Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
BELLE
"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. Since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow," I sing softly to myself as I stare out the window. I didn't think the snowstorm could get worse, but somehow it keeps piling up.
"You’ve got a great voice," Marley says, and I turn to see him standing behind me.
He went to change into sweats and a shirt. Now that I’m seeing him in relaxed clothes, I wonder how this man looks so good in everything he wears.
"Not really," I laugh. "But I'll still do it even if I'm terrible at it."
"That's a good quality to have."
"Terrible singing? I'll add it to my résumé." Which I'm going to need to update sooner than later.
"No,” he chuckles and shakes his head. "When people aren't the best at something, they often don't do it anymore. Or they do it in hiding."
"How do you do that?” I ask, and he looks at me in confusion. “You always say the sweetest things to me that somehow undermine what others have said since I was little."
Maybe it’s because Marley views me in a different light. For some reason, he doesn’t think I'm a mess when he has every right to. I mean, I crashed a car outside his cabin, and now he's stuck with me for who knows how long.
If singing that song makes him think I’ve got good qualities, I’ll keep it up. As of right now, I've got no place to go.
"You need to hang out with a better caliber of people,” he grumbles.
"Hey now," I say, smirking at him. "You're one to talk. You’re up here hanging out by yourself."
"Exactly."
I stare at him as what he means sinks in. He's up here away from the world because of his scar and everyone who judges it. At least that's how it seems to me.
I make my way over to him, needing him to understand that’s not me. I’m not like the people he’s been hiding from.
"I'm sorry that's been your experience with the world. Although I have to admit, it’s lovely up here on the quiet mountain."
"Do you think you'd enjoy living in a cabin all alone?" he asks.
"No freaking way," I respond quickly. Then I swear I see disappointment flash across his face before he masks it. "What I mean is, I couldn’t do it alone. I'd talk to myself non-stop, and that’s not good.” I smile at him as I think it over.
“Now if I had someone with me? Maybe a person of a higher caliber like you were talking about. I could do that for sure."
Marley opens his mouth to say something, but my stomach takes that moment to growl loudly.
“Wow, that’s not embarrassing,” I mutter, and he grins.
“Come on, I’ll feed you.”
“We have lots of sweets,” I remind him.
After I unpacked all the food, I set it on the kitchen island for us to snack on.
“How about dinner first?” he suggests before pulling out a chair for me.
“Are you cooking?” I take a seat and raise an eyebrow in surprise.
“Of course.”
“I can help,” I offer. “But be warned, I don’t have a lot of experience. Unless ramen counts, which I make in a small rice cooker.”
“I’ve got it. I made soup earlier, so I was planning on heating that up and making some grilled cheese to go with it.”
“That sounds amazing,” I tell him as I put my elbows on the counter, and he goes to the stove and starts cooking.
“You really think you could live out in a cabin all alone? You wouldn’t miss life in the city?” He turns back around to look at me, and I freeze, my finger outstretched and reaching for a frosted cookie.
“Busted,” I whisper as I pull my fingers back.
“It’s all yours, beauty,” he chuckles as he picks up the cookie and hands it to me.
“You try it first.” I hold up the cookie and offer him a bite.
He hesitates, but I put it closer to his mouth, and his eyes lock with mine. Marley goes in for the kill, taking the bite, and then I do the same. The sugary sweetness fills my mouth, and he watches me with something like hunger in his eyes.
“It’s good,” I say, and he nods in agreement.
Marley reaches out and swipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth. I see a dash of icing on it before he brings it to his mouth and licks it off. It's a simple act, but it makes heat settle deep in my stomach in a way it never has before.
“I don’t think I’d miss the city,” I tell him when he steps over to the fridge. Did my voice come out all breathy? What is wrong with me? I clear my throat and try again. “It’s the only place I really know, but the city hasn’t been good to me.”
People think if you’re in a big city with people everywhere, it’s not lonely. That’s far from the truth. I mean, I was spoken to more in the small town of Cheerful in the one hour I was there than the whole time I’ve lived in the city. Like, ever!
“It can be rough there,” Marley says. “I enjoy it out here more than I thought. I feel more creative.”
For the short time I’ve been here, I can totally see that. It’s peaceful in a way I’ve never experienced.
“The only thing I create is chaos. Oh, and little creatures.” I hold my fingers up about five or six inches apart to show him how small they are.
“Creatures?”
“I’ll show you.”
I hop down from my seat and go in search of my bag. Marley brought it in earlier with everything else, and I find it next to the front door. I carry it back to the kitchen and start digging through the mess.
“I got some in here somewhere, and I hope they’re okay.” I scowl into the chaos of my bag and keep digging. “Where the heck are you?”
Giving up, I turn my bag over and dump it out. I squeak when a million and one things spill out over the counter and a few items hit the floor. I glance at Marley, who chuckles, making me relax. Maybe he really does like my quirks.
“If this is chaos, I’m good with it.” He bends down and picks up the items that fell, one of them being my phone.
“Here,” I say, when I find the orange squirrel with a white belly. “I crochet.”
“It’s cute.” He takes it from me and smiles down at it.
“You can have it,” I tell him, and his eyes light up.
“Really?”
“Merry Christmas,” I sing-song.
“Thank you, beauty. I’ll treasure it.” That’s the second time he’s called me that. Yes, I’m counting.
Marley goes back to cooking, and we fall into easy conversation. He asks me more questions about crocheting, and I ask him about writing.
“You sound like you love it,” I say when he tells me about how the stories are alive inside his mind.
“Do what you love—”
“And you’ll never work a day in your life,” I say, finishing the quote. I’ve heard it a thousand times, but he’s someone that actually lives by it.
“That’s right,” he says and then looks back at me. “What would you do if you could have any job?”
“I’m guessing one of those panda cuddlers isn’t realistic?" I joke. “But in all seriousness, I don’t think the job I want exists.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this is going to sound lame, but I’d love to cross-stitch while listening to romance audiobooks and drinking hot chocolate with so many marshmallows it upsets my stomach.”
He smirks. “You never know. That’s the kind of job you can do here.”
“But it isn’t a job.”
“I could use an assistant,” he offers, and I know he’s only being nice because the man seems to be a saint.
“That would be a hell of a drive to work every day,” I tease.
“You’d stay here.” He’s completely serious when he says this, and I stare at him. His expression doesn’t change as I laugh it off.
“Right, let’s circle back to that after you’ve spent a few days with me.”
I’m sure by then he’ll have a change of heart. Everyone always does.