Four
FOUR
TAYLOR
W hile Samara might say otherwise, a photograph can’t fully capture the true nature of its subject.
This is the first thought that crosses Taylor’s mind when he sets his sights on the original Snow White cottage. It has a roof with a thatched appearance, hearts carved into the shutters and an arch of lush greenery over the rounded front door. Here, Taylor’s wholly ensconced in the poured-over stories of his childhood. No photo, no matter how good, could’ve prepared him for how instantly at home he feels, like he’s pressed between the pages of a well-loved book.
Photos also had not prepared him for Ethan Golding in the flesh beside him. As they approach the cottage, Ethan details the resort with the appealing enthusiasm of a wise, practiced narrator. Even more appealing might be his giant-like stature. At six-foot-two, Taylor is not used to looking up at others as they speak. He relishes the sensation of being dwarfed for once.
Dwarfed. Too fitting for where they are.
“This is yours for the week,” Ethan says, gesturing for Taylor to go on ahead.
Inside, the walls are a pale yellow and the ceiling is a powder blue. To his right is a kitchenette that features a microwave, a retro-style fridge in poison-apple red, and a charming teapot. The surfaces are clean yet the air smells earthy, in a good way. Rich and a little smoky.
“It’s lovely,” Taylor utters. It can’t be larger than three hundred square feet, but he’s used to economical. To having the walls close and barely any floor space. He likes it that way.
“As you can see, there’s a small sitting area, a reading loft up that ladder, and an evil queen-size bed.” Even if the line is scripted and Ethan probably says it to all the guests, Taylor can’t help but smile at the spontaneous-sounding cheesiness. “The bathroom is through those doors. The fireplace in here is gas, but there’s a wood-fired hot tub and a fire pit outside should you care to use them.”
Taylor widens his eyes and flares his nostrils. “Me no make fire,” he says in a ridiculous caveman impression he learned from some cartoon he watched with his brothers when he was a kid. The fairy tale environment is already making him playful.
The slightest of smirks tugs on the right corner of Ethan’s mouth. “It’s not hard.”
“That’s what my older brother told me when he convinced me to sign up for the Boy Scouts. He went on to be an eagle scout. I never earned a single badge,” he says with a laugh.
“Never?”
“Not one. I picked up a few skills, but badges weren’t important to me like they were to my brother. I spent more time helping him earn his since he cared a lot and wanted that full sash. Yet I still went to every meeting. Can you believe that?” he asks, rolling his eyes at his younger self. “Thinking about it now, I almost definitely had a crush on our troop leader, so maybe that had something to do with it.”
“Maybe.” Ethan nods, almost as if he’s closely considering this. “I could teach you now. It’s never too late to learn.”
Taylor peers at the bed overlaid with a tree-patterned quilt, which has a deeply enchanting allure. He’s spent the last who-knows-how-many hours cooped up on a plane and then cramped in the front seat of a small rental car. He’s been throttled and bumped and jarred from an upright half-doze while listening to Mitski. Now he’d like to sink into a mattress and stare at the ceiling, however, this man—who has, what, five inches on him, maybe a little less if his work boots are to be accounted for—is gazing down at him and raising a questioning, nearly hopeful brow. Damn, he wants to know what those steely blue eyes look like with firelight dancing in them.
“Okay. Can you give me ten to get settled?” Taylor asks, miraculously more alert than he was seconds ago.
“I’ll go grab a bundle of firewood and meet you back here.”
Ethan’s absence frees up some space in the well-laid-out cottage. Not much, but still, Taylor takes his purple suitcase to the bed, unzips it and sprawls out—his stuff and himself.
This is more his than he’s ever had before. He grew up in a crowded home, lived in a crowded college dorm and now shares an apartment in Encinitas with more people than should be allowed on a single lease. Two-hundred-and-twenty square feet all to himself is downright luxurious.
He takes his tan toiletries bag into the bathroom. His hair is matted down at all weird angles and his sweatshirt still has in-flight pretzel crumbs clinging on to the fabric. Not exactly the first impression he was envisioning.
After shucking his layers and kicking them across the floor with his bare feet, he turns the hot water on in the shower and rinses off. It enlivens his senses. The body wash in the holder affixed to the tile wall is fragrant with citrusy notes. He recalls being cc’d on Amy’s e-mail threads about the new supplier—a boutique brand that has something to do with goats and the environment. The details are foggy, but Amy was so spectacularly happy when they secured the partnership that they went out to an expensive lunch to celebrate. Those good days at work make all the hectic, stressful ones worth it.
