Chapter Eighteen Something Wicked
Hugo, for being a sickly, skinny troll, has the robust energy of an infomercial host combined with a puppy who ate a box of jelly beans.
His presence makes me dread going back to work, cafeteria duty, and sugared-up kindergartners.
It also makes me appreciate Gordon’s more demure, peaceful manner—energy that is private and a personal show just for me.
Hugo also makes me realize that Gordon probably hasn’t had many bills in the past few years. He isn’t a lavish spender—until now. We have to get a second cart, because if Hugo asks what it is or what it tastes like, Gordon simply puts it in the cart and tells him he can find out for himself.
I, on the other hand, launch into descriptions that have Hugo opening boxes of cereal and popsicles as we walk through the Fresh Mart.
Gordon gives me a single glare early on, and I stick my hand in his back pocket and squeeze his butt as we walk side by side after the energetic Hugo.
Gordon’s eyebrows hike to his hairline, and then he walks the rest of the trip with a goofy grin on his face.
My other job, aside from food and item describer, is pants protector. I’m forever nudging Gordon, who nudges Hugo, who grabs the heavily belted waistband of his way-too-large jeans with one hand whenever they’re about to slide off his waist.
I’m relieved when we get to Chloe’s Curiosities, and she makes Hugo her mission of the day, pushing him into the little curtained-off cubby that’s a dressing room and shoving armfuls of clothes in after him.
While Hugo tries things on and Gordon inspects, Chloe and I get to talking about cats, as her cat, Marmalade, is her buddy at the shop.
She’s the fifth woman who has invited me to the book club at White Pines that meets every Wednesday.
“It’s so nice of you to invite me, but all I keep thinking of is my high school Novel Athletes club.
Think of a spelling bee, but with highly competitive kids reading novels and then having monthly battles against other schools’ teams, not because they liked books, but to improve their chances of going to an Ivy League School. ”
Chloe shakes her head. “There is no competition here. You can still come and hang out, even if you didn’t finish the book—not that they’re hard reads. We don’t read anything serious,” she whispers. “It’s all mysteries or smutty monster romances.”
I’m starting to think a book club might actually sound fun. “Monster romances? Those are things? I found one about an Orc playing hockey, but...”
“Oh, trust me, there are hundreds. We’ll find you one about a hot troll firefighter.” Chloe winks, threading her arm through mine.
“Ta-daaaa!” Hugo barges out of the curtain and into a rack of used paperbacks. “Ooh, books!” he cries as the rack tips over and spills into his arms and onto the floor.
Chloe laughs. “Buy one, get one free paperbacks. Want some?”
Hugo is desperately trying to scoop the books back into the tilting wire rack, now in much better-fitting khakis and someone’s old golf shirt. He looks like a giant, gray-green IT manager. He beams at Chloe and the pile of books we’re all stooping to collect. “Can I, Gordon?”
Gordon sighs and takes out a credit card. “Whichever ones you want.”
Hugo squeals, gasps, and turns to Chloe. “How much are they?”
“A dollar each.”
Hugo starts counting out books aloud, and Gordon sighs, bends, and takes the entire rack, still half empty, to the register. “All of these, please, Chloe. And all the ones on the floor, too.
I wrap my arms around Gordon’s waist, trying not to laugh or say, “Awwww!” out loud as Hugo hugs his armful of books. “I’m so glad Pine Ridge is home,” I whisper to Gordon as Chloe hurries away to find a box to put all the books in.
“Well.” Gordon kisses the top of my head, and smiles when Hugo makes his way to the counter. “It is definitely feeling like home now.”
After a big dinner (really big, as in an entire pork shoulder roast big), Gordon and Hugo leave for the station.
I’m touched when Gordon gives me a spare key (and a kiss that threatens to ignite the wooden floor of the cabin) and tells me to head home when I’m done picking out the paperbacks I want to read from the fifty or so that came home with us.
I do pick out a couple of old Agatha Christie mysteries and a couple of intriguing-looking tales from the Monster Brides series to dip my toes into monster romance, but instead of heading home to stay...
I pack a few things in an overnight bag, grab Chopin, his bowls, and some food, make a stop at Pet Village for a litter pan, and head back to Gordon’s.
It’s true that I don’t want to live with Hugo forever, and it’s true that Gordon doesn’t have an extra bed, or even much in the way of furniture, full stop, but I’m reconsidering what I said about not moving in just because his brother arrived.
That’s crazy. What would I have done if this happened five years from now and we were already married?
Move out? No, I want to show Gordon that I’m all in, and I want his place to look like I’m sticking around.
