Chapter 4 Miles
FOUR
Miles
I was so mad when Margaret first approached me about having a roommate.
That woman had pretty much threatened my life if I didn’t offer a rooming situation to Lucy. So I did it.
Begrudgingly.
I’ve been dreading having someone to live with.
Someone in my space. Watching my every move…
no chance to relax. And after I saw how competitive she was when we were playing football, I wondered if that was the intensity she brought to every area of her life.
But Lucy is sweet and funny, a bit unorganized, and completely unbothered by me.
I couldn’t have picked a better roommate myself.
Maybe Margaret actually knew what she was doing.
Lucy has been here for five days now, and even though we’ve hardly interacted besides a quick, “Hello. How are you?” it’s nice to feel like the house is lived in. Lucy radiates happiness, which I didn’t know you could pick up on in such brief interactions.
When I was growing up, my family practically had a revolving door.
If we weren’t having friends over, my mom would host dinners, and there was always some sort of activity going on in our home.
My parents were very social, so it felt normal to be around people constantly.
Now, as an adult, I have the odd conundrum of being an introvert but also needing to be around people to feel some sort of normalcy.
I’ve been rolling around this house by myself ever since I moved here, so it just feels right to have someone else living here.
Lucy is quiet, but even the soft clinking of dishes or her footsteps walking up and down the hall make this place a lot more enjoyable. Not to mention, she’s incredibly low-maintenance.
It’s perfect.
Since Kingston and I are working on our recent purchase of the Legacy building, which has a mix of commercial and residential spaces, I’m spending more and more time here in Green Valley.
Before the whole Legacy building thing, I happily traveled the two hours between Green Valley and Sisters, Oregon, where my family lives.
I told Lucy I wouldn’t be here much, but that might’ve been an exaggeration, because after my phone call with Kingston yesterday, I think I’ll be busy with our projects here in town for the next couple of months.
I skipped my run today, thanks to stepping wrong while climbing out of my car—I didn’t know something like that was even possible until I hit my late twenties—now that I’m going to be thirty-one next year, I wonder if this is my future?
But timing-wise, it means Lucy and I are in the house at the same time, getting ready for work. I hear her leave her room and close her door loudly. She probably doesn’t know I’m still in the house.
Opening my bedroom door, I step into the hallway.
“I’m so glad he’s doing okay. I miss him a lot.” Lucy’s voice carries to me, and I can hear her sad tone.
I stop walking down the hall and pause to eavesdrop. Miss him?
I stare at the huge family picture hanging in my hall. Mom and Dad, me, my sisters—Ainsley and Karis—along with Karis’s longtime boyfriend. I never thought to ask if Lucy had a boyfriend.
Lucy is now in the kitchen, making breakfast by the sound of it, talking on the phone.
This is when I realize something rather important. I don’t know anything about her.
Who is she missing? A boyfriend?
I don’t dare ask, and I don’t think it’s fair that I’m standing here, trying to listen to her conversation. My family is full of nosy people: my grandma and sisters are the worst. But here I am, doing my best to keep up with them.
I clear my throat and walk loudly the rest of the way down the hall. Heel-to-toe, thumping like an elephant, rattling the glass vase on the floating shelf that my sister Ainsley deposited there the last time she was here.
I cough like I just sat in front of a fog machine at a concert.
It’s loud enough that Lucy wraps up the conversation quickly.
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” Lucy turns and smiles at me when I walk into the kitchen. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing a matching set of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. And she’s looking at me like she’s happy to see me.
“Good morning. I didn’t know you were here.” She points to the coffeepot. “I made a fresh pot. I hope that’s okay and that I didn’t mess up your timer. I bought a dark roast from a local coffee shop called Grind On.”
She looks so proud of herself, like she’s discovered something new. Except I own that coffee shop with Kingston.
Instead of spoiling it for her, I just smile. “Dark roast sounds great.”
I head over to the cupboard and reach for my favorite mug; it’s not there.
I glance at the counter and see that the Stud Muffin mug is already full of coffee with a lip gloss impression glistening on the rim.
I feel a little bit of annoyance and wonder if maybe I should tell her that it’s my favorite mug.
That’s the one that fits my hand the best.
