Chapter 6 - Miranda
The cabin is still cold when we arrive, Oliver is quick to light up the fireplace and leave like I’ve some kind of infectious disease. I guess he’s sick of having to put up with me. I did say I want to be by myself but it feels kinda lonely now. I should have thanked him for offering up his cabin.
I don’t want to be a burden. When I offered to come and help with the cooking, he said he preferred to cook alone and I had already bought all the ingredients.
That hurts but is probably for the best. Why is this gigantic man not raising any alarms for me?
I’ve mostly stayed away from men all my life.
I’ve never felt comfortable around men. Not that I haven’t felt attracted to men but not enough to do something about it.
It felt safer to be a virgin than to take a risk.
Over the years, I’ve learned to err on the side of caution and men never felt attractive enough to forgo the rule.
Oliver on the other hand, has awakened things — dangerous things — in me I’ve never felt before.
It terrifies me despite being also thrilling.
This rush, is that what it feels like? To have someone on your mind at all times?
To trust someone intuitively? Everything in him should scare me, his scars, how big and tall he is, his rough voice, but deep in my core I want to get to know him more, I want to prove to myself there’s nothing wrong with me, that I can be with a man. And with Oliver, I think I can do that.
At the same time, I’m already asking too much of him. So it's good I'm here, not being a nuisance to him for a few hours at least.
Realistically, I could never paint in his home, I wouldn't be comfortable sharing the subject of my paintings with him.
With everything that happened yesterday I’m eager to be back with my paints.
I spend the rest of the morning absorbed in this new painting.
Using both my hands and brushes to try and get the atmospheric feel from last night, the desperation of not knowing where I was, the rain.
It’s not always that inspiration hits me like this, each stroke, each line is made without an ounce of hesitation.
I’m so in the zone that I lose track of time until I hear a knock.
The sound startles me, I jump and quickly go to the front door.
“I brought you some food,” Oliver says when I open the door.
Getting back to reality after zoning out like that it hits me how much I’ve missed him already, even if I last saw him five hours ago. Is this what people feel when they are actually attracted to someone? It sounds inconvenient, my cheeks get too hot to hide.
“I thought I was coming to your place.”
“I thought you might be busy, so I brought you food. Hope you like it.”
He hands me a bag, I look up, trying to understand if he’s mad about cooking me food. But when my eyes meet his I cower and look down immediately.
“You’ve been taking care of me since last night.”
“I don’t mind. Go eat up, the food it’s still warm.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll eat when I get back.”
“Why didn’t you bring your food?”
Why do I sound this needy? I’ve never needed anyone.
I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a child.
And now here I am asking him to stay. When he clearly doesn’t want to be here.
There’s something about the way he’s standing so close to the door that tells me that. And yet, I still asked the question.
“I thought you’d be busy. And I’ve got a lot to do too.”
“Right. Thank you.”
“But we could eat together if you want to,” he says softly, like he’s as unsure as I am.
My silence must be the answer he needs because he leaves and comes back shortly after, giving me time to set up the dinner table in the meantime.
When he sits down, it only emphasizes his size even more, he occupies almost half of the tiny dinner table.
This cabin is not as big as his and everything seems to be small compared to him.
When I taste the food, I can’t help but moan. I could eat this every day. Oliver tenses up, like he’s embarrassed by my delight. There are so many bad things in the world, why should we refrain ourselves from the good ones?
“It’s really good. Have you always been this good a cook?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Not really. But Aiden is a pretty good cook, so he’s taught me a few things.”
“So my landlord is both grumpy and a good cook, well I hope I meet him someday.”
He gives me that small smirk of his that tells me he’s enjoying the conversation.
“Doubt it. But you should ask for your money back.”
“I think I’m good. Like I told you, now that I know how to light up the fireplace, I don’t see a reason for me to stay over at your place. Especially when you’re sleeping on the sofa.”
“I told you. You’re staying.”
I huff but don’t reply. I take a few delicious bites off my food while I figure out if food will ever taste this good after I've eaten a few meals prepared by him. Even the mushroom cheese toast was delicious.
