Page 28 of The Cabin

Chapter 11

This is nuts. This is insane. This is the single most outrageous thing I’ve ever agreed to. And I married Brian, so.

I stare at the pile of my stuff sitting just to the right of Grayson’s bedroom closet. I’m sitting in his bed, just staring. I’ve been doing this ever since he left to go get all my things. He insisted, and I can only imagine all of the embarrassing things he found before coming back and dumping everything in a big pile. He probably saw my underwear. He probably saw mydirtyunderwear.

Listen, I only thought I’d be up here for two weeks.

I’m trying to get a hold of myself. I cannot be weird and awkward for the next week. It will make things beyond uncomfortable and as we’ve established, I don’t do ‘uncomfortable’. I’m not sure why I have to pep talk myself so often into being an adult, but I am so inexperienced in all of this. The only person I’ve ever lived with is Brian. I don’t know if you can call this situation ‘living together’ but we’re sharing the same space…what else would you call that?

I’ve especially never ‘lived’ with a man I just met, who I have a totally inappropriate crush on, who’s still kind of married, and who goes all dark and sexy every once in a while, effectively frying my nerves and causing me to become unhinged.

I know what you’re thinking. ‘Sol, you’ve never done that before? I’d done that twice before I turned twenty-five. It’s every woman’s right of passage.’ Funny. Hilarious.

Way before I’m ready, I hear Grayson calling me from the kitchen. Alright. Here I go.

His second call comes a minute or two later because I have not even moved a millimeter, nor said anything in response. The air shifts and I know it means he’s come into the room. He commands a space effortlessly. He’s like a magnet pulling me in. I try not to make eye contact, and just keep focusing on my bags.

“Hey. I was calling you. You okay?” He moves in closer, and at this point I can’t keep pretending I don’t hear or see him.

“Oh, sorry. Must not have heard you.” I’m looking just past his head. In his direction, but not at his eyes.

“I was asking what you were thinking for dinner.” What a normal thing to ask someone. Except when you moved in a few hours ago because your new roommate felt bad for you and took you in as a charity project.

“Oh, I’ll just eat a Pop Tart or something. Don’t worry about me.” I get up and pretend to be looking for something in my stuff.

“Sol, you’re not eating a Pop Tart for dinner. We don’t even have Pop Tarts.”We. There is no ‘we’. We don’t collectively own things. Literally every single thing here is his except for my dirty underwear.

“I’ll find something later, if you’re hungry you should just do whatever you want.” What is his obsession for cooking for me anyway? I can cook. I love to cook.

No I don’t. I quite literally hate it. I spent years hating it because Brian refused to do any of the cooking. Or cleaning. Or laundry. Or literally anything.

Grayson is standing behind me, towering over me, and I cling to my charade of searching for something like a lifeline.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Oh, um… the book I was reading.”

“Ah, sorry, I left all the books out in the living room. I thought you’d like to read in the chair by the windows.” This time I do turn around, constantly thrown by this man of contradictions.

“Oh. Well, thanks. I’ll just go look for it there.” I can’t look at him and his sincerity or I’m afraid I’ll throw my arms around his neck and do something completely ridiculous like kiss him. I walk by him as fast as possible without full on sprinting. He follows me.

“Okay I’m just gonna make spaghetti then and you can eat when you’re hungry.” He disappears around the corner into the kitchen.

“You don’t have to cook for me!” I call, and then mumble under my breath, “I’ve already stolen your beautiful cabin and ruined your getaway. The least I can do is cook my own meals.” He ignores me.

I find the books stacked on a side table next to a very inviting chaise lounge in front of big, gorgeous windows that look down the hill and to the creek. I can actually just barely see my cabin on the other side.

Taking a seat, I start sifting through the pile, looking for the one I had been reading yesterday. When I shift to get a closer look, my foot hits something that rustles. I look down and find a paper bag. Grayson must’ve accidentally left one of the food bags over here. I’ll just grab it and put it away. See? I can be helpful. I can contribute.

But when I lean down to pick it up, I realize it isn't food. It’s books. Like a shit ton of books. Pulling out the first one on top I see a cute, illustrated cover with a tall dark-haired man looking very grumpy, and a short redhead looking the exact opposite. The first time I saw a book with a cover like this I thought, ‘Oh great! The bookstore lady took pity on me and gave me a nice PG romance.’ I was very, very wrong. You know the saying, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover?’ That applies here. A lot.

Before I know it, I’ve pulled out like fifteen books. All ranging from dirty rom coms to absolutely filthy erotica with shirtless men on the cover. Where did these come from?

Grayson walks in from the kitchen and finds me on the floor, running my fingers along the spines of the books I found.

“Sol?” he inquires. He always has some level of incredulity in his expressions when he looks at me.

“Where did these come from?” I ask, stacking them into piles based on genre.

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