Chapter 12 #2
I watched with intrigue as he added some chopped logs. To the right of the iron-framed glass door he was feeding with wood, there were several other solid iron doors.
Could those be… ovens?
There was a vague memory that came to mind, something I’d seen on social media.
I followed a few farmhouse accounts, and I felt like one had a similar contraption in their home—some analog antique stove that operated entirely on wood alone.
If I recall correctly, each door represented a different temperature zone based on the size of the fire and its distance from it.
The entire top of the stove was flat and seemed to function as a general stovetop or flattop, judging by the cast-iron pots stacked on top of its surface and hanging from a chain that stretched to the ceiling.
Fascinated, I ached to see it in action.
Not only did it warm the entire house, but served as the central cooking station.
Something about that felt cozy, and I could see myself cooking on it during a deep winter night, snow piling up outside while we stayed warm inside, occupied by quiet books and games.
I could smell the fresh-baked cookies and bread I would make.
Did Gray even know how much I loved to bake? Being a city girl, he probably assumed I was a food delivery girly with zero cooking abilities. I’d have to rock his world with snickerdoodles sometime.
He was still arranging logs in the firebox when I came out of my daydream.
Beside him sat a bucket filled with what appeared to be chunks of sawdust, held together with an adhesive or wax of some kind.
He broke off a piece, struck a match, and held the chunk over the flame.
It caught quickly, and he tossed it in, shutting the door.
He adjusted a small lever on the side, probably the air control, and the fire began breathing with life, flames swirling through the fresh logs and catching.
He stood, hands on his hips, content and appearing more and more relaxed. This was his home and his routine. I’m sure it felt good to be back.
Turning towards me, his broad outline was a silhouette against the growing fire at his back. I couldn’t quite see his face in the shadow, but I got the sense it was taking me in.
What did he see?
Uncomfortable with what that answer might be, I turned away.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the stove.
“This was the hardest thing to haul up here on my own. Had to do it on the sled in the winter. There was a point I almost left it in the woods when the snowmobile blew a fuse. That thing must weigh close to two-thousand pounds. I had to build a ramp and winch system just to get it inside, even before the walls were up.”
I looked down at my hands, picking at my ruined manicure and my one missing nail. Would I ever see a nail salon again? I sighed and looked back at the stove instead. “It’s so necessary and beautiful,” I said. “I can’t imagine trying to live without it.”
“Cooking over an open fire was getting old real fast,” he said. “I was determined, I guess.” He stood there for another moment.
God, I could still sense his gaze on me, and I felt stripped naked, unsure of what his assessment was telling him. I probably appeared sorely out of place here with my $500 haircut, fake nails, or what was left of them, and designer pearl earrings.
“I’ll bring in the rest of the things,” he mumbled, and heard him shuffle toward the door and away from me. “Get warm by the fire if you like.”
“Okay,” I said, giving him a quick nod. ‘Thanks’ would have been the better thing to say, but my stubborn bitterness won that fight.
He strode out the door, closing it with a soft click.
I shuffled over to the kennel, opened the door, and reached inside.
I felt for Mr. Bean’s head and found him as Villy also bumped my hand.
Encouraging Mr. Beans to approach the door, I scratched him a few times between his ears.
Once I had a hand around him, I pulled him out and held him close, kissing the top of his head.
“What’s that phrase Sybil always likes to mumble?” I asked Mr. Beans. “The Wizard of Oz thing. Isn’t it… we aren’t in Kansas anymore?” I chuffed.
Mr. Beans meowed hoarsely in agreement and licked the tip of my nose. The poor guy had been through a lot and looked ready to vomit and pass out. We weren’t in Kansas anymore at all.
Villy emerged from the kennel a moment later, stretching luxuriously and letting out an enormous yawn, as if he’d had the best sleep of his life in contrast. He surveyed his new surroundings, then trotted off, sniffing at every corner of the cabin.
I held Mr. Beans, figuring he wasn’t quite ready to be put down, and maybe never would be.
We strolled toward the front of the space.
Two massive windows offered a view of the yard from the cabin’s front.
The outdoor lights glinted off the icy fence that encircled the property, with a large double gate directly ahead.
