Chapter 7
SEVEN
COLBY
A woman is at my house, right now, for dinner.
I am having a woman over for dinner. Not that it was planned, of course.
This stew is my favorite, and during the winter I make it on a constant rotation.
And I always make enough to last for a week.
I love to cook, but sometimes it feels wasted.
When I was married, this was sort of my thing.
I’d take a few cooking classes and spend a chunk of time on the weekends decompressing by making me and Amelia fancy meals.
It’s been six years since I’ve cooked for a woman, and I think I’m going to pass out from holding my breath as I watch Josie take her first bite.
“Mmmm.” She rolls her eyes and moans. “Colby, this is phenomenal.” She scoops up another bite, blows on top to cool it off, and swallows it down. “Seriously, so good.”
Please don’t blush. “Yeah? You think so?” I ask with a lifted brow.
Josie waves her hand. “Nope. Don’t do it. This is not the time for the humblebrag thing. You know it’s good. There’s no way in hell you don’t know it’s delicious.”
Do I have a sort of cooking praise kink?
Is that a thing? Because everything in me warms at her words.
Feeding someone, knowing they love it, watching them enjoy it, is almost as good as eating it myself.
“Well, I do think it’s good, but honestly, I haven’t cooked for anyone in so many years that it’s hard to know. ”
Josie cuts a slice of rustic bread from the board in front of us, and hands me a piece. “Why not?”
Well, I walked directly into that one, but I don’t want to talk about Amelia. Not yet, not now. I dunk the bread into the stew, and chew. Finally, I shrug. “Life of a single person, I guess.”
“Ah,” she says and doesn’t push. Thankfully.
I glance at Kona snuggled on the dog bed at the edge of the couch, still sleeping. “Man, she really isn’t feeling good. Normally, when I sit down to eat, she is right at my leg, panting and drooling. A solid number of yoga pants have been destroyed for the evening by her saliva.”
Josie peeks over at Kona with a nod. “In two days, those antibiotics will kick in and she’ll feel so much better. Soon enough you’ll have a solid drool puddle at your toes.”
As we continue eating, a few things happen.
One, Josie tells me stories about her workday, she goes into more detail about the parrot who wouldn’t stop swearing, and talks about holding a baby goat.
Two, I talk about when I moved to Minnesota and discovered my love of snowmobiling, snowshoeing, and cross-country skiing.
Also that I absolutely did not love snowboarding, which I tried once, and only once, and thanked the universe that I didn’t break my face.
Three, I become so comfortable with her that I forget this is only the second time she’s been in my house.
When we finish, I move to the stove. While I pour the stew into containers for the week, and Josie washes dishes, we laugh.
I actually fucking laugh. Of course, it started because Josie didn’t know how the kitchen hose worked and accidently sprayed herself in the face, but it was a genuine laugh, sparking something alive in me, and I realized how much time has passed since my body did that activity.
Right now is a natural time for Josie to leave.
We had dinner, Kona is settled, our bellies are full.
But she is not making any movement for the door, and I don’t want her to go.
I snap the lid on the final container, shove it in the fridge, and eye the chilled wine on the lower shelf. “Do you want to have a glass of wine?”
Josie slings the dish towel back on the hanging rack. A moment passes where she tugs her lower lip between her teeth, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far when she nods. “Sure.”
I bite back a smile. And then I breathe through the nerves.
It’s just wine. Like dessert. No biggie, no hidden message, no reason to be freaking the hell out right now.
My trembling hands struggle to uncork the bottle, but thankfully, Josie is back on the couch, pink scrubs and all, sitting near Kona.
Not only do the scrubs not look all that comfortable, they also look a little chilly. I have the urge to offer her a sweater, but she pulls one of the knitted blankets from the wicker basket and tucks it over her legs.
“Here you go,” I say as I hand her a glass. The fireplace is roaring, but I add another log, so I don’t have to keep getting up. And perhaps to buy myself a few more moments to pull my nerves together.
It’s just a glass of wine. Yes, yes, it’s just wine, and Josie is just a person, but she’s also pretty damn amazing.
She’s funny, and generous, and kind. She’s come out to my house now, twice for God’s sake, out of the kindness of her big, beautiful heart.
