15. Brinn
Chapter 15
Brinn
Isaac’s hand comes down hard on my ass, making me yelp and drop the tarp I was putting up. “Hey!” I laugh. “I’m busy here!”
He holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Sorry, your ass looks incredible when you bend over like that,” he says, not looking repentant at all. “Besides, you were thinking the same thing when I was prepping the garden beds a couple of weeks ago.”
I blush, embarrassed to be caught even now. I turn back to my work to hide it, but I know from his chuckle that he saw. My time with Isaac these past weeks has been incredible. Truthfully, not much has changed outside of not tiptoeing around our feelings and having frequent, incredible sex.
“Your windows are all secured,” he says as I cover the garden beds. “I’ll go do mine, and I can help you bring over anything you need after that.” The imminent hurricane has the town in a flurry of preparation.
“I think I’ve got it,” I say.
“I can take PB for a walk when I’m done here.”
“That’d be great.”
I force my mind to focus on the task at hand and the next one on this list. Not the darkening sky or the neighbors zipping about.
I decided to stay with Isaac during the incoming storm. When he asked if I wanted to stay at my place, I immediately felt anxious about being trapped there. A haven in the best of times can be a prison in the worst of times. Storms make that feel especially true for me. Isaac’s house holds no such emotions. It’s an extension of him and his comfort. My nerves are still fraying at the concept of a hurricane, but at least I feel safe with Isaac and Pork Belly there.
I get PB into her harness, and she grabs her ball for me. “Come on, Miss Belly. Let’s enjoy the wonderful weather while it lasts.”
The walk to the meadow is easy now, but it’s still novel. It no longer feels like Sandworms from Beetlejuice are going to swallow me whole every time I am out of sight of my house. I recognize each crack in the sidewalk, but each day, a new dandelion or wildflower appears somewhere along the path. It is familiar and constantly changing.
Pork Belly dutifully carries her ball all the way there and makes me throw it until my arm is tired and she’s exhausted. Still, she insists on carrying it all the way home.
Isaac is waiting for us on the front porch when we get back. She hands him the slimy ball before flopping on the cool grass a few feet away. “Thanks, girl,” he laughs. “Did she have fun?”
“I think with the amount she had me throwing the ball, I could try out for a baseball team.”
“Well, I’ll have to give you a massage later. Can’t have that arm freezing up before the big tryouts.” He winks at me and kisses me on the cheek. “The houses are all ready. Supplies are all accounted for. How are you doing?”
“Nervous,” I tell him as I pick at my cuticles. “I’m afraid I’m going to have a week-long panic attack. How are you doing?”
“Nervous because hurricanes are scary. I was here for a couple of them when I was a kid. But Uncle Rob always kept us safe.” He pulls an old, tattered binder from behind his back that I didn’t notice before. “He kept notes of everything he did for each of them,” he says as he pages through it. There are checklists in neat script dating back to the 70s—pictures and polaroids of damage to the neighborhood and pages and pages of notes. As Isaac turns the pages, the pictures get more modern; the checklists are mixes of handwritten pages and printouts. “I found it when I moved in. It makes me feel better knowing he did this for decades and never once got hurt.”
It soothes me, too. “This is cool. Thank you for showing me.”
“I thought you might like it. I am trying to think of something to do with the pictures. Revisiting it immediately made the wheels start turning in my head.” He smiles into the distance, no doubt letting those wheels spin artistic gold. After a moment, he snaps out of it. “Hey, I got us something to do when the power goes out.”
Lack of power always makes me nervous. While we have plenty of batteries and battery packs and a camp stove, something about it seems extra terrifying. “If you say a puzzle, I will go back to my house.”
He pulls out a pair of books from behind his back. Does he have a Mary Poppins bag back there, or am I unobservant? I lean back a little to check. No bag, just unobservant.
He chuckles a little, no doubt understanding my train of thought. “I thought we could do a book club if you’re feeling up to it. I picked up double copies of this fantasy series. The second book is inside. Thought the escapism might be nice.” He gives me a bashful smile as he hands me a book to look at. “And I’ll go put the puzzles away and dig out the board games.”
I laugh and snuggle into his side. While the nerves buzz under my skin, I know I’ll be okay with Isaac.
“Okay, so hear me out.”
“Brinn, I’ll listen to what you say no matter what,” he says, tone serious and unbudging.
The wind howls outside. While I am in the safe cocoon of Isaac’s house and anxiety medication, the noise and commotion are wearing on me after three days. The power went out yesterday morning, and we’ve been alternating between napping, reading, and playing tug-of-war with PB.
“We should make a blanket fort. I have battery-powered fairy lights in my bag. We can grab some extra sheets and drape them over the table.”
He replies without hesitation. “I’ll put the table on the chairs for more headroom. You grab the sheets.”
Thirty minutes later, Isaac, Pork Belly, and I crawl into the new fort. PB lies on one side of me and Isaac on the other as we relax on the air mattress he blew up. While the sheets don’t block out much sound, the space feels safer immediately. Close and comforting.
“Your headphones, m’lady,” Isaac says as he hands them to me.
“Not ‘m’lady!’” I giggle.
“We’re in a castle, so yes, m’lady.” He smiles at me as I put the headphones on.
“Next time we’re reading a sci-fi, Sir Isaac.”
“Anything for you, my liege,” he laughs.
We read in the fort’s calmness until we’re too tired to read anymore. As I fall asleep, I remind myself to take a picture of the fort to add to Rob’s—now Isaac’s—hurricane binder.