every corner.
Pushing the memory far in the back of my mind, I roll onto my side as silence falls between us again. This time, exhaustion feels heavy, and I reach over to turn off the lamp.
My legs slowly creep out of the comforter one by one as I roll onto my side, ever so carefully attempting to get up without waking Cole. I roll the rest of myself out of the bed as quietly as I can. Once fully upright, I tip-toe my way to the small powder room at the edge of the loft wall. The absolute last thing I want to do is allow Cole to catch sight of me with bedhead and a sleep-creased face, so I need to figure out where he is in order to avoid him.
Peering over the edge of the railing, I crane my neck to make as small a part of me visible as possible.
Down below, I find Cole fast asleep on the cot. He’s sprawled on his back, his head turned into the crook of an arm that’s bent behind his head. A white T-shirt stretches against his tanned skin, and a blanket lies haphazardly across his waist. He’s entirely too big for the cot that it’s almost laughable.
I almost feel bad.
He stretches, and I duck out of view, crawling the rest of the way to the powder room. Once my hair is brushed, my teeth are clean, and I’m dressed in leggings with an oversized button-down, I make my way down the stairs.
As I reach the bottom step, I find Cole awake at the kitchen sink, scratching at the base of his neck. Instantly, the room feels entirely too small, as if any move I make will be in the direct line of his own path.
I clear my throat, announcing my presence, as if there’s any way he didn’t just hear me come down the creaky steps.
“Morning,” he says without so much as a head turn my way.
Alright, then. Instead of mumbling my thoughts to myself out loud, like I normally do in the morning, I keep them in my mind as I convince myself that we can co-exist in this small space. Easy peasy.
“Morning,” I say back, not bothering to snark down my tone as I typically would with him. There’s enough on my plate right now. I don’t need to be worrying about stoking the animosity flames toward my new roommate.
Approaching his side, we both reach for the hanging coffee mugs under the cabinet at the same exact time.
“Oh, shoot,” I say at the same time he mumbles, “Sorry.”
We both snap our hands back as a half-laugh escapes my mouth. He gestures for me to go first, so I take a mug and get the individual Keurig machine going, feeling unusually frazzled.
“Sleep okay?” I ask him, folding my arms around myself as I lean a hip against the counter.
“Yup,” is all he says, but I don’t miss the bags under his eyes.
We trade places, almost tripping over each other as we do, and I move toward the fridge so he can make his own cup of coffee. I pull some cream out of the fridge and scoop some sugar into my cup.
Then I take a sip, savoring the warm drink as I watch him move around my kitchen.
“I’ll leave those out for you,” I tell him, gesturing to the counter. “You look like a sugar-and-cream kind of guy.”
He huffs, a whisper of a smile tugging on his lips. I swallow, not liking how the sight of it seems to have a certain calming effect on my nervous system—the same exact way it did back then.
We finish our coffee around the same time, mostly in silence, before he moves to fold up the cot.
“I’m going to go see if anyone needs a ride to my place on my way up there,” he says, sliding his wallet and phone into his jeans.
I nod and gather my own things to go check in with Neal.
“I guess I’ll, uh…see you later then,” I say as he opens the door.
He twists his head back to look at me and gives me a dip of his head before walking out the door. I groan when he leaves, allowing myself a moment to lament on how weird this is going to be. Then I head out to see Neal.