And her text messages to me, showing she’s thinking about me, making me smile, are drops in this empty bucket of mine.
And… she’s beautiful. I can’t get over it.
Those warm, chocolate brown eyes. That pretty mouth.
The soft pink-and-blond hair that looks like angel feathers.
She’s got this skin, pale and flushed that looks so soft, so inviting, that I have the tiniest urge to swipe my thumb across her cheek, just once, to confirm it’s as silky as it looks.
I settle into the couch next to her and tug the other half of the blanket over me.
“I still can’t get over that you and Zoey were together.
” I twirl the wine in my glass and take a small sip of the crisp apple-flavored pinot.
“If it’s not too forward, can I ask what happened to you guys?
You both are really nice, good people. I’m surprised it didn’t work out. ”
“Well, thank you for that. She is a really nice person. It’s just…
” Josie tucks her legs under herself, and shifts towards me.
“You know, sometimes people spend so much time being polite, caring, giving, that you lose yourself a bit. Zoey is a people pleaser. You’ve probably noticed that from being in her shop.
And it’s a lovely quality. But in a relationship, it’s not always the best. She said yes to anything, whatever I wanted, and I made all the decisions.
After a while, I think she lost herself in our relationship, and at the same time, I realized that neither of us were fully invested, you know?
I didn’t push enough for her to tell me her needs.
She didn’t advocate. We were, I guess, complacent.
Going through the motions of what a relationship looked like without being fully into the relationship. If that makes sense.”
The wine is smooth, tart, and I continue to take small sips as Josie keeps talking about Zoey.
I respect the hell out of her that she’s not bashing an ex.
It’s a frequent theme on my show, and back when I had a group of friends, ex-bashing was often the main topic of conversation.
But Josie talks about how the issues really ran deeper than being polite, and it took until Zoey proposed for Josie to be slapped with the reality that this was not where she wanted to be.
And she knew Zoey didn’t want that, either.
Through the fireplace crackles in the background, Josie tilts her wine glass to her lips. “I lead with my heart, not my head, in so many situations,” Josie says, swirling the wine. “And my relationship with Zoey was no exception. And to be totally honest, I don’t always make the best decisions.”
This tone piques my ears. “What do you mean?”
A fresh blush of crimson moves through her cheeks, nearly matching the pink of her scrubs.
“God, this is so embarrassing.” She sets the half-drunk glass on the table and scoots back into the couch.
“This sounds really dumb, so you have to hear me out, and reserve any and all judgment for after I leave.”
“This is the safest, most judgment-free zone this side of Lake Superior,” I say, grinning at her sheepish tone. “Promise.”
Josie tugs her bottom lip into her mouth. “God, this is so terrible.” She plops an elbow on the back of the couch and rests the side of her head in her palm. “Have you heard of the podcast Love ’Em or Leave ’Em with Ruby Reanne?”
I choke on the wine in my throat, then quickly follow it with more wine.
Shit. She just brought up my podcast. No one in the entire world knows I’m Ruby.
Not my family, not my former in-laws, not even my bank that handles my ad-dollar transactions.
And I’m never going to tell anyone it’s me. “Oh, yep. I’ve heard of it.”
Josie rakes her fingernails through her pink hair, and nibbles on her lip.
“So, for like two years or so, I was kind of obsessed with the show. I went back and listened to every episode ever made, never missed a new episode, had an alert set up in case Ruby did any bonus episodes, subscribed to her show, the whole nine yards.” She flicks at the stem of her glass with a soft ting, and takes a breath.
“A few months before Zoey and I broke up, there was this one episode, and it just resonated with me so hard. The caller talked about feeling lost in a relationship, how they didn’t think they were the best version of themselves, how they didn’t know if they were with the right person or not.
You’ve listened to the show, so you get the format. ”
You get the format. A thread tugs in my stomach and is knotting.
Josie sighs, and inside those beautiful brown doe eyes, I see her struggle with this story.
I almost want to tell her to stop, that I don’t need to hear any more, but that would be so deeply unfair to stifle someone’s vulnerability.
At the same time, I can’t tell her who I am and what I do, and this is so unethical.
I think. Is it unethical? My insides cringe, and I brace myself to hear more.