Chapter 4 #2
While Colby tries to get Kona to lie down, I take a moment to scan the house.
It’s both exactly how I thought it would be, and also better.
Cozy, lived-in, loved. A completely open space, with hardwood floors and various throw rugs.
From where I’m standing, I can see the dining area, kitchen, and living room.
Next to the tan couch and cedar coffee table, there’s a huge wicker basket of chunky knitted blankets.
A sitting chair with an ottoman, lamp, and more blankets rest in the corner next to the floor-to-ceiling window.
A huge brick fireplace is against the wall in front of the couch, a few shotguns are attached in a case on the wall, and a pile of wood rests next to it.
The place smells warm and homey, a mix of fresh chopped wood and a little bit of vanilla.
Someday, maybe, I’ll do something like this—make my place a home.
Put up some paintings, buy a few plants, maybe get some throw pillows for my couch.
Being on my fourth apartment in three years is not boding well for my inner Martha Stewart, but I swear she’s in there somewhere, begging to be unleashed.
Colby is at the floor, sitting crisscross in her leggings and oversized hooded sweatshirt, talking to Kona in a low, sweet voice. My gaze travels the sweep of her neck, the line at her jaw, her profile with the cutest nose. Okay, seriously. Stop.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
She unwinds her long, chestnut-colored hair from the ponytail holder and shakes it loose, letting it cascade down her shoulders.
It’s beautiful, thick, luscious, and I picture my fingers gripping it.
Enough. I need to leave. I absolutely need to leave before I say or do something stupid and spend the rest of the week cowering with embarrassment.
I’m standing awkwardly at the door, waiting for my cue to leave.
When Kona slumps all the way down, and closes her eyes, I take it.
“Looks like she’s all good and settled,” I say and shove my foot into a boot.
Colby wraps her hair back on top of her head and sighs.
“Thank God. Ugh, that stupid cone. I hate that she has to wear it. I wish I could just tell her not to lick her wound.” When she glances at me shoving my other foot into a boot, her smile drops.
A moment passes when she swallows. “You don’t have to leave so soon. ”
I really, really do. I feel this thing, the low hum of an electric current, and it’s not rational.
It’s too quick, too unjustified, too predictable.
And the worst part of this—but my only saving grace—is that I don’t think it’s reciprocal.
Colby is giving no indication that she has a similar tingle of energy running through her the way I do.
So, I should go. Because if I stay… I know what happens when I stay.
“Do you want some tea?” she says, already rising from the floor. “I just bought some great cinnamon-spiced loose tea from a shop in Duluth over the holiday.”
My shoulders slump, but not in defeat or disappointment of staying. More in frustration in myself that my pattern continues. “Tea sounds amazing.”
The way Colby’s eyes light up takes away my hesitation.
Perhaps I can shove all this one-sided sexual tension far away, and focus on creating a friendship.
Having a friend might be really good for me.
And just because I’m having tea in this incredible cabin, with the warm lights glowing from the smattering of lamps, with an absolutely stunning woman, doesn’t mean I have to screw it up with anything more than a cup of tea.
Tea is sometimes just goddamn tea.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Colby says, moving to the door, and stuffing her feet back into her boots. “I have something for you in the Jeep. I’ll be right back.”
She has something in the Jeep for me? Now, I’m intrigued. As Colby runs outside to get whatever this mysterious package is, my starched pink scrubs shuffle against my skin as I move over to Kona and sit on the couch with her at my feet.
Ten minutes later, after Colby returned from outside and beelined for the kitchen, and I checked my emails and replied to a text from Leo, a fresh cinnamon scent fills the air.
Colby comes into the room, holding two mugs in one hand and a plate of goodies in the other.
I leap to help her before settling back down on what’s got to be the most comfortable couch in existence.
I pull the mug to my nose and take a deep inhale. “Yum, this smells amazing.”
“It’s so good,” Colby says, moving to the fireplace.
“About ten years ago or so, I went on vacation to the UK, and there was this tiny café in Cornwall that served the best cinnamon and apple tea. I’ve been sort of obsessed with finding that same flavor here.
This isn’t it, but it’s a close second.”
With the ease of someone who’s done this a million times, she stuffs a few newspapers in between a couple of logs, swipes a match, and gets the fire going before I even take a second sip.
“I bet everything over there just tasted better, huh?” I say, lifting the mug to my mouth. Mmmm. She’s not wrong. I’m normally a coffee gal, but this is delicious.
Colby chuckles as she returns to the couch.
“Yes, it really did. But… I’ve gotta admit, Zoey’s Bakery could be a really strong contender.
” She nudges the plate of cookies and cupcakes towards me.
“That place is my favorite. Pretty sure everyone who lives in this town shares the same sentiment. But you live here, so you’d obviously know that. ”
God, this is so awkward. Not the chuckle, which is cute and disarming.
