5. Tyler
Forced Proximity
I find myself pacing the floor of my cabin, a place I”ve considered my escape from the world.
It”s nestled quietly in the woods, a mere ten-minute drive from the town”s prying eyes but miles away in terms of privacy and peace. The idea of inviting Dr. Marlene here — Sarah, as she insists I call her now — for dinner seems both exhilarating and anxiety-inducing.
Would she see it as a step too far, or would she appreciate the gesture for what it is: an attempt to show her a side of me that”s not just another name on her appointment list?
The memory of our last encounter outside her office hits me like a playful slap of reality, reminding me of the boundaries we”re meant to dance around.
Offering her a drink at the bar was my moment of wild abandon. She gracefully sidestepped me, reminding me of the etiquette that”s supposed to simmer between a therapist and their client.
It”s a gentle but necessary nudge back to our lanes, yet here I am, plotting to not just cross those lines but to dynamite them into oblivion by inviting her into my hideout.
At first, making a reservation at a restaurant seemed like the logical choice, but the risk of being seen and the unspoken judgments from familiar faces made the idea unappealing.
This cabin, with its walls echoing nothing but the serenity of nature, might be the perfect compromise. It allows us the privacy we need, away from the nosy residents of our small town.
Recalling my conversation with Richard, the old cowboy from the ranch, brings a half-smile to my face. I”d broached the subject of Sarah”s favorite foods with casual ease I hadn”t felt, disguising my probing behind a veneer of casual conversation.
His revelation that she loved chicken and dumplings — and was practically a passionate devotee of chocolate pecan pie — felt like striking gold.
With the afternoon wide open, I roll up my sleeves and dive into the kitchen. Cooking is my second language, a personal kind of therapy. Mrs. Carolyn taught me to cook more than macaroni on the stove, and the primary staple of eggs and bacon.
I kick things off with the pie, giving it time to chill, before I tackle the chicken and dumplings. It”s a dance of sorts, methodical and almost meditative. Each chop, stir, and simmer keeps me focused on not making a mistake. I realize that Sarah is the third person I”ve ever cooked for, the first and second being my son and Mrs. Carolyn, and it gives me weird jitters.
Why am I going out of my way to do this? Why not just take her to a small diner? She accepted my invitation to dinner, meaning she didn”t mind us being seen together. We”re not exactly friends, but we aren”t strangers either, since I”ve been seeing her for therapy for over a month.
The rhythm of cooking, the steady chop and sizzle, has a way of smoothing out the rough edges of my thoughts. I focus on the task, measuring flour for the dumplings with a precision that”s more often found in my work than in my kitchen. But today, the kitchen is my workshop and chicken and dumplings is my project.
I start with the chicken, seasoning it with salt, pepper, and rosemary and letting it brown in the pot. There”s something deeply satisfying about watching it transform, the golden crust forming under my watch. The smell fills the kitchen, a comforting, warm aroma that seems to wrap around me, soothing my nerves.
While the chicken simmers, I turn to the dumplings, my hands moving with a confidence I didn”t know I had in the kitchen. Mrs. Carolyn”s voice echoes in my head, reminding me that cooking is as much about feeling as it is about measurements.
”The dough should be soft but not sticky,” she”d say, and I find myself repeating the words under my breath as I mix.
By the time I drop the dumplings into the pot, my earlier anxiety has simmered down, much like the dish on the stove. As I watch them puff up, I realize that this isn”t just about impressing Sarah or proving something. It”s about sharing a part of myself that Mrs. Carolyn helped nurture, a part that my son got to see every day.
The final touch is a handful of fresh parsley, chopped and sprinkled over the top. I step back, looking over the meal I”ve prepared, and for a moment, I allow myself a slight sense of pride. Cooking, I understand now, is more than therapy. It”s a way of communicating and sharing joy and comfort without needing words.
And as I set the table, my mind isn”t filled with doubts about the evening ahead but with quiet hope. Maybe, in the shared space of a meal made with care, Sarah and I can find common ground beyond the confines of a therapist”s office. Maybe, just maybe, this chicken and dumplings can say what I”ve struggled to articulate—that beneath the surface, there”s someone worth getting to know.
A couple of hours have passed as I nervously stand on the front porch and see Sarah”s car pull up the gravel driveway. My heart skips a beat, anxiety and anticipation swirling in my chest. I smooth down the front of my shirt and take a deep breath to calm the flurry of emotions, as I step off the porch to greet her.
