Page 16 of The Cabin

“How about,Billionaire Bad Boylovers?” he hedges, smirking as I rip my hand from his.

“Oh my god! Did you see the title all the way from your cabin?” I hiss and he laughs, kicking my open duffel towards me with his foot. Right there, on top, in all its glory is,Billionaire Bad Boy.

“Hey! I’d be happy to be in a book club with you. I love billionaires as much as the next guy. Are there like sexy secretaries too, or what?” I smack his arm, specifically not paying attention to how big his bicep is when I do it. He tenses, and I watch him try to hide his reaction.

Grayson continues as if nothing happened. “I’m just trying to get a good background so I know what I’m getting myself into.” There’s that million watt smile again. Are we counting how many times we’ve been hypnotized by it? Is this number ninety-nine million?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sure.” I’m trying to seem unaffected, but I’m mortified. “Okay, how about this? We can come up with a checklist. Of all the things we can do to heal and shit. We’ll check them off together. Our book club can be number one. The Divorce Checklist.” He makes a grand gesture with his hands at the title and I give him a funny look. His smile doesn’t falter.

“Really?” I ask. It seems like such a nice thing to do for a stranger.

“Hell yeah! As long as we can also put, ‘install working shower in Grayson’s cabin,’ on there, I’m in.”

I let out an amused breath and start nodding. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” I mean, what do I have to lose, right? I’m stuck up here for at least three more days. Might as well make the most of it.

“Oh my god, we’re going to be so healed and shit.”

I roll my eyes. Take a shot every time we say ‘healed and shit.’

He’s really playing it up, but I don’t really mind. I had such a crappy morning that this is a welcome reprieve. “I gotta get some supplies. I’ll pick you up on my way back, okay?” He’s already halfway out the door, running towards his truck. Before I can reply, he’s speeding back down the mountain, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh, don’t worry!” I call, “I’ll just be here!” With no car, no cell service, no other human being for miles and miles. No biggie. I amsowoodsy. Zombies and ax murderers have nothing on me. Absolutely nothing.

Chapter 7

We’re sitting at Grayson’s live edge dining room table that I’m pretty sure he cut, sawed, and stained himself. I mean, save some motivation for the rest of us, ya know?

He’s currently reading over the first draft of our Divorce Checklist. It’s not very long, and we had to write it on the back of one of my adult coloring pages in crayon. I feel like that’s kind of on-brand for this anyway.

Pausing and shaking his head, Grayson scribbles something out with his green crayon. “Okay, so far we have: Smutty Book Club, Operation Working Shower, and Sunrise Yoga.”

“It’s a wonder we’re not already healed. I mean, therapists should be calling us and asking us for advice. We could do a Ted Talk.”

His eyes narrow at my sarcasm. “How about going for morning runs?” he tries, and I give him a look so indignant he starts back pedaling at breakneck speed.

“Sorry, sorry. No running. That was stupid.”

“Very.”

“Alright Ms. Know It All, what’s your idea then?” He shoves the list towards me, chucking a purple crayon at my forehead. It lands dead center between my eyes.

I give him a look, which he misses, because he’s laughing so hard. “What about crochet?” I suggest. Now it’s his turn to give me a look.

“I’ve got big hands.” Isn’tthatthe truth of the century. They are big. And manly. And calloused. I wonder how they’d feel running between my –

“I’ve got it!” he yells, getting up to grab a magazine from his couch. Who reads magazines anymore? “What about this?” He slides it over after opening it to the right page. My eyebrows lift.

“A juice cleanse?”

“Yeah, to like, clean out our guts and stuff. Start fresh.”

“Wine is technically a juice, right?” I flip the page.

“No, it says you can’t have alcohol.”

I toss the magazine back in his direction. “Yeah, then no.”

“Okay, what about getting black out drunk? We can spill our deepest, darkest secrets and start fresh that way.” I pause. It’s not a terrible idea. I can’t remember the last time I was ever black out drunk, though. I have to laugh. He’s taking this so seriously and it’s got ‘golden retriever’ vibes written all over it. It’s sweet and goofy and kind. I’d pegged him for this serious, macho, lumberjack dude. Which he definitely is judging by the showroom of a cabin he put together in a matter of days. But, this sillier side of him is a lot of fun. And way, way less intimidating. Plus, I kind of feel like kindred spirits a bit. He hasn’t judged me at all for my chaotic, slightly hysterical freak outs. He’s knee deep in what I’ve been through, what I’m still trudging through. He seems to get it. He’s way more level-headed and mature about it, for sure. Maybe he’ll rub off on me. Or rub on me…Ew, Sol. Gross.

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