Page 38 of Wolves & Watercolors
“I know.” His hand strokes over my hair and I sigh. The feel is exquisite and I wish he would bury his fingers into my hair, but his hand stops at my upper back like a gentleman. Mentally shaking myself, I step back and tuck my hands into my pockets. “So should we make some cheese? Sounds like a good distraction.”
“If you want to.”
“I do. Teach me, oh cheese maker!” My nose scrunches as I grin at him.
Cedar offers his arm and we walk out of the garden and past the school building to his family’s cabin. At the front door, he pulls off his boots and I take off my tennis shoes before we cross the house in our socks.
“This is where you grew up?” I ask. It’s so quiet, I suspect the house is empty.
“Yeah. This is my sister’s room,” he says, pointing at a door decorated with stickers. “And this is mine.” He pushes the dooropen partially and I see a tidy space with navy bedding neatly made up. The far side of the room is empty.
“You shared it with Onyx?”
“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head. “I haven’t really done anything with the space since he moved out.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Almost a year.” His eyes stay on the floor.
Biting my lip, I ask, “Do you want to move out too?”
“Maybe. It’s not really a priority, honestly.”
“Waiting for a girlfriend to move in with?” I tease, my brain forgetting to filter my words.
He pauses, those distracting eyes slowly moving to meet mine. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
It’s not the words he says, but the slow way he says it that has my stomach clenching. There’s nothing between us. A few hugs and friendly touches. Totally platonic. And yet it doesn’t feel platonic.
Goosebumps prickle over my arms and I desperately try to recall Hazel’s words. They don’t do casual. He doesn’t date around. He would expect this to mean more than it does. I’m going back to Los Angeles. The thought feels less and less real the longer I spend with him.
He looks away, breaking the tension before he ducks out of the hallway and leads us to the kitchen. We step through the side door, and finally we are standing in the cheese kitchen. It’s as clean and bright as the day of the baby shower.
“Grab a few gallons from the fridge,” Cedar instructs as he reaches for a huge pot.
Pulling the closer fridge open, I freeze. Massive clear buckets of milk line the three massive shelves. How many gallons are in each of these? How am I supposed to lift them? “Um, Cedar, I’m not sure…”
He appears at my back. “They’re three gallons each. We need two of them. Here, I’ve got you.”
Cedar reaches for a bucket and lifts it effortlessly. Not to be outdone, I grab the second one and heave it up. It’s manageable, though I let out an embarrassing grunt.
“Got it?” he asks.
“Yes, I can manage to lift three gallons of milk,” I say, scowling at him.
He raises his hands to pacify me. “I didn’t doubt you.”
My teeth grind together as I move the heavy bucket toward the counter and my arms protest as I attempt to lift it higher. Thankfully, Cedar is attentive and his hands close over the handle on either side of mine before I lose my grip. He lifts it onto the counter without a word.
“Now what?” I ask, shaking my hands to numb the ache of the handle digging into my fingers.
“We need to heat them up to eighty-six degrees Fahrenheit. There are thermometers in the drawers in the island. Can you grab one?”
While I shuffle through the drawers, Cedar pours all six gallons into the pot. Nothing looks like a thermometer. Finally, he comes over and tugs out what looks like a kitchen timer with a probe attached.
“Seriously? That’s not a thermometer, I swear,” I say.
“But it is.” He smiles at me and winks. My mouth falls open. Oblivious to my reaction, he pulls a spoon off the wall and begins stirring. “We have to heat this slowly and stir continually, otherwise it won’t heat evenly and parts can overheat.”