Sarah steps out of her car, her expression confused and curious. I can”t help but notice how the sunlight catches in her hair, framing her face in a soft halo. Her brows furrow slightly when she sees me standing there as if she”s trying to piece together the scenery before her.
”Tyler, I wasn”t expecting—Why are we having dinner here?” she asks, her voice laced with genuine confusion. There”s a vulnerability there I hadn”t expected to see, and it catches me off guard.
I step forward, offering a smile to lead her inside as I reach to take her jacket. ”I thought you might prefer this,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “You seemed a bit uncomfortable the last time we bumped into each other in town. And, I don”t know, I just figured it might be easier here—more private.”
She hesitates momentarily, then nods as she hands over her jacket.
”I”m sorry about that. It was hypocritical of me, wasn”t it?” Sarah”s cheeks pink slightly, and she looks away.
”I”ve shared meals with plenty of people around Pine Creek. I shouldn”t have been so off-putting towards you, especially when I don”t know much about you. Not personally, anyway, aside from... you know, your professional life.”
I nod, understanding the unspoken reference to my days spent on the rodeo circuit, riding bulls, and chasing belt buckles. ”It”s alright,” I reassure her. ”Come on in. I”ll show you around.”
The cabin is small but cozy, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun streaming through the windows. I give Sarah a quick tour, pointing out the little details that make this place feel like home. I tell her the reason why I purchased it.
I needed a private escape when I felt myself going crazy and didn”t want my son to see me in that state. Throughout, she nods and smiles, a gentle warmth in her demeanor that I hadn”t fully appreciated until now.
”What”s that amazing smell?” she asks suddenly, her eyes brightening with curiosity.
”Oh, uh, that”s dinner,” I say, leading her back to the small kitchen. I gesture for her to sit at the kitchen table, and she does, her gaze following me as I scoop a generous portion of chicken and dumplings into a bowl.
I place the bowl in front of her, and her eyes light up with surprise. ”Chicken and dumplings?” she echoes, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
I feel my cheeks warm at her reaction. ”Yeah, I, uh, I heard it was your favorite,” I admit shyly, avoiding her gaze as I take the seat opposite hers after getting her a glass of iced tea. Watching her face, the openness strikes me, the genuine appreciation shining back at me.
”Tyler, I”m touched,” she says, her voice soft and filled with an emotion I can”t quite place. “No one”s... It”s been a long time since someone made something special for me.”
We settle into a comfortable rhythm, the clink of utensils against our bowls filling the silence as we dive into the meal. The savory aroma envelops the cabin, creating a relaxing atmosphere.
Watching Sarah take the first bite, her eyes briefly closed in appreciation, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. It”s oddly satisfying to see her enjoy something I”ve made. ”This is delicious, Tyler,” she says, her smile radiating sincerity. ”Thank you.”
I grin, feeling a warm sense of pride. ”I”m glad you like it. It”s the least I could do.” The conversation slowly shifts as we speak about our lives beyond the surface level. Talking to her feels natural. I”m telling her about Mrs. Carolyn before I know it. ”She”s been with us since Timmy was born,” I explain. ”I honestly don”t know what I would”ve done without her. She”s like family now.”
Sarah listens intently, her fork pausing mid-air. ”It sounds like she”s been a huge help to you and Timmy.”
I nod, stirring my bowl absentmindedly. ”Yeah, she”s been amazing. Whenever I”m home, I try to take over so she can have a break. It”s important to me to be there for Timmy, especially with all the traveling I do for rehab and therapy sessions.”
I pause momentarily, realizing how much I”m opening up to her. It feels right, though, like Sarah”s someone who genuinely cares to listen.
Ironically, this is the kind of openness Sarah wanted in her office during therapy.
Maybe being in a homier atmosphere is helping me to open up easier.
The conversation takes a more profound turn, and I find myself talking about something I rarely do – my family.
”My family, well, they”ve never really been there for me, not in the way that matters. From my grandparents to my parents, uncles, and aunts, even my cousins, it”s always been about what I can do for them, not the other way around.”
I can see Sarah”s expression change to one of concern, her eyes softening. ”That sounds tough, Tyler.”
