2. August #2
Payton is the jumpy type. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think it’s cute.
Thinking little things like that are what’s going to get me in trouble.
Accepting my offering, she sits more comfortably, resting the platter on her thighs. Poking at a chunk of beef, I watch her swallow thickly.
She cradles the bowl like it’s something sacred, steam curling against her face as she inhales. For a second, I wonder how often she eats like this—real food, cooked with heart.
Or if she’s one of those women who lives on coffee and convenience, skipping meals until her body screams for anything warm.
Earlier, I jumped straight to judgment and easily offended her. This time, maybe I shouldn’t assume.
The way she plunges the first bite in, moaning around the spoon, is enough to paint a picture. She likes my cooking, and that’s what matters the most right in this moment.
Letting out a little sigh of relief, she realizes I’m empty-handed, doing nothing but watching her enjoy her meal. Instead of calling me out, she raises a brow.
“None for you?” Stirring her soup, her mouth pinches shut when I grunt. Catching herself before she’s consuming another bite, she squints. “I might be a little late to ask this, but you didn’t put anything in this, did you?”
And now she thinks I’d use her current state against her? While I can agree that I’m an asshole, I’m not a monster or a creep.
“Just hard work, if you count that as an ingredient.” Snorting, I tear my eyes away when her brows lift up in surprise.
“To think a grouch like you can laugh. What’s next, pigs growing wings?” Making a terrible comparison, she clicks her tongue when I don’t reply. “At least come sit down. I shouldn’t be the only one comfortable. Especially in a home that isn’t mine.”
Something tells me that if I don’t just sit, she’s not going to let this go. So, against my better judgment, I take a seat on the other end of the couch, purposely trying to put as much space between us as I can.
It’s a miracle I don’t laugh at myself because of how pathetic I’m acting.
What in the hell is wrong with me? I hardly recognize myself from the way I’m acting.
There’s a loud boom outside that makes Payton jump. It’s not like the previous rounds of thunder, much louder and closer. It stops her from taking another bite, and she looks my way for answers.
“Probably a tree falling. We get a few of those.” Pulling whatever answer comes first, my words seem to relieve her. They have the opposite effect on me.
If it is a fallen tree, what if it’s one blocking the path of getting off the mountain? All that means is that Payton won’t be able to leave in the morning. She’ll have to be stuck here even longer.
A conflicting sensation rolls around in my chest, one I don’t know how to dissect.
“I don’t do too well in storms, you know.
Seriously. I’ve heard a tornado siren once in my life, and that was very scary.
Spent three hours in a basement that had enough spiders to create an army and a smell that could’ve taken out one.
” Letting out a laugh in an attempt to make herself feel better, the laugh dies off.
Her eyes flicker between me and the storm, and she catches her bottom lip between her teeth.
“We’re going to survive this mess, right? ”
“We’re going to be just fine. The cabins on this mountain were built to withstand anything.” The words taste oddly earnest in my mouth—like I’m not just reassuring her, but making a concrete promise.
As if on cue, the lights stutter again, casting jagged shadows over the way Payton’s knuckles whiten around her spoon. She’s stirring that soup like it holds the answers, her shoulders tense as coiled wire.
I want to fix it. Comfort her and make her see that this mountain isn’t too bad. The urge is demanding, devouring anything else.
I shouldn’t care if she flees this mountain the moment the clouds clear, just like the other brides that have drifted up here thinking they could give up certain things in life.
When was the last time I ached to soothe someone else’s fear instead of walking away? When did I ever notice the way someone’s breath hitches, let alone care enough to steady it?
Payton stumbled into my life simply to unravel my own selfishness. To make me question everything.
The longer I spend with her, the more I want to know. From the reason behind these sensations clawing at my chest, to figuring out what it’s going to take to make her forget about everything happening on the outside of the cabin, to focusing on what is happening on the inside.
With how much concern I’m throwing her way, there’s also the weight of the past that’s eating at me.
Last year, when I tried to find love, I’d never dealt with a woman who had me in such a distressed state.
Cupid’s Bloom Co. somehow knew it before I did. What if I was wrong?
What if that company had something right? What if no one was on there for me because my other half wasn’t on the site at the time?
If Payton had been, would we have been paired up?
No. What a foolish thought. Now that it’s crossed my mind, I know it won’t be one that is easy to get out of my head as a possibility.