Page 151 of The Holiday Heartbreaker

She emerged from the bedroom to find that there were two plates of food made, and laid out on the small wooden table in the corner of the living area.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’ve never had anyone around for dinner,” he said.

He took a seat at the table and she followed suit, taking her position across from him.

“In this place?”

He shrugged. “Ever. You might find it shocking but a lot of people don’t necessarily want to have a meal with an ex-con.”

“Oh.”

“Well, they would. Everyone likes a free meal, I guess. It’s only that I’ve never seen fit to engage in this kind of hospitality.”

“Do you not have friends?” she asked, realizing it sounded sort of desperate and pitying. Which wasn’t her goal. But she felt slightly desperate. And pitying.

“I have a few. They just aren’t come-round-to-dinner friends.”

“What kind of friends are they?”

“People I met in prison.”

“Oh.”

He smiled. “Not exclusively. I also have some friends from my construction days.”

“Oh, okay.”

“That makes you feel better.”

“It isn’t about feeling better, I just... I’m not sure sometimes if you’re teasing me.”

“I guess if you’d have told me about your life I would have felt the same way. I wouldn’t have believed in twenty-five-year-old virgins who were flitting around mountainsides, but who also had vivid enough sexual fantasies that they’d jump a guy in the woods that they had chemistry with.”

“You make it sound a little more wild than it is.” Her face went hot.

“It’s as wild as it gets, Shayna.”

He said her name and it made her feel warm.

“Well, I’m not used to being wild.”

“I get that.”

They were silent for a moment, regarding each other across the table.

“So. Your dad used to cook meth.”

He laughed. And she found herself laughing too. Because this was ridiculous, and so were they, sitting here in this cabin, when he’d been inside her a few minutes ago, and they didn’t even really know each other. Except they did.

Except he was the only one who knew what she fantasized about. The only one who knew what she really wanted. At least, like this. He was the only one who knew how unhappy she was with her life.

So much so that this detour seemed...about right.

“Yes,” he said. “My dad did used to cook meth. He also made moonshine, which in light of the meth sounds more like a quirk than some hard-edged criminal behavior.”

“Well, yes.”

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