Standing naked and wet before the sink, he looks into the mirror-mirror-on-the-wall and half expects to see a hovering, green face ready to tell him who is the fairest of them all. He towels off before slipping into his warmest layers.
Outside, Ethan wears a beanie. He has a plaid blanket tucked under one arm and a pile of logs under the other. At his feet, there is a collection of pine needles, bark and some gnarled twigs. “Ready?”
They start with the small pieces that make up the bottom of the pit, what Ethan refers to as the tinder. “The fire icon on the Tinder app makes a lot more sense now.”
Ethan lifts a brow. “Never used it.”
“Never?” Taylor asks. Maybe it’s an East Coast quirk. On the West Coast, most adults, regardless of age or relationship status, participate in swiping culture.
“Never. I wouldn’t even know what to put in a profile on one of those things.”
“It’s never too late to learn,” Taylor says, a cheeky echo of Ethan’s own words from earlier. Aware he shouldn’t flirt like this with his boss’s ex-husband, he still gets brief pleasure from the exchange. Especially when Ethan angles away to hide his reaction, which Taylor can tell by the slight shake of his wide shoulders is a good-natured chuckle.
They move on to the kindling. It’s stacked smallest to largest in a pyramid shape, leaving room for the inevitable fire to breathe. Taylor takes this as a reminder for himself to breathe, too. Leaning over the fire pit under the stars with his shoulder brushing Ethan’s makes his chest feel small and shy. Like if he exhales too audibly, words like I think you’re ridiculously handsome might appear in the cloud of his breath, like the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland —a story that is well represented at this resort.
Ethan hands Taylor a long-stemmed match. The rasp of the match against the box sends a satisfying prickle down Taylor’s spine. Ethan adds some more kindling until he sustains the flame and it becomes a squiggly dance of orange and yellow against the darkening night.
“A wood log or two should do the trick now,” says Ethan. Taylor adds those and then they stand back.
Taylor holds his palms up to the warmth. “Guess you were right before. You are perfectly capable of lighting your own fire.”
Ethan sucks in his lips and shakes his head. “I’m sorry you walked into that.”
Taylor waves a newly-warmed hand dismissively. “Please. I thought it was funny.”
Clearing his throat, Ethan turns back to the Adirondack chair behind him and passes Taylor a blanket. “For you.” Taylor accepts the blue, checkered wool-blend. “I brought over a bottle of red wine, too, as a little welcome gift. I know I always enjoy a drink after a long day of travel.”
“How sweet. Thank you.” This is a work trip and yet Ethan is treating him like he’s a valued, returning guest. He supposes that’s just the Storybook Endings way.
Ethan’s shoulders fall forward in something resembling a shrug. “You’ll find glasses inside should you want it. I won’t keep you.”
Did he say glass es ? Plural? Might he…
“Have a glass with me?” Taylor asks quickly. He’s not ready for Ethan to go, and drinking alone is no fun. “If you’re free to.”
Ethan glances over his shoulder as if consulting with someone unseen. “Oh, um, sure. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll need you to teach me how to put this fire out later.” Taylor proffers the explanation to put Ethan at ease. To set right his intentions. His perfectly friendly intentions.
“I’d be glad to,” Ethan says. “Okay if I go inside and grab the glasses?”
“Oh, I can do it.”
“Please, allow me.” Ethan’s large, calloused hand splays in the center of his chest. What does his heartbeat feel like against that palm? Is it a slow, unfazed rap or a hastening titter in response to Taylor’s offer? Honestly, he’s not sure which he’d prefer. But he’s certain which would be less compromising. He’s out here for work, not pleasure.
Ethan comes back holding two full glasses by their stems. Taylor isn’t used to being doted on. He’s made a career out of being the doter. A turn of the tables may be just what the doctor ordered.
The first sip of the decadent red Ethan gifted him raises his internal temperature to a relaxing place. Under this blanket, beside this roaring fire, within Ethan’s calm gaze, he’s not sure he’s ever been cozier. “I didn’t expect it to be so cold out here. It’s spring.”
“In name only,” Ethan says. “We’ve had snow this late in the year before. Thank God there’s none in the forecast, though. It’s a hassle to deal with, and with Samara’s birthday coming up, I don’t need to be worrying about the weather on top of everything else.”
“Of course,” Taylor says, taking a sip of wine. It’s weird, now that he considers it, that he spends more time with Samara as Amy’s assistant than Ethan does as her father. “I’ve only been to the East Coast maybe twice in my life and both times it was for summer vacations with my family.”
