Chapter 16
Sixteen
Chase
Thanksgiving
I don't remember the last time I celebrated Thanksgiving. It wasn't the year that my wife died, because she died at the beginning of the summer, and I didn't do anything that year. Haven't done anything since, so it must have been the year before.
"I've never made a Thanksgiving meal before," Paisley says as she stands in the kitchen. In front of her, she has a list of things that need to get done in order for us to cook. She's browsing the list, and I'm standing back, waiting for her to tell me what to do.
"Me neither, back when I was married, she always made the meal. I haven't made one since I lived out here by myself. It's bad, but normally I have some cereal, so just tell me what you think I need to do."
She laughs. "Cereal? I did the same thing."
We've got so much more in common than I ever imagined we would. "It was worth it, since I didn't care to dirty up all the dishes and have leftovers for a month, but this?" I gesture around where we have dishes spread out, ready for what we'll be having today. "It's going to be worth it too."
"Who knows," she shrugs. "Maybe this can end up being a tradition for us?"
Is she suggesting we might have longer than until they can fix the bridge in the spring? I'm almost afraid to ask.
"I'd like that," I tell her honestly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "More than you know."
She smiles, and the way her eyes light up makes my chest tight. "Okay then, let's see if we can pull this off without burning the cabin down."
"That's setting the bar pretty low, don't you think?"
"Have you met us?" She waves the list at me. "We're both cereal-on-Thanksgiving people. I'm being realistic."
I laugh, and the tightness in my chest that's always here on the holidays isn't there this time. "Fair enough. Where do we start?"
She scans the paper, her finger trailing down the handwritten notes. "Turkey first. It's going to take the longest, so we need to get that in the oven. Then we can work on everything else while it cooks."
The turkey is much bigger than it probably should be. But I found it in the deep freezer and it wasn't freezer burnt. I eye it warily. "I'm not going to lie, I have no idea what I'm doing with that thing."
"That makes two of us." Paisley pulls up a video on her phone. "But I found this. It doesn't look too hard."
Famous last words.
Twenty minutes later, we're both covered in butter and herbs, laughing so hard my sides hurt. Paisley has somehow managed to get rosemary in her hair, and I've got what I'm pretty sure is paprika on my forehead.
"This is stupid," she laughs, trying to hold the turkey still while I attempt to tie the legs together with kitchen twine. "Why is it so slippery?"
"Because you insisted we butter the whole fucking thing," I grumble.
"The video said to," she argues, her fingers slipping.
"The video made it look a lot easier than this." I finally get the twine secured and step back, surveying our work. It looks like shit compared to the video, but we've managed to at least get it this far. "There. In the oven it goes."
We wrestle the roasting pan into the oven together, and when I close the door, Paisley lets out a triumphant whoop.
"We did it, Chase."
I glance over at her. "Don't celebrate yet. We still have to see if it's edible."
She swats my arm. "Don't be a downer. Obviously this is going to be amazing."
"I'm a realist," I correct, but I'm grinning. "What's next?"
"Mac and cheese." She says as she starts marking things off her list. "Homemade. With like three different kinds of cheese."
"Three? Do we even have three different kinds here?"
"Go big or go home, right? And yes, I checked last night while I was looking up recipes."
"Paisley, we're kinda home. We can't go anywhere else."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "You know what I mean. Come on, you can shred cheese while I make the sauce."
We work well together. She gives me instructions, and I follow them. The cabin starts to smell like the turkey and cheese. I watch her as she stirs the pot, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, and I realize how much I'm enjoying this.
This is what I've been missing. Not just companionship, but this. The little moments. Not sitting o the couch by yourself, or cooking a meal with someone you care about.
"What are you staring at?" she asks without looking up.
"You."
"Well, that's not creepy," she jokes.
"Just appreciating the view."
Now she does look at me, and there's color in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat from the stove. "The view of me stirring cheese and heavy cream? That's a low bar, Chase."
"Maybe I'm easily impressed these days."
She laughs, shaking her head, but I can tell she enjoys that I'm watching her. "Cheese, mountain man. Shred."
