Page 29 of The Cabin

“You said you needed books.” He says it so casually. Like his words don’t make me feel like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart just enough to make it feel like it might burst.

“But where did you get them?” I look up at him, his gaze is piercing.

“At the bookstore in Surley, before I grabbed the groceries.” He sits down on the chaise, which positions me on the floor between his legs.

“But how did you know what to get?”

His face breaks into a huge, cocky smile. “I told the cashier that you read,Billionaire Bad Boyand that was all she needed to know. She went whipping through the stacks and came back with these. A few of them I already had for the, uh, book club we were going to do.” WHY? Why does this man have to be so freaking sweet sometimes? So genuine? It makes me forget all about his misogyny and nonsensical commands. It makes it hard to breathe around him.

I look up at him, lost for words. He just gives me a small smile back.

I clear my throat. “How much was it? Can you just add it to the groceries and tell me what I owe you?” I manage, pretending to fidget with the books again just so I don’t have to look at him anymore.

I should start keeping track of how many times he sighs at me. I bet it’d be over a million in the first hour. “C’mon, seriously!” I say, looking back up at him. He leans down to rest his elbows on his knees, bringing our faces only inches apart.

“Do you like them?” There are no words to describe his tone. It’s raspy and dark and gives me tingles.

“Grayson–”

“Do you like them?” He’s more insistent this time, each word like one bold, distinct staccato.

“Yes, but –”

“Then that’s all that matters.” When he leans forward to get up, our faces are so close that I hold my breath. It’s only for the briefest of moments, but there are butterflies in my stomach all the same.

“Dinner will be ready in five,” he calls over his shoulder.

Is this what a heart attack feels like? How am I going to survive seven straight days of this?

—

I do end up eating spaghetti with Grayson. We eat it on the front porch in the rocking chairs he made (wtf). He lit a citronella candle which is actually keeping the bugs at bay, so I can relax enough to listen to the sounds of the woods as the daylight starts to dwindle.

“Do you miss your kids yet?” he asks around a fork full of noodles. I give him a quizzical look. “Your students, I mean.” Oh. I feel a frown form on my lips. “That night you had dinner here after the YMCA…event, you told me you were a teacher, right?” He looks like he’s questioning his memory now. We did have a lot of red wine that night.

I will not comment on the flip flop my stomach does at the mention of the time I was three feet away from a very naked Grayson. “Yeah, I did.” Huh.

“...okay. So, has the thrill of summer worn off yet? Starting to miss the stuff they did that drove you crazy?” His lips quirk up at the corners.

I let out a soft chuckle. “Not quite. By August I’ll start itching to get back in the classroom. But right now, I am more than happy to get to pee whenever I want and stop to eat for however long I want.” I raise my bowl of pasta in a mock toast.

“To peeing whenever you want!” he laughs, raising his bowl. We clink them together briefly and I find myself giggling a little.

“What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened in one of your classes?”

“Oh god. I don’t even know where to start.” I rest my head on the back of my chair, suddenly lost in a million memories. Teaching is so hard to describe. You’re an educator, therapist, entertainer, parent, nurse, cruise director, and security guard all in one. Being with kids for eight or more hours a day leaves you with a lot of silly, wonderful, headache-inducing, frustrating, incredible moments all sort of mushed together in your brain.

And I know I’m not supposed to be doing this anymore, but I can’t stop the next thought from surfacing: Brianneverasked me about teaching. Ever.

“First one that pops in your head. Go.” Grayson sets his empty bowl down on the small table between us that I’m also pretty sure he made. Does anyone else find that a little nutty?

A bark of a laugh sounds from my lips. “Okay, this one time I was out in the hallway watching the students head to their classes, making sure nothing bad was happening, and when I walked back into my room I found one of my students holding a three-foot-long meat stick attempting to fight his best friend with it. I shit you not, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, ‘Put the meat down!’ They immediately started arguing, saying they were just gonna do a quick joust, which I, of course, was strongly against. So, going two for two, I dismissed them back to their seats by saying, ‘No! I do not want you touching his meat!’ ” I cover my face in my hands, half laughing, half cringing.

“No way!” His guffaws echo through the woods.

“I work in a bilingual school and we’re supposed to use the languages interchangeably. So then, out of pure reflex, I repeated myself in Spanish.”

“Sol!” I’m so sorry, I am so enjoying making him laugh like this. I am the worst. I hear how annoying I am. I promise. Blame it on the fact that he bought me food and books. It’s given me amnesia.

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