Page 12 of Wildfire
She grins at me, and I can't help but notice how plump and juicy her lips are.
This will be a long couple of weeks if this is how we're starting.
"Now that I have this blanket warming me up, rocks sound good."
I push through the French doors that lead into the house and set us up with a couple of drinks. We both have to work tomorrow, so I don't want to pour too strongly, but I'd sure like to see what she's like when she's had just enough to loosen the grip of whatever has a hold of her.
I bring the glasses back out and hand her one. Her finger brushes mine, sending a pulse up my arm that tingles like an electric current.
"How long have you lived here, Cole?"
"You mean in Owl Creek or this house?"
"Both, I guess."
"We moved here when I was six years old. And we lived above the shop that Caleb owns now until I was a teenager. Then my parents bought the house on the lake you visited today. I built this house with my mom over the years, and then they sold me the land underneath it a couple of years back."
"Where did you guys move here from?"
I feel my fist squeeze the glass in my hand and take a breath to ease the tension as I slowly loosen my grip. "California."
She perked up when I said that.
"What was it like there? Was it warm every day, and did you even own a coat before you moved here? How often did it rain?"
"I don't remember." That was a lie, but I wasn't about to start talking about our life in California—not today, not ever.
She chewed on her lip and sunk back in her chair. Feeling her pull away from me felt like I lost a little oxygen, and the weight of her retreat pressed on my chest. I don't know what the hell is going on, but her movements and thoughts are already a part of my being. I'm feeling entangled in her, and we just met.
"Food's probably ready. You want to eat out here?"
"Yeah." She grabs the napkins and cutlery I brought out earlier and sets the picnic table for two. Then she dashes inside, grabs a candle I forgot I had, and puts it in the middle. I don't know where this is heading, but my heart is torpedoing my head.
"There. That should keep the mosquitoes away."
"Good thinking."
And here I thought it was a romantic gesture when all she was doing was preserving our sanity living near a lake.
I plate up the food and walk it over to where she's sitting. The last minutes of the sun shining over the treetops light up her bright eyes, which are gold, orange, and brown. I don't even know how it is that this morning I woke up alone, and this evening, I have the most beautiful woman sitting across the table from me.
"What makes you want to go to Los Angeles to be a singer?"
"That's where everything happens. You turn on a T.V. or look on social media, and it's Los Angeles. Or New York, I guess, but it's too cold over there for me."
"Have you always wanted to be a singer?"
"Yeah. My mom used to sing to me a lot. She had a beautiful voice. She was in a band before she had kids. That's how my parents met."
"Really?"
"Yeah, my mom was fronting a band, and they were on tour. My dad went to the show, and the rest is history."
"Did she quit the band when they met?"
"Not at first. But eventually, it was too hard—the distance. And then they moved to the peninsula when my dad got a job."
"And you don't want to stay?"