"Yes, ma'am."
We spend the afternoon cooking and laughing.
It's one of the best days I've had in a long time.
We make the rolls from scratch, and I learn that Paisley has absolutely no idea how to knead dough.
She attacks it like she's got a personal vendetta against it, punching and folding until I have to step in.
"Here." I move behind her, covering her hands with mine. There's a couple of times I've had to make bread out here when I've run out "Gentle. Like this."
"I am being gentle," she argues.
"You're assaulting it," I accuse, a smile on my face.
"It's dough. It can take it."
"Not if you want it to rise, it can't." I guide her hands, showing her the proper motion. Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn. "See? Easy."
She's quiet for a moment, and I realize how close we are.
My chest is pressed against her back, my arms around her, our hands moving together in the dough.
I can smell her shampoo, feel the warmth of her body against mine.
This is what I've missed. Companionship and starting to have feelings for someone else.
"Chase?" Her voice is soft.
"Yeah?"
"I like this."
"Kneading dough?" I try to pretend it's not what's happening between us.
"No." She leans back slightly, her head almost resting on my shoulder. "This. What's going on between us. Whatever this is."
My hands still over hers. "Me too."
We stand there for a moment, and then she clears her throat and steps away. "We should, um, probably finish these before the turkey's done."
"Right. Yeah."
The moment passes, but the feelings stay as we finish the rolls, assemble the green bean casserole, as we make the apple pie for dessert.
Every accidental brush of hands, every shared smile, every inside joke that's developing between us, it's all building into a feeling I'm not quite ready to name, but I'm also not going to deny anymore.
By the time everything is ready, the sun is starting to set and the sky is painted with pink and gold.
It's one of my favorite parts of living out here.
The sunsets and sunrises are the best. Paisley sets the table while I carve the turkey, and when I step back to look at what we've created, I can't believe it.
It looks like the table my grandmother used to fix before she died. The turkey is golden and juicy, the sides are steaming, and the whole cabin smells like a home instead of just a place I sleep, and live.
"Not bad for two people who usually eat cereal on Thanksgiving," Paisley says, coming to stand beside me.
"Not bad at all." I turn to her. "Thank you. For this. For making me do this instead of letting me hide away like I usually do."
"You're welcome." She reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Thank you for giving me a reason to do it too."
We stand there hands linked, looking at the table we've set together. Then she squeezes my fingers and lets go.
"Come on. Let's eat before it gets cold."
I pull out her chair for her, and she raises an eyebrow. "Look at you, being fancy." When we're both seated, plates loaded with food that looks almost too good to eat, she picks up her glass of water.
"Should we do a toast or something?"
"I think that's traditional." I pick up my glass too. "To Thanksgiving. And to new traditions."
"To new traditions," she echoes, and we clink our glasses together.
I hope like hell that this is a new tradition, but I'm not about to press my luck.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of us too hungry to bother talking. Everything tastes great, and I can't help but think it's either because of the company or the fact that we made it together. Either way, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much.
"This turkey is amazing," Paisley says around a mouthful. "I can't believe we actually pulled this off."
"The mac and cheese is even better," I moan as I swallow down a huge bite.
She gives me a shit eating grin. "That's because I made it."
Putting my hand on my chest, I remind her. "You made the sauce. I shredded the cheese."
"Manual labor versus culinary professionalism, Chase? I think we know who contributed more."
I laugh, shaking my head. This type of smart ass back and forth is what I've been missing in my life. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."
She grins at me, and then her expression turns more serious. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What are you thankful for this year?"
The question catches me off guard, but I know the answer immediately. "Not being alone," I tell her. "I've spent so many holidays by myself, and I didn't realize how much I missed this. Having someone to share it with. But I'm truly thankful for having you to share it with."
Her eyes get shiny, and she blinks rapidly. "Chase."
"What about you?" I ask before she can say anything else, before I can worry that I've said too much. "What are you thankful for?"
She's quiet for a long moment, staring down at her plate. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm thankful that you saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. That you prevented me from killing myself."