But the whole situation with Zoey. Where exactly is the line between calling out something deeply personal too quickly to someone I basically just met, and holding out too long where it gets weird that you didn’t mention it sooner?
“Are you two friends?” Colby asks as she sinks her teeth into the chocolate and raspberry cupcake.
“You probably don’t remember this, but I saw you guys together last year on the sidewalk on Main Street.
We actually chatted for a minute. I mean, it was no big deal at all.
I just… I don’t talk to many people, so it was pretty memorable for me, but you talk to like a million people a week, so… ”
A blush creeps across my cheeks. She does remember me. “I totally remember you,” I say. You’re very hard to forget. “I was going to say something when you walked into the clinic, but you were so worried about Kona, and I didn’t want to make it all about me.”
“Oh, you remember? No, I get that,” Colby says, wrapping her pretty mouth around the mug, and I think she’s hiding a smile. But I also think a lot of things, read into things, tend to get overly emotional about things… “So do you hang out with Zoey often?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Um, no. We don’t.
” Oh God, okay. I have to call this out, right?
It would be weird if I don’t. And unless I want to fake some sort of emergency and leave, which I really don’t want to do, I need to tell her.
“Zoey’s, ah, she’s my ex-girlfriend. We’re cordial, of course, and anytime I’ve seen her in town, I’ll wave or say hi, but no. We’re not friends.”
Colby slowly lowers her mug, and a long moment stretches between us. “You and Zoey dated?”
“We did,” I say and take another long sip of the warm cinnamon drink. “For like… a decade.”
Eyebrows shoot up. “What?!” Colby crisscrosses her legs and rests her elbows on her knees. “You and Zoey from the bakery dated for a decade? I have so many questions.”
I giggle at her wide-eyed, surprised look.
The town is small enough, a couple thousand people at most, but most of the time it feels even more close-knit than that.
And as celebratory and affirming as this town is, there’s not a ton of queer people around here.
I’m surprised that when Zoey and I split three years ago, it didn’t make the front pages.
“How do you not know this? Pretty sure it was the hottest gossip in town that year. Might have even trickled into the hottest gossip the following year.”
Colby shrugs and tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt to the middle of her palms. “I don’t talk to a lot of people.”
“But didn’t you say you’ve been here for like six years?”
“I really don’t talk to people.”
Hmmm. Yet more that I want to unpack, but not sure if now’s the time.
I take a bite into the dessert, and yep, I’m immediately thrown back to when Zoey and I were together.
Zoey was the type of person who when she set her mind to something, it stuck.
She loved baking and dreamed of opening a bakery.
So, she followed through, and here we are—Zoey’s Bakery is heading into her eighth year of occupancy.
And yes, back then, I was so proud of her, and wanted her to follow her dreams. But I wanted so many other different things, too.
I wanted to sell our belongings and backpack around Europe.
I wanted to skydive off the Empire State Building, and go skiing in the Alps, and try new things, find something that gave me that spark, that zing, that I craved.
But Zoey wanted to be here, in this life, in this town.
She’s such a nice woman, and we had a lot of great years.
But during our relationship, our communication was often just slightly off.
Colby and I polish off the tea and treats, chat about my job as a vet tech, how much I like the clinic, and talk about no matter how much my cousin Leo sometimes likes to get under my skin, it’s been nice to reconnect with him since moving back here last year.
When I glance at my watch, I can’t believe over two hours have passed.
I don’t even remember the last time I sat and talked with anyone for two hours.
“I really should get going before that dog that peed on me earlier today has its DNA seep into my skin.” I grin and help gather the plates and mugs and follow Colby to the kitchen. “Thank God for always having backup scrubs in my bag, but my body is begging for me to get in the shower.”
Colby scrunches her nose. “No doubt. You might have to do an extra loofah routine to really get it out,” she says and sets the plate in the sink. “Can we all just be thankful it wasn’t cat pee?”
I laugh. “So true.”
At the door, Colby thanks me again as I tug on my boots, then reaches for my jacket hanging next to hers at the door. She’s quiet as I get ready, standing with a flushed face, and the amber in her eyes glints under the flicker of the fireplace.
Oof. She’s really beautiful. She mentioned that she has no one at home, no one to call to help with Kona, but how does someone who’s so sweet and obviously caring have no one? Traumatic breakup of her own, I wonder?
Once I zip up and turn to leave, Colby reaches over and pulls me into a very surprising hug.
A deep, hearty, heavy hug, and I can’t help but melt as I catch the scent of something soft and subtle on her neck, maybe lavender and sage.
She has impossibly firm, strong arms, which carry a warmth to them that I haven’t felt in a very, very long time.
What’s happening here? I hug and touch people all the time.
My dance troupe, friends I hang out with, Leo, the list goes on.
I probably hug someone at least once a week.
But this feels different. A spark flickers, igniting an electric charge, and when she pulls back, pink blooms across her face, and something in her eyes shifts.
I see it. Whatever just happened, she feels it, too.
And I fucking bolt.