Page 15 of Unexpected Company
I may be used to being alone – but that is in the city, where the sounds of sirens and people yelling is the soundtrack to late nights, not whatever is going on outside here.
Right now, it sounds like nature wants to creep into the safety of this cottage and devour me. I have watched enoughdocumentaries to know that Mother Nature does not fuck around.
Lying on my back, with the blanket pulled up enough to cover most of my face, the weight of it reassuring despite the rising panic in my chest, I open my eyes and stare at the patterns dancing across the high wooden beams. When the rain gets heavier, a deluge of it battering the windows, and the trees whistle in the wind, their branches scratching at the walls of the house, I cover myself completely, trying to drown it all out.
This is going to be a very long, very restless night.
Chapter six
Garrett
Stretching out on the bed, I take stock of my extremities as I slowly wake up. I slept much better than I expected, the sounds of rain and wind lulling me into a deep sleep and only waking when a dull sunlight broke through the cracks in the curtains.
Standing, I rub a hand over my naked chest, tuck my morning wood behind my waistband, and then pull open the thin floral curtains.
Outside, the storm from last night has not let up. Water puddles on the ground, the rain falling faster than the soil can drain it and the trees bend away from the howling wind. It’s at least an hour’s walk to the village and there’s no chance I’m venturing out in this.
“Motherfucker!” A loud crash follows angry cursing, and I throw on the same flannel shirt I had on last night and open the bedroom door. The first thing that hits me is the smell – burning – but not the smooth woodsy scent of the log fire. This is the acrid scent of burnt food.
Rounding the entry to the kitchen, I stop short when I find Roman, dressed in his oversized hoodie and purple leggings.
“Morning!” I exclaim, and he startles, dropping the pan he was holding and sending a wave of scrambled egg across the kitchen floor.
“Jesus Christ! Warn a guy when you enter a room!” He flails a hand around before running it through his bed rumpled hair.
“Sorry. Do you need help?” Roman levels me with a glare that could shatter glass. He looks tired. His brown eyes are dull with purple bags clear beneath them.
“What I need,” he crouches down and picks up the pan, “is for the eggs to not stick when I’m trying to fry them.” I look at the remnants of egg on the floor. I was mistaken. He was not making scramble after all, but I would use the word ‘frying’ loosely.
Moving closer, I stretch out a hand, approaching slowly like the chaos kitten may lash out and attack if I move too quickly. With my hand on the pan, I take it from him and then move to the sink where I scrub the burned pieces off it. I’ll sort the disaster of a floor later.
“Did you use oil?”
Roman slumps onto the kitchen stool, his head resting on his arms on the wooden counter.
“I don’t have oil,” he mumbles, talking into the space between his arms.
Opening the pantry cupboard, I pull out the full plastic bottle of sunflower oil I had delivered as part of my grocery shopping the day I arrived. The shelf below is full of biscuit packets and boxes of tea. I take out one box and flip on the kettle.
When Roman doesn’t move or speak again, I go about frying eggs and bread and when it’s ready, I plate it up. I pour two glasses of apple juice, along with a mug of tea for him, and place all the food on the counter. Roman still doesn’t stir, his headtucked between his arms. By the gentle rise and fall of his back, I guess he’s fallen asleep.
“Short Stack?” I say, bumping his shoulder with my arm. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
He groans, then looks up at me, a line of dribble stretching across his cheek. He is fucking adorable. Beautiful and adorable. I admonish myself for thinking of him in any way other than the annoying intruder that he is, and settle onto the stool next to him.
“Thank you,” Roman says, laying one piece of toast over the other and making an egg sandwich.
“Sleep well?”
He scowls, his mouth full of food.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
When he’s finished chewing, Roman wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“I slept like shit,” he says. “By the pep in your step, I’m going to guess you fared much better than I did.”
“Slept like a baby,” I reply. I flash him a smirk which earns me an eye roll.
