Page 121 of Make Me Swoon

I shrug as I turn and look around the cabin once again. It’s pretty small but I’m not complaining. That just means less work for me to clean it all and to be honest, I’m just excited to have a place to stay and food to eat.

I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen. My mom is still alive but she’s not doing much better than me financially and she wasn’t able to help out. She’s still back in Branson, Missouri, where I grew up. Growing up poor taught me to be self-conscious. Kids in my class would always look at me weird because most of my stuff was worn or had holes in it. Over time, I’ve learned to not care about them or what they thought of me. I think seeing more of the country helped with that too.

I’ve bounced all over since I graduated high school and moved away. I was a housekeeper at some run-down motel for a couple of months, then I moved to California and worked as the receptionist for some high class yoga studio in Malibu. I worked at an art gallery in San Francisco after that, then I pushed carts at Walmart in Seattle.

It was there that my car broke down and things started to turn sour. I bought a bus ticket and kept traveling north but there weren't as many job opportunities up here and I ended up in Thorp, Washington. Now, I’m here in this cabin, working for Heath.

I think about what I’ll be doing for Heath. Just housekeeping and making a few meals. The housekeeping should be easy enough. For a big guy, Heath’s place is actually kind of small. The thing I think I’ll have trouble with is the cooking. My stomach growls as I think about making dinner and I head into the kitchen, looking for a snack and trying to think of something I can make for us to eat.

I had a job as a short order cook in this drive thru diner outside Seattle and I ended up getting fired. I bite my bottom lip, remembering how my boss said I was a terrible cook. Maybe I’ve improved since then? Here’s hoping because I really need this job. Thank god Heath didn’t ask if I could cook. I would have had to lie and I’m a terrible liar. My skin gets all red and blotchy and I can’t stop biting my fingernails. He probably would have fired me on the spot.

I find some bread and make myself a sandwich, eating it quickly as I poke through the rest of the cabinets. I find some spaghetti and some sauce and I smile. No one can ruin spaghetti, right?

I set that on the counter and then find a loaf of French bread that looks homemade. I’m sure Heath won’t mind if I use some of this and make some homemade garlic bread. I use my phone to try to find a recipe on Pinterest for garlic bread as I boil a pot of water. It’s already getting late and I wanted to have dinner done by the time Heath got home. I search through his spices until I find the garlic powder and then dump the noodles into the boiling water before I turn back to make the bread.

I’m just setting the last of the dishes onto the little table in the corner when the front door opens and Heath stomps inside. My heart rate picks up at the sight of him and I try to convince myself that I’m just worried that he won’t like my dinner and he’ll fire me. He hangs his jacket up and I take just a second to admire his large form before I pull myself together.

“Hey! I made spaghetti,” I say, pointing to the bowl of it sitting in the middle of the table.

“Is something burning?” He asks, his tone gruff like usual.

“Shoot! The bread,” I say as I bolt for the oven.

I spent so long on it and then forgot to set a timer. I pull open the door, bracing to see a burnt loaf of bread but it only looks slightly overdone.This will be fine. I’ll just scrape off the bottom that got burned.

I hurry to get the bread done too, burning my finger in the process before I carry that over to the table too.

“There! Bon Appetit!” I say, trying to appear confident in the silent room.

My smile wobbles as Heath just stands there watching me and my stomach sinks. Is he going to fire me just because I burnt some bread?

“Looks great,” he says after a moment and I watch as he takes his seat and dishes himself up some of the noodles and sauce. He grabs a piece of bread next and I relax, easing into my seat as he takes his first bite.

FIVE

Heath

Emma can’t cook.

Emma, the girl I hired to keep the house clean and cook, can’t cook. I learned that after my first bite. Somehow, she managed to overcook half of the noodles and undercook the rest. How is that even possible? The bread is just a little crispy and would have been fine if she hadn’t dumped what I can only assume is half a container of garlic powder on top. I try to cover up my cough after I take a bite of the bread.

“How is everything?” She asks and I look up into her dark blue eyes.

She looks so hopeful and maybe a little scared that I’ll fire her and I don’t have it in me to hurt her.

“Great,” I lie, trying to force myself to swallow the bite of garlic bread in my mouth.

“Really?” She asks and her whole face lights up.

Fuck, no way can I take that look off her face.

“Yeah, it’s great.”

I somehow manage to choke down the whole plate, swallowing some bites whole so that I don’t have to taste it that much. I sit back when my plate is clear and look across the table to Emma. She’s still watching me but this time she has a somewhat mischievous glint to her eyes.

“Did you want seconds?” She asks sweetly.

No.

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