Beyond the gate, I could just make out the moon-lit frosted outline of the river we’d followed on the snowmobile.
I wondered if Gray ever left the gate open to get a better view, maybe during the day?
If it were me, I’d want to see the river and enjoy it all the time, but I bet there were plenty of wild animals, and big ones at that.
Before the windows sat two massive armchairs, the kind with plush seats and huge, wide cushions. They sat positioned at an angle in front of the glass, hinting at a scenic view perfect for relaxing. I’d have to wait until morning to truly enjoy it, though.
The presence of two chairs was intriguing. Did anyone else ever visit this place? Had he ever invited a girlfriend or friend to stay here?
I looked back at the elephant in the room: the queen-sized bed. This cabin wasn’t designed to be shared with a roommate. A lover, perhaps? But even with the one bed, it was a queen. Who on earth electively shared a queen if there was plenty of room for a king?
I was spoiled and used to king beds. I liked my space, even alone. Clearly, I’d be the one getting the bed. To hell if he thought we were sharing.
I rolled my eyes.
Being that close to a man all night sounded tedious, let alone being that close to them for the time it took to have sex and kick them out of the house.
But there were exceptions, and one of them was standing outside.
That night I spent with Gray? It was the first time I’d fallen asleep cuddled with a man.
But even still. That was a onetime event.
Not happening again.
A voice in my head objected, but I pushed it away.
That bitch always had her opinions, but it was better to ignore them.
Screw her; she was the one who got me into this mess in the first place—never again.
If anything was clearer after the past few days, it was that a relationship with Gray was a mistake.
We might be good in bed, but that was it. Things between us were… volatile.
I turned my head and saw two bar stools. A wave of unwanted jealousy washed over me. I hated myself for these thoughts. Two. There seemed to be a theme, and it taunted me.
Why did I even care if there was once another woman?
I shouldn’t be wondering these things, but… did my presence make him think of her? Did it make him miss her? Was I intruding on another woman’s memories? Had they planned and built this place together? Had she helped him design it?
Stop.
This imagined woman was making me irrationally angry and triggering my OCD.
It was ridiculous and unconfirmed, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
I shook my head and nuzzled my nose into Mr. Bean’s fur, trying to escape the phantom pang in my gut that told me I was intruding on another woman’s life.
The door slammed open, banging into the counter. Gray walked in, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His coat was gone, and his flannel sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms easily the size of my thigh, or at least my calf—whatever… his arms were big. The sight made me forget my name.
Of all things sacred, he was stunning.
Ripping my eyes from the man-meat, I noticed the stacked trays balancing on one of his arms. His other hand was searching for the doorknob to close the door.
Were those… eggs?
I rushed forward, instinctively wanting to help as he balanced the stack of what looked to be hundreds of brown eggs. Mr. Beans wriggled in my grasp as I shifted him into the nook of my elbow.
“What are you planning to do with all these!?” I exclaimed, getting a hand on one corner of the stack. “They’ll go bad before you can eat them.”
He chuckled. “You mean before we eat them,” he challenged. “Most people don’t know this, but fresh eggs like these can last for two months, maybe even longer if it’s cold enough.”
I tilted my head. “Really?” I was doubtful, and yet he would know, wouldn’t he?
“Really,” he winked over the top of them. “And I love eggs. We’ll run out before then, I’m sure.”
“And I’ll be leaving long before that,” I added, narrowing my eyes at the confident way he seemed to imply I’d be here for the foreseeable future, if not forever.
Mr. Beans wiggled and slipped down my front, wanting down. I let him go, and we set the eggs on the counter. I crossed my arms over my chest.
Gray didn’t look at all perturbed by my comment. “Unless I take you out of here, you aren’t going anywhere, Buttercup.”
I guffawed. “You can’t make me stay here,” I argued. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”
He chuckled sardonically, shaking his head in a long, sweeping gesture of disbelief. “You won’t. It’s this, or you die, sweet thing.”
Was he serious right now? I mean, I get it. He kidnapped me, but the creepy, ‘and now I’ll keep you’ kind of talk? I didn’t like it.