”It”s been a challenge,” I admit, feeling a heaviness lift off me as I speak. ”Their greed, their constant need for more... it pushed me away. I changed my number years ago, moved to Pine Creek, and never looked back. They don”t even know I live here.”
”It sounds like you”ve built a pretty good life for yourself, though,” she encourages gently, reaching over to place her hand over mine. Her touch is comforting and reassuring in a way I didn”t know I needed.
”Yeah,” I say, looking into her eyes, finding an understanding I hadn”t expected. ”Finding out I would be a dad changed everything for me. It gave me a purpose, you know? Suddenly, I wasn”t so alone anymore.” My voice is quiet, but in the silence of the cabin, it feels like it echoes around us, carrying the weight of my words.
Sarah nods, squeezing my hand. ”I can see that. You”re doing an amazing job, Tyler. Anyone who knows about your son can see how much you love Timmy.”
Sarah”s gentle yet hesitant voice breaks through my train of thought. ”Can I ask... what about Timmy”s mother?” Her eyes search mine for permission to proceed.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to lay it all bare. ”Joyce... she was a one-night stand. And honestly, I think she messed with the protection that night. She was the one who offered me the condom, and later on, I couldn”t shake off the suspicion that she might have poked holes in it after learning about the pregnancy.”
It feels surreal to discuss this out loud, especially with Sarah.
Her brow furrows in confusion and concern. ”Why would she do that?”
”It”s complicated, but she thought she”d score a payday by getting pregnant. I guess she figured since I have a bit of a name for myself, it”d be her ticket to something bigger.”
Sarah”s expression softens further, her eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and disbelief. ”That”s... that”s awful, Tyler. I”m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I shake my head slightly, a wry smile forming. ”The craziest part? She thought she could use the pregnancy to bind herself to me somehow. But she miscalculated. When she finally told me about Timmy, she made it seem like she was doing me a favor, keeping it all hush-hush to ”protect” me.”
”And the public... they never found out?”
”No, they didn”t. When Joyce revealed she was pregnant, I had my lawyer draw up a non-disclosure agreement. She couldn”t talk about the pregnancy, our child, or even me. In exchange, she signed away her parental rights, and I ensured she was compensated well enough to start a new life. Far away from us.”
Sarah reaches across, her hand finding mine again, this time with a grip that conveys a mixture of empathy and support. ”I can”t even imagine how hard that must have been for you, Tyler. To deal with all that, and then to take care of Timmy alone.”
I nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and relief. ”It was tough, yeah. But having Timmy? He makes it all worth it. Everything else falls into place.”
The wild uproar of a storm outside quickly drowns out the clink of forks and knives against our plates. In no time, the dining room”s comfortable vibe gets swallowed by the relentless dance of rain pelting against the windows and gusts of wind that scream like spirited stallions.
Sarah”s eyes dart towards the window, her earlier calm replaced by strong tension. ”Wow, that storm escalated quickly. It sounds pretty intense out there.”
I glance through the window, observing the storm”s fury with a nonchalance honed from years of being used to heavy thunderstorms. ”It”s fine. The cabin is sturdy enough for this kind of weather.”
”But it looks dangerous,” she protests, her voice laced with a hint of panic.
Sensing her distress, I lean back in my chair, trying to inject a dose of calm into the situation. ”Hey, it’s fine. Really. If it”s still bad when you”re ready to leave, you can always wait it out here. Or worst comes to worst, you can spend the night and head out tomorrow once it”s all cleared up.”
She chews on her lip, clearly wrestling with the idea. The thought of her staying the night sends an unexpected jolt through me, but I do my best to keep my expression neutral.
Before she can respond, I stand up and head to the kitchen counter near the refrigerator, sensing a need to lighten the mood. I return holding a plate with a big piece of chocolate pecan pie. ”Here, try this. I baked it myself,” I announce with a hint of pride, placing the plate in front of her.
Sarah”s apprehension seems to melt away as she stares at the dessert. ”You baked this?” she asks, her voice imbued with surprise.
”Yeah, baking has always been a bit of a hobby,” I admit, watching her reaction closely while feeling nervous. I’ve never baked chocolate pecan pie before. This was the second pie I baked today. The first was a failed attempt that went straight into the trash.
I sit down on the same side of the table she’s on instead of across from her like before, maybe because I oddly want to be closer to her. Her sweet perfume scent is stronger this close to her, to the point I’m mesmerized.