Also, if I was worried about embarrassing Hugo—well, that ship has sailed.
Hugo is so humble and willing to learn, and so eager to have any kind of love or support.
I think he might cry if he realized I wasn’t moving in because of him.
I also want Chopin to get used to a new place before he has to live there full-time, and besides, Hugo has been dying to meet my cat. (And Gordon and Chopin miss each other, I can tell.)
So, while the guys are away, and Gordon is probably using his last breath of patience not to scream at Hugo while they look at job applications and stuff like that, I turn on the radio, set up a little corner for the cat, and make Gordon’s bedroom into our bedroom.
I change the sheets, put my clothes in the closet, and put my spare toothbrush on the bathroom sink.
Then, I grab one of the eighty bags of snacks we bought for Hugo, open up my laptop, and do a little online shopping.
Gordon doesn’t even have any boxes in the two other empty rooms in the cabin that were likely meant to be bedrooms. No old gym equipment gathering dust, no old furniture or stuff from his youth. They are empty-empty. One of them is going to be a guest room. Maybe one will be a nursery someday.
Before I know it, I’m sucked into DIY easy-decorating-on-a-shoestring-budget videos.
I don’t know how many I watch before I decide that driving home is just stupid, especially since I feel like I’m already at home here, with Gordon’s scent around me, and Chopin already exploring the house as if he owns it.
I fall asleep to aggressively cheerful people stenciling walls and Chopin purring in my ear, snuggled into Gordon’s bed. Our bed.
“Hisssssss! Rrrrrrrrr.”
I wake up to find Chopin in battle cat mode, standing on the edge of the bed, fur high, back arched. He alternates from hissing at nothing to making deep, low growls.
Great, Andrea. Fall asleep in a lonely cabin. It’s not quite in the woods, but it’s woods adjacent, and this road is full of abandoned properties and a cemetery. Wanna star in your own horror movie? Just ask Andrea!
“What is it, boy?” I ask Chopin, reaching out to pet him.
He bolts off the bed, then under it. I can still hear him hissing underneath.
“I know, I know. It’s a little spooky here, but it’s just a matter of getting used to things,” I say cheerfully. “Wanna call Gordon? I do.”
I know he’s at work, and I’ve never asked what the protocol is about calling his personal phone while working, but I figure Gordon will answer.
I’m right. He picks up at once, voice full of concern. “My Andrea? What’s wrong? It’s three in the morning.”
“Is it?” I rub my eyes. “Well, I slept over at the cabin, and I brought Chopin over as a surprise for Hugo—and just to show you how serious I am about moving in, even if Hugo has to stay there a while. I ordered a mattress and a box spring, not the most expensive ones, but still good. We can make one of the two empty rooms a guest room.”
Gordon is silent for a moment, confused and silent, if I had to guess.
“But why are you calling? I mean, that is wonderful and generous, my love, my Andrea. Wifey,” his voice drops on the last word, a furtive little whisper that makes me wish he were here right now. “But what is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. Well, something probably spooked Chopin. He’s having a hissy fit under the bed. Anyway, it scared me, and I woke up. And... I’m being a big baby, okay? Still, I need to get used to sleeping alone in the house. You’ll have to go to work at night sometimes.”
“Yes, I know, but... What scared the cat?”
“I don’t know. Probably an animal outside. He’s a city kitty. Country living is new to him.” I suddenly lose all the soothing, relaxing feelings that Gordon’s voice instilled in me. “There aren’t bears in the woods, are there? They won’t try to get in the house?”
“There aren’t bears this close to town. Not usually. I— Oh, fine. Hugo wants to say hello, and he won’t stop hovering until he does.”
“Hi, Sister Andrea! Did you bring the cat over?” Hugo asks, voice bubbling with excitement.
“I did, Brother Hugo. But, seriously, it has to be just Andrea and just Hugo, okay? Sister Andrea makes me sound like a nun, and you sound like a monk.”
“Monkey?”
“No, a... Oh, that’s a whole discussion about religion, and I don’t think I can do that at three in the morning.”
“I understand. Maybe you can send me an email about it? With links to articles.” Hugo’s voice is now bursting with pride, and I can picture him, curly hair and huge smile, chest flung forward. “I have an email address now. It’s free to get one from some big web... Web providers?”
“Close enough.”
“This is so when I apply to jobs online, I can fill out the forms. You must have an email.”
“I get it, and that’s really great. I’ll send you articles if you tell me your email address.” I grin. “Can I talk to Gordon again?”