Page 44 of The Cabin

“Well, thank you Wine Drunk Sol.”

“Do you regret ever pursuing Natalie?”

He purses his lips. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. In a lot of ways, I wish I had never met her. It was a marginally hot affair based on the thrill of sneaking around so her brother wouldn’t find out, that led to the worst three years of my life. I know I’m supposed to say that I wouldn’t be where I am today without that experience…but honestly, fuck that. I think I would’ve been just fine never having had to go through any of that.”

“You have a really good heart. You would’ve grown and become the person you are regardless.”

He reaches across the table and touches his finger tips to mine. “That, uh, really means a lot to me. Thanks.” These kinds of moments are absolute poison to my brain. It is too hard not to fall for him when he is so sexy, and so supportive, and so goofy, and so genuine, and gets me so fired up, and does the most personalized, sweet things for me. I am doomed. It’s like a car crash. I am watching myself about to get my heart broken and I can’t do anything about it. It doesn’t work to tell myself he’s married. It does nothing to remind myself that he is unavailable and barely ready for a rebound let alone the things I’m fantasizing about. On one hand, I am delighted to be feeling real moments of joy again. And on the other, I’m extremely hesitant, nervous to enjoy any of this because I know it’ll make going our separate ways that much harder.

His face changes. “Do you wanna make up a dance?”

I just kind of stare at him. Did I hear him correctly? “Grayson, what?”

Such a goofy freaking grin. It’s Golden Retriever Grayson. Now I’m really in for it.

“Do you wanna make up a dance? I’ll let you pick the song.” He must read the confusion all over my face. “Listen, I had sisters growing up. I know my way around a kitchen performance.”

Now I’m laughing. “Cruz would never dance with me. He’d only pretend to be the judge. That was as far as he would go.”

“Laaammeeee-o. No way, I was in it to win it. Give me any choreo, I’ll rock it.”

“Grayson, you can’t be serious!”

He shoots up from the table, iPad long forgotten, and jogs around the cabin for a minute or two. On his return, slightly out of breath, he sets a Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island with a crispsmack. “Alright, come over here.” I don’t move and he is not very happy. “Am I going to have to convince you to be fun every day, lollipop? Or can you just start being that way by yourself?” He’s joking, but….ow.

I roll my lips into my teeth. Am I going to have to give myself a pep talk anytime I do something even remotely out of my comfort zone? Mmm. Seems like it.

With a grunt and a groan and a whole lot of hesitancy, I stand from my chair and join Grayson at the counter. “Okay. I’m here. I’m fun.”

“So fun,” he mutters, scrolling through his Spotify. He turns to me, “Song request?”

My nose crinkles up. “Before He Cheats?”

He shakes his head. “You already danced to that one before. Not fair.”

“It’s not a competition…is it?”

He wags his eyebrows at me. “Oh, it’s totally a competition.” The scrolling continues. “Oh, yeah! How aboutHouse Partyby Sam Hunt? You like that one.”

How does he know that? How does he know all these freaking things about me?

I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. I do like that one. That works.”

His head snaps in my direction. “You need to be excited, Sol. The song choice has to knock you off your feet. Give you inspiration.”

“You’re such a goof sometimes. Yes, fine! I’m inspired and so excited.”

You can tell he doesn’t even kind of believe me but he clicks on the song and backs up anyway to listen for a little. “Okay, for the da na na nas in the beginning, we should probably enter from two different sides. Here, you go over there.” I’m shoved to the metaphorical border between the living room and the dining room slash kitchen. “So when we come in I think we should do this.” He’s jumping out, using his hands to hype up the imaginary crowd. “C’mon. You try. Do it right up to here, where I’m standing.” He looks at me, waiting. I’ve probably done this a thousand times. I love dancing. I just said that yesterday. But I haven’