Taking her fork, she scoops up a sizable piece of the pie and brings it to her mouth. Her eyes close in appreciation as she savors the taste. ”Oh, Tyler, this is amazing,” she declares, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten.
With a glowing review of my pie, her anxiety about the storm dissipates. ”I... I think I”ll be fine staying here until the storm passes,” she finally concedes, her voice more robust now, laced with a newfound steadiness.
The storm outside seems to rage with a ferocity that mirrors my heart”s racing. It”s strange, this feeling as if the universe conspired to lock us away together, away from the rest of the world.
”So, you”ve got hobbies,” Sarah begins, breaking the silence with a playful tone as she takes another bite of the pie. ”Baking, huh? What else do you do when you”re not being an amazing father or hiding out in your cabin?”
I chuckle at her description, finding her curiosity about my life flattering. ”Well,” I pause, pondering over my next words. ”As you can see with the meal I prepared... cooking as well. The men at the other ranch I used to be at were very sexist. “Cooking and cleaning are things women do”… those were the kind of things they would say. So, I never felt comfortable showing off my cooking skills or baking for our events. I feel I can do that here in Pine Creek. I love experimenting with new recipes.”
Her intrigued expression encourages me further. ”Really? I”d love to try some of your test dishes sometime,” she says earnestly.
With courage I didn”t know I possessed, I reached across the small space separating us, taking her hand in mine. ”Sarah,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. I can”t explain this, but...”
The rest of my words are lost as she leans in, and our lips meet in a kiss that feels like a promise. The storm outside might be howling, but here in my cabin, there”s only us. Every touch and kiss feels like a discovery of something precious and long-awaited.
I lift her into my arms as I deepen the kiss. The world outside fades away, but the sound of the rain stays. I lift her into my arms from her chair to carry her out of the kitchen.
The thunder is like a soundtrack for us… background music to the passion filling up the cabin as we continue kissing like we never wanted to stop. I carried her through the living room towards the hallway where one of the bedrooms is. My heart pounded against my chest like a drum as I entered the bedroom and lay her on the bed.
“Sarah.. I have no idea what’s going on with us, but I promise I didn’t invite you to the cabin for this. It’s just.. when you kissed me..”
“I hope you’re not about to apologize, Tyler. I am a grown woman, and I kissed you because I wanted to. And I let you pick me up and carry me wherever you wanted because I want you like you want me. Maybe this storm keeping me here overnight is a sign.”
Her words shock me, and she begins to unbutton her blouse while I stare transfixed at her. I start undressing as well, following her lead and hoping that this is really okay. We can’t blame anything on the alcohol tomorrow because we only had iced tea for dinner. Or maybe I’m slightly confused since she looked ready to run in the other direction, just from me offering to buy her a drink at the bar.
Maybe when I opened up to her over dinner, a bond finally grew and forged between us. She sees the other side of me that I rarely show anyone else.
We free our bodies from our clothes and find ourselves on the bed together. I am swept up amid passionate kissing and these electrifying feelings I have never felt before.
The rain pounds against the windows, mimicking the intensity of our bodies pressed together. Sarah”s hands roam down my back with a burning hunger, pulling me closer until there is no space between us. We desperately gasp and moan, our sounds blending in harmony as we seek more from each other.
As I enter her, she consumes me from the inside out. A fire rages through my veins, but it pales compared to the inferno growing between us. It feels almost surreal to think that we were two strangers brought together by a storm just hours ago.
But now, there is no denying the intense connection between us. I feel waves of emotion crashing over me with every touch, every caress. And as we move together with an urgent rhythm, everything else fades into oblivion.
Sarah”s nails dig into my skin, urging me on as she cries out my name at the height of her pleasure. She knows exactly how to push me to my limits and beyond.
We can”t bear to part from each other even after we both find release. We lie there in a tangled mess of limbs and breathless gasps, completely lost in each other.
”I can”t believe this is real,” I whisper hoarsely into her ear.
She traces circles on my back with a contented smile. ”It”s very real,” she replies, her voice laced with pure satisfaction.
I kiss her deeply before nuzzling my head against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart beneath my ear. The storm passes outside, but inside this room, a different kind of storm rages on - fueled by passion and desire that shows no signs of slowing down.