8. Blaze
Blaze
The weekend is spectacularly beautiful and jam-packed with work.
I’m so busy helping retreat guests wring the most out of the perfect autumn weather that I don’t have time to visit the construction site with Brooke.
She doesn’t seem to mind, because if I’m barely around all weekend, she seems to be home even less.
When we finally cross paths on Sunday evening, she’s doing laundry and I’m restocking the kitchen after a grocery run.
Sometimes I attend Sunday supper at the retreat, but I’ve been there so much I just need a night at home.
Besides, Shawn told me when we were fishing early this morning, before the group hike I led with half a dozen other retreat guests, that he wasn’t planning to be there.
Not that I necessarily would have made a point of going if he were. Probably.
“Busy weekend, huh?” Brooke says, helping out by putting away the sack of dog food in the tiny pantry closet.
“It’s peak leaf season, so yeah. You seem busy yourself. I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
She shuts the cupboard door with a sharp click. “Yeah. I stayed out pretty late.”
I wait, but she doesn’t elaborate. “You want me to throw something together for dinner? We haven’t watched a show together in a while.”
“Sounds good.” Her phone rings, and she pulls it from her pocket. “Be back in a sec.”
She heads to her bedroom, and I wonder briefly who’s calling her that she doesn’t want me to know about.
Monday, the weather takes a sharp turn. Instead of sunny and gorgeous, it’s damp and chilly.
I can tell we’re in for a wet few days. I’m bummed about what it means for house construction progress, but I don’t mind the slower pace at the retreat.
I set up badminton in the ballroom, and Shawn comes by to play a round with me and a couple other guests.
The racket looks laughably tiny in his big hands, and he doesn’t quite have the hang of serving, but we still manage to win, his face flushed with exertion and pleasure as he shakes hands with our opponents.
Tuesday, it’s ping-pong, and if I thought he dwarfed the badminton racket, he makes a ping-pong paddle look doll sized.
Despite his protests about not being any good, his hand-eye coordination must transfer from one sport to another.
We high five when we win the best two-of-three against Marika and Nita, who put up a fierce offense.
Wednesday, we get a break from the rain, so I scoot over to the construction site and watch for a while as Luis’s crew adds to the framing.
It’s exciting to see the shape of the house appear out of what feels like thin air.
I run some errands and donate blood in the afternoon.
It occurs to me as I’m falling asleep that night that I didn’t manage to see Shawn today.
I hope he had a good one. I have the phone numbers for the cabins written down somewhere, but it would be strange to randomly call up a guest just to ask how he’s doing.
We’ve seen each other nearly every day since our night hike—I’m getting used to it.
I’ve been replaying our conversation from that night over in my mind, wondering if I said something inappropriate, or too much, or not enough.
The guy cried in front of me, and it should have been awkward, but he seemed, I don’t know.
Grateful? Ever since, he’s seemed relaxed with me, happy to see me, even.
That makes me feel a little guilty. Because the more time I spend with him, the more I have to admit that my motivation for offering him the usual trademark above-and-beyond excellent service associated with Sanctuary Lake Retreat is less professional and more personal.
I’m going above and beyond because it’s him. Because I want him to like me.
Because I kinda like him.
Which is stupid. He’s a guest. He’s not thinking of me that way. If anything, we’re starting to be friends.
So I’m definitely not calling him in his cabin at nine o’clock at night.
I don’t sleep well that night.
Thursday the rain comes back, so I pull out every board game in the supply cupboard and set them up in the ballroom.
The teenagers staying with their parents in cabin eight ask about video games.
I tell them we don’t have any of those, but I do remember that in The Snug there’s a new collaborative game they might like.
I grab my raincoat from the peg, make Misty stay behind since I don’t want to inflict wet dog smell on the group, and make a dash for The Snug.
The lights are on and the gas fireplace is lit when I walk inside, shaking as much water off my slicker as I can. “Hello?”
“Blaze.” It’s Shawn, greeting me with a broad smile. He’s wearing a sweater and jeans and sitting in one of the two armchairs with a book in his hands. I’ve clearly interrupted him.
“What are you reading?” I ask as I raid the window seat storage area for the game I had in mind.
“Uh, a…book,” he says vaguely.
I turn around, game box in hand, as he’s putting the book in question face down on a side table. Looks like a fantasy novel. “We’re having a board game tournament in the ballroom if you want to join us.”
“Is it still raining?” He stands and stretches, his sweater lifting to reveal a hint of golden skin above the waistband of his jeans.
“Oh yeah. Might stop by suppertime.”
“It was lighter when I walked over. I didn’t bring my jacket.”
“You can share mine,” I offer, shrugging out of the left sleeve.
He looks at me doubtfully. “I don’t think we’re both going to fit.”
He’s right, and it was probably weird of me to propose sharing in the first place. But if I back off now, it’ll seem even weirder.
“We’ll run,” I say, gesturing to him.
Shawn switches off the fireplace, then the lights.
He crowds under the coat with me, shoulder to shoulder, seams straining as we dash through the rain, me holding the game box to my chest. This close, I can smell some kind of mint on his breath.
We’re both getting plenty wet between the sodden ground and the steady rain.
“Well, that didn’t work at all,” he says when we burst through the side door into the ballroom. His jeans are soaked to the calf, and his light blue sweater is darkened across the front with moisture.
I burst out with a hearty laugh, hand the hard-won game box over to the teenagers, and run a hand through my damp hair.
Shawn’s eyelashes are wet, and he’s laughing, too.
We move to the fireplace to dry out. This is a log-burning one, not gas, and I add a couple of fresh logs since we’re going to be here for a while.
“Feels good,” he says.
“You’re drenched.” I point to his feet. “You can take off your shoes to dry if you want.”
He toes off his sneakers, pushes them closer to the fire. He’s wearing plain white athletic socks underneath, and it does something to me to see him in them—like it’s an intimacy I haven’t earned.
I shouldn’t be feeling any sort of way about him, period. I resolve to shake it off, clap my hands together, and ask who wants to play a game.
Friday dawns with a heavy mist over the lake, but experience tells me it’ll burn off by noon. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get some work in at the house today. All this rain has left us even more behind.
Since I can’t solve that problem, I focus on one I can. The storm knocked a large branch onto Nita’s garden, and Roger, the groundskeeper, asked for my help to remove it. He runs the chainsaw while I lug pieces of wood to the woodshed, where he’ll season them for future use.
On my way back from carrying a load, I run into Shawn in jogging attire. He’s shiny with sweat, the veins in his forearms pronounced. I brush tree bark off my front and wave at him.
His face lights up. I can pretend he’s glad to see me, specifically, from that expression, and then he says, “Hey, I was hoping to see you,” and my gay little heart gallops with anticipation.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, trying to sound normal.
“Yeah, the Laurels’ first playoff game is tomorrow afternoon. Is the invitation to watch the game at your place still open?”
Right. He only wants me for my television. But since I was going to try to catch the game anyway, I find myself nodding. “Of course. Come on over.” My voice sounds strangely calm, as if former professional baseball players come over to watch playoff games with me all the time.
“You live over there, right?” He points accurately. I love a man with a good sense of direction.
“Yep, take the road around the lake and eventually you’ll run into my place.”
“Sweet. See you tomorrow.” He grins and jogs on.
“See you tomorrow,” I mumble to his back.
This is fine.