“Why do you paint?” he asks after a while.
I like his question, not many people ask me that, not as a way to start a conversation, I like he goes straight to the point. He doesn’t ask me what I do with my paintings, if I sell them, if I store them. No, he’s asking me why.
“Painting has always been my escape. Well, not really. Drawing came first. You don’t need much money to draw, you know?
All you need is a pencil and a piece of paper.
So as long as I had those two I was good.
I loved to draw. But when I found paint, that’s when I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
For me, painting provides me a freedom that drawing can’t.
I find it hard to explain but I can lose myself in a painting, when I’m drawing I can’t ever reach the flow state, it feels less natural.
Eventually I found my style and ever since then, I’ve been able to live off my art.
It feels wonderful but I also need some quiet time after shows.
Quiet time where I’m just creating, not thinking about anything else, making art just for me. ”
“You must be good.”
I blush. “I do well for myself but lately it has been hard to create. This morning is the first time in a while that I’ve been this inspired. Maybe it was the rain.”
“The rain,” he mutters mostly to himself.
“Last night, you told me you hated it. Why?”
“I’m a fucking cliché.”
For a moment, I think he won’t elaborate. Leave the question hanging as we finish up the plates. But he plays around with the food before words leave his mouth.
“My best friend died when it was raining like yesterday. That’s why I had the nightmare.
It’s been years, but it still haunts me.
We were in the military together, he was so much more deserving of life than me and yet, I’m the one who lived.
I should’ve protected him. I should’ve made sure he got home safe.
But the last time I saw him, it was too late, he was barely breathing.
He still smiled, that dumbass. I can’t believe he smiled. ”
His face is sagging, he looks distraught, like he’s reliving it again. I put my hand over his, he looks up but doesn’t move it away. I squeeze lightly.
“He must have loved you very much.”
He doesn’t reply, like he’s pondering my words. It’s like he never considered his friend might have smiled because he loved him, because he wanted him to have a good last memory. Instead, here is Oliver, beating himself over what happened.
I don’t know why but just touching him with my hand is not enough, I lean forward, hoping he doesn’t pull away.
I stare at his eyes, deep brown with a hint of green in them, something I’m just noticing now.
We’re close enough that my heart rate increases.
He’s staring at me, he’s frozen, not moving at all, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he does.
I thought he didn’t like me. I thought I was just a nuisance to him, someone that’d ruined his quiet time.
But he’s not moving. His eyes carefully study me, there’s something I haven’t seen in them before.
Something that makes my stomach flip on itself. Am I just imagining things?
Might as well find out. Life taught me to seize the moment. That’s why I’ve been living off my art. That’s why I’ve survived up until this point. I just need a kiss to understand this attraction.
I lean even closer tentatively and when his eyes drop to my mouth, I know I’m not imagining things. He does want me to kiss him. So I do.
Our lips brush before I collide into him.
His hesitation doesn’t last long. In fact, it’s barely noticeable because he starts to devour me, which makes me moan.
His beard is rough on my face but I don’t care because I’m still trying to understand this attraction.
I still don’t understand it but I want it.
I want this so much. I want this man like I’ve never wanted anyone before.
My lips are telling me this is it. This is the man I should be with.
After spending so many years staying clear of men, now my whole body is taking over, telling me I need him now or I might die.
There’s a hint of fear in there, mixed in with the adrenaline.
I push it away and we keep kissing. When he finally deepens the kiss, I welcome him like I’ve been waiting for him all my life.
He stops the kiss on my next moan.
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“Why?”
“You’re too young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I don’t even know how to talk with people.”
“You’ve talked with me just fine.”
“You need someone better. And if we continue this… I don’t know if I can stay away.”
“Good. I don’t want you to stay away. I want you, Oliver. And I’m twenty-five, I’m perfectly capable of deciding who I want to be with.”
He opens his mouth to say something.
“Shh.”
And I kiss him again.
When he stops again, he’s not hiding anything. I see pure lust oozing off him and a terrifying smirk that makes me lick my lips.