Yes, I have about thirty others, but it’s not like they hold the right amount of coffee and keep it warm like that mug does. But it’s not really important in the grand scheme of things. I can share my mug—but only this once.
This is our first time in the kitchen at the same time. She doesn’t know that mug fits me just right. And her hands are way smaller than mine, so it’s not like it would fit her hand the same way it does mine.
She should go for a mug with a smaller handle.
Not my ginormous one.
Oh well. I’ll let it go. I’ll be the bigger man. The better roommate.
I find a mediocre mug, whose handle I can only fit three fingers into, and fill it full of the dark roast coffee.
“How’s everything going at the clinic?” I ask as I blow on the hot coffee.
“Good so far,” she replies as she flips an egg in the pan. “The vet techs in that office are great, and the other veterinarian isn’t too bad to work with.”
“What does ‘too bad’ mean? That could cover a wide range of things,” I say with a chuckle.
She slides the eggs onto the plate beside her.
“He’s been doing it for a long time, so he’s fairly particular about how he wants things done.
” She chuckles. “Things like exactly where to set the glove box—two inches to the right of the sink. And organizing the medicines in the fridge in a specific way. A way that does not make sense to me.” She shakes her head at that and then slowly adds two more eggs to the frying pan. “Do you want some eggs?”
“Um, sure! Thank you.”
She pops open the oven, revealing biscuits, which explains the delicious smell.
I sniff deeply. “Wow, that smells good.”
I don’t know how she had the time to make these. I thought she had just walked out of the room, but I must have slept through her cooking earlier.
She nods. “They are good. I promise. These are the best buttermilk biscuits you’ll ever eat.”
I stare at her. “You mean to tell me those didn’t come out of a can?”
“No, that is blasphemy to buttermilk biscuits.” She looks affronted that I even asked.
“When on earth did you have time to make these?” I ask.
I glance at the clock. It’s seven fifteen. It’s not like I slept the entire day away and she had time to be in here baking.
She shrugs. “I just threw them together real quick. It’s not a big deal. I love having a fresh biscuit to make an egg sandwich in the morning.”
“Well, they look amazing, and they smell even better.”
Lucy tries to hide her pleased grin, but two dimples are visible as she gets busy scraping biscuits off the pan. “Why don’t you try one?” she asks.
I should tell her no. I don’t want her to feel like she has to share her food with me. I don’t want her to feel that pressure, especially since I’m the one who owns a house. But, damn, those smell good.
“Well, maybe just one.”
My answer seems to please her, I think.
It’s in the name of roommate bonding. Right?
It seems as though she’s trying to fight a smile. She grabs a plate and slides a hot biscuit onto it, then adds the warm eggs from the pan.
“Try that and see if you like it. It’s especially good with chipotle mayonnaise on there.”
She slides a jar toward me, and I take the plate from her outstretched hand.
“Be careful, it’s hot,” she reminds me.
“It’ll be fine.” I blow on it for one second and then take a big bite.
She was right. It’s hot. Burn-my-tongue-and-leave-it-fuzzy hot.
But, man, is it heavenly. The first thing I taste is butter and a hint of buttermilk, and it’s melt-in-my-mouth goodness.
“This is so good,” I say around a mouthful of biscuit. I’m not able to enunciate clearly, but at least she gets the gist of it. Because it really is a delicious biscuit. I split it open and slide the egg onto it, then add some of the chipotle mayonnaise and eat it in about three bites.
Any leftover annoyance at her stealing my mug is completely gone. She made fresh biscuits. How can I stay mad at her for accidentally choosing my mug?
“There’s plenty here, so have more. I just don’t know how to make a half batch of something. I always end up with lots,” she adds with a little laugh as she points to the pan full of biscuits.
I turn around to grab a glass from beside the sink, and that’s when I see it.
A sink full of dishes.
A mountain, really. How on earth does she use that many dishes to make biscuits? In the short time she’s been here, I’ve hardly noticed her. An occasional sweatshirt draped over a chair, but no messes like the Mount Everest that’s sitting in the sink where it’s visible to anyone who walks in.
I try to keep my eyes from falling out of my head, and I hope she doesn’t see my horrified look. She must not know that you don’t have to use every single dish in the kitchen to make something.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was hoping I’d have time to get those done before you got back from your run. I promise I’ll be out of the way before you need back in here. Don’t worry.”