Page 15 of A Family Affair: The Cabin
“Really? That sounds…depressing.”
“It wasn’t as depressing as it was sad. All the lost hopes and dreams.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “People our age have our own dreams and wishes, and we think we’ll have years to see them fulfilled. But we don’t really know, do we?” Another sniff. “Mrs. B was estranged from her family, so I became her family. I cooked for her, accompanied her on vacations and doctor visits. I even helped her plan her funeral, all according to her wishes. She was very precise, a true lady, and a friend.” She cleared her throat, clasped her hands in her lap. “Yes, she was a friend to me, and all she asked was that I handle a few items of correspondence for her when she passed. That’s all.” Elissa sniffed again, dragged her gaze to his. “That’s the least I can do for a friend, don’t you think?”
Pete nodded. “Absolutely. It’s the least you can do.”
* * *
Pete slept on the couch, wished it were a foot longer so his feet didn’t hang off the edge, and he sure as hell wished it were more comfortable. But furniture was limited in this place and sharing a bed with Elissa—for sleeping— wasn’t an option. Not that she’d invited him, because one look and three seconds with her told a guy she wasn’t that type. Nope. This woman was the kind you brought home to meet your parents, married, moved with to the suburbs, and had a kid or two. He’d always been very good at spotting them—andavoiding them. Women like that weren’t playing games; they were about relationships and commitments and the only reason he’d puked out his past to this one was because…because why? He dragged a hand over his face, blinked open his eyes. Oh, yeah, because they were miles away from anybody they knew, inside a cabin, and it was all pretend.
Thatmade him feel better.
He sat up, padded into the kitchen, and started the coffee. There’d been a time, before Heather convinced him he needed a chef, that he’d enjoyed playing around in the kitchen, concocting dishes and taking a stab at growing his own herbs. She’d squashed that venture, insisting he didn’t have time for such mindless endeavors. Why had he listened to her? Cooking and growing herbs relaxed him, gave him a sense of accomplishment. Pete thought of all the ways he’d been sidetracked in his life as he washed up, tossed on a fresh shirt, and fixed an omelet and rye toast.
“Elissa?” Pete knocked on the bedroom door, waited for a response, smiled when he heard a muffled groan. “Breakfast is ready.” Another groan and an unintelligible response. “Hurry up or it’ll be gone.” That got her moving and sitting at the table by the time he poured her coffee.
“This is delicious,” she said, forking a piece of mushroom and egg. “You should have called me.” She glanced at him from a still-foggy haze of sleep. “I would have helped.”
“No need. I like cooking, and it’s been a while. Besides, we’ve got a full day ahead and I wanted you well rested. I posted a list on the refrigerator and if you’re still game, we’ll knock it out together.”
She squinted at the fridge. “Sure.”
“Do you know anything about painting?”
By late afternoon, he learned that not only did the woman know how to paint a room, she did a helluva job with trim work. No globs on the ceiling, no paint on the floor. Plus, she didn’t flinch the way Heather used to when he played classic rock. Elissa liked it, sang to AC/DC and Bon Jovi. Damn, she even got him to belt out a few lines. That was no easy task.
Elissa had a lot going for her.
She didn’t talk too much and when she did, the topics weren’t filled with nonsense.
She didn’t seem to need layers of makeup and hair products to start her day.
She listened. How was that for a novel approach to friendship?
She had a laugh that made him want to join in.
And when she looked at him, she reallylooked. Her lips were soft, her body curved in all the best places…
Crap. Pete pushed the man-in-hunting-mode thoughts aside and went back to the nonsexual assessments. Too late. His brain had wandered down the road of “how can you ignore the hot-blooded female in front of you” and once the thought was in his head, it spread to other parts of his body, the parts that had no business thinking about her. Damn it. Was he really going to ruin a good thing by being physically attracted to her? It wasn’t as though she was drop-dead beautiful like Heather or any of the other women he’d dated. And she didn’t have that I’m-going-to-have-you look that used to make him hard and planning for the party. Elissa had something more tantalizing, more compelling: fresh-faced honesty and words that didn’t begin and end with sexual suggestions.
And that made her irresistible. He slid a gaze her way, landed on the roundness of her butt. Shit. He wanted her. So what? Wanting and having were not the same. Just because he wanted her did not mean he was going to have her.
Did it?
Well, did it?
The answer came the next evening, after dinner. They’d spent the day painting the dining room, and while Pete crawled on the roof to nail down loose shingles, Elissa picked up branches and twigs from the yard and tossed them into the trash bin for burning. Spring had made the area lush and green, the air crisp, filled with birds and the crackle of small animals in the woods. The fresh air and nature’s surroundings brought him peace. When Pete glanced up from his hammering and spotted Elissa, face turned toward the sky, eyes closed, a perfect smile on her lips, that brought him peace, too.
They talked about what it would be like to live in the woods, debated whether will beat out strength—they both agreed it did—and how, on any given day, an ordinary person could accomplish an impossible task, given will and circumstances aligned.
There was so much to this woman that Pete didn’t know, so much he wanted to uncover… She seemed equally curious to learn about him. Why? Was it because they’d shut out the world, or was there another reason, a deeper one involving fate and destiny?
“Fresh paint really does make a difference, doesn’t it?”
“Huh?” He’d been thinking about fate and destiny, not the benefits of fresh paint. “Oh, right. If you want to knock a few years off something, paint it.” That made her laugh and he guessed what she was thinking. “That doesn’t include people.”
She lifted her glass of wine, saluted him. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it?”
“Trust me, you do not need to shave off any years.” He studied the high cheekbones, the smooth skin, the full lips. “You’ll be beautiful at seventy.” Clearly, she wasn’t used to compliments because her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, spread to her neck.