Ethan nods. “You, um, mentioned an eagle scout brother. Is he your only sibling?”
Taylor is heartened Ethan’s been listening so intently. “Far from it, actually. I’m one of seven kids.” In a family that large, his voice often got drowned out. And with his job, he tries to be a soft, unimposing presence as best he can.
“Seven? Wow, really?”
“My parents are deeply in love, go-with-the-flow types who don’t believe in birth control, so…” Taylor says.
For a time, he thought their laid-back relationship was madly romantic. They were the epitome of a couple that takes life’s blessings day by day. But now their carefree ways might have more to do with deep-seated immaturity rather than firm beliefs in destiny and fate. Like they were constantly playing roulette with finite resources—limited number of rooms in their modest house, limited amount of money coming in from their ever-changing jobs. Not that Taylor or any of his siblings ever went without, but they often had to make do. Menopause finally put a stop to the constant question of whether their family would be expanding that year or not.
Ethan is quiet for some time. Taylor isn’t sure what to make of the silence that is punctured every other second by a crackle from the fire. Many people over the years have pitied Taylor for being in a family ripe for the reality show treatment, but he wouldn’t trade his siblings for the world, even if his relationship with his parents leaves something to be desired.
The wine and the warmth from the fire only serve to make him drowsier. He swirls his wine around in his glass and looks longingly back at the cabin. “It’s funny you put me up here, actually. My mom sometimes refers to us as her seven dwarves.”
Ethan chuckles throatily at this, while wearing a smile that casts an amiable glow. It rivals the fire between them. “Which one are you?”
“Doc,” Taylor says. Then, after a long pause in which he can tell Ethan is waiting for him to go on, he adds: “I’m the second oldest, so I was the one the kids came to when they got a paper cut while working on a school project and needed a Band-Aid or had a cold and needed someone to make them soup and turn on the humidifier.”
“What about the Eagle Scout in the family? Isn’t there a badge for stuff like that?” Ethan asks.
“Owen? Yeah, he didn’t stick around after he turned eighteen,” Taylor says, chest growing tight.
“Did you ever consider being a doctor?” Ethan asks, clearly sensing a need to skip over the Owen comment.
The question is surprising, yet not unfounded. Still, it makes Taylor bristle a bit as he shakes his head. “My parents aren’t big believers in modern medicine. They prefer home remedies, herbal stuff. They’re hippies like that. So, no. It never even crossed my mind like it does for most kids when they consider the big options like president or astronaut. I don’t think I’d be smart enough for all that anyway. I just like taking care of people.”
“Hence being a personal assistant.”
“Yes, hence .” Though, personal assistant is only a way station, right? Sure, he’s been in the role for almost three years, but Amy promised him advancement and with the new location…
At the bottom of his wineglass, Taylor lets out a huge yawn. He’s already so comfortable around Ethan that he doesn’t want the night to end. His body refuses to move even as he struggles to keep his eyes open.
“You might’ve been Doc as a kid, but you’re looking more like Sleepy right now,” Ethan says with a gentle playfulness propping up his words.
“It’s been a long day,” Taylor says.
“Why don’t you go in and to bed?” Ethan asks.
Taylor swallows the sudden truth, that he’s too enraptured by the way the firelight fox-trots across Ethan’s face. It creates new shadows in interesting places. Ethan’s got such a sharp, square jaw beneath that full beard. And his eyes are deeper set than Taylor had imagined.
“I’m comfortable here,” Taylor says, poorly fighting off fatigue.
“I think you’ll be more comfortable in bed,” Ethan says. “I can see to it that this gets put out. I’ll just need to sit out here for a bit longer until it dies down.”
“Oh, I’d appreciate it… Thanks for the wine and the lesson,” Taylor says, maneuvering the blanket around to his back and hoisting it up onto his shoulders. The warmth from the fire, closer now, infuses him with boldness. Taylor locks eyes with Ethan across the flickering flames. “And thanks for the nice conversation.”
“My pleasure.” Ethan wears a fetching close-lipped smile. “I hope you sleep well.”
Taylor stifles another massive yawn. “I know I will.”
Soon, he’s proven correct when, after brushing his teeth and changing into a pair of shorts, he nestles under the covers and drifts right into dreamland, knowing that a striking, burly night guard is right outside the door, tending to the last embers of the fire and providing Taylor a newfound, bone-deep comfort.