21. Nova
21
NOVA
I t took me longer than expected to find a can opener. The one I was used to using was electric. “There has got to be a can opener around here,” I muttered as I opened one drawer after another.
I still didn’t have the location of everything memorized. And I wouldn’t by the time I left this job.
Amelia was giggling when I returned to the den. She was tossing pillows from the walls of our giant fort at her father’s head. He was throwing them back, smacking her softly. I didn’t want to interrupt their fun. I loved how relaxed they were.
I was having a hard time faking my calmness. This storm had me shaken. Which was stupid. I grew up around tornadoes. We had supplies and a fire. This snow shouldn’t be freaking me out as much as it was.
“I found one!” I held up the manual can opener after a while, announcing my presence.
“Well done. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to look for that,” Bryan said. He held out his hand and took it from me.
“Hey, I need that,” I complained, even though I handed it over.
“How am I supposed to open the soup cans?”
“I’m the paid cook.” I tapped myself in the chest.
“And I’m the one who knows how to cook over a campfire.” Arguing with Bryan was pointless. He was right. He was the one who knew what he was doing.
“You might want to take note for the next time,” he said with a wink.
For whatever reason, that wink had me completely flustered. I didn’t have a witty comeback. I just giggled like an idiot with a massive crush on the man.
I sat back and pulled Amelia back with me. She started to go after her dad with a pillow. I thought her continued pillow attack while he was cooking could only end in disaster.
“Now’s not the best time for that. You don’t want to accidentally make him spill,” I pointed out. “Here, help me rebuild this wall.”
I successfully redirected her energy and focus while Bryan heated the soup up. I felt a little dumb watching him. He didn’t do anything complicated or involving some spectacular feat of engineering. He simply filled a pan with soup from the cans and set it on the edge of the fire, stirring occasionally.
Soup in pan, heat. I should have been able to figure that out.
“This is not how I expected today to turn out,” I admitted as I sat next to Bryan and watched him stir the soup.
“Better, or worse?”
Better. I was sitting with him next to a fire. This could have been a very romantic situation, even with Amelia around. The presence of children didn’t diminish romance, only the sexy aspect. Worse, my car was stuck in a ditch, covered in snow. I had no idea when I’d get it back.
“Better in some ways, worse in others. I mean, under normal circumstances, I would have been home by now.”
“Yeah, this is better,” Bryan said.
What was he thinking? Why did he think this was better? Did he like snow storms? Maybe he really enjoyed camping? Maybe he wanted me there, trapped in the dark house with him. I may have held my breath, hoping for the last option.
“I can’t imagine your apartment would maintain its heat very well. You’re safer here.”
Oh . I let out a sigh. That made sense, Bryan being concerned with the cold. Even though I hoped he would have said something more like I was there with them, and it was my company that made things better.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine how cold my apartment would be right now. Thank you. I definitely don’t have enough pillows and blankets to make an inside fort. Or a fireplace to cook over and keep me warm.”
“Soup’s ready,” he announced.
I helped Amelia get settled and handed her a bowl and spoon. Bryan ladled another bowl of soup for me.
“I guess this isn’t so bad,” I admitted as I accepted the bowl.
“Wait till you taste my cooking,” Bryan said. “Then you’ll get the full camping experience.”
The soup was delicious. It wasn’t anything special. It came from a can. It was something I’ve had a million times before, but never cooked over an open fire. Maybe that made a difference. Maybe it was the company.
We didn’t have any marshmallows to roast after dinner, which was just as well. I could only imagine that would have created a sticky mess, and without lights, getting Amelia cleaned up after something like that seemed like all kinds of a bad idea.
Bryan carried the dishes into the kitchen so I didn’t have to make another journey into the dark. I could only assume he left them in the sink for when we had power.
The fire crackled, giving us its heat and bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. He was right. This was nice, and almost like camping. The biggest difference was that when I looked up, there weren’t stars in the sky but a ceiling above us.
Bryan picked up his guitar and began plucking at strings, tuning the instrument.
“I didn’t know you could play.” I wasn’t a musician, but it didn’t sound very out of tune to me.
“A little,” he said. “You said you liked music. What’s a campfire without some folk songs?”
I cast my gaze to the fireplace and then over the fort-tent Amelia and I had constructed.
Bryan strummed on his guitar, humming along to whatever he played.
Amelia and I snuggled together in the little nest of pillows and blankets. Recognizing the music, I began humming until I could remember the words. Bryan’s playing grew a little louder as our voices filled the quiet evening. Amelia got up and began swaying and dancing to the music.
One song blended into the next. It took me a few moments before I recognized the new song and could sing along. He picked songs that were old. He didn’t play anything more recent than the nineteen nineties. I couldn’t decide if that was an age thing or if he was playing the classics so that I might know the lyrics.
It became a game with Bryan selecting a song and then seeing if I knew the words. Eventually, Amelia collapsed, too tired to dance anymore. I stopped recognizing anything he played, but he continued to sing in a soothing, deep voice. I was pretty certain that by then, he was simply making words up to familiar tunes.
Once Amelia quieted down and she cuddled in next to me again, Bryan began playing familiar, traditional Christmas music. His playing sounded less like someone strumming guitar around a campfire and more like someone who had been classically trained. He picked out the individual notes and played more complex chords and harmonies.
Unable to remember any of the words beyond the first line of What Child Is This , I hummed along as he played. The music was soothing and had a lullaby quality to it. It felt appropriate somehow, in the dimly lit room with the blazing fire, to have Bryan playing music that made me think of the Renaissance.
Bryan stopped playing and set the guitar aside. “Is she out?” he asked.
“Almost,” I said.
Amelia made sleepy grunting noises and reached out to wrap her arms around my waist.
I stroked her hair and looked down at her peaceful face.
“This is just like getting a mommy for Christmas,” she said in a sleepy voice.
My heart skipped a beat, and my breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t brave enough to admit that was my Christmas wish. She was a terrific kid, and I was head over heels in love with her father. Every day, I learned something new about him, and he was fascinating. I could discover something new about him every day for years, and I didn’t think I’d ever be bored by him.
I glanced up nervously to see if Bryan had heard her. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything. He got up and tended the fire. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and when I did, it was to gaze down at Amelia, who was falling asleep next to me.
I was comfortable and at peace with them, and I knew that this was such a bad idea. I wasn’t supposed to develop these feelings for either of them.
Amelia was right. This felt like getting a family for Christmas. That was something I knew I shouldn’t even think about. This was a temporary job. As soon as Bryan’s regular cook and her daughter returned from their vacation, school would start. I would be back teaching first grade and not cooking for Bryan or keeping Amelia entertained. I needed to stop thinking this way. It would only lead to disappointment and heartbreak. But the problem was, I had already developed feelings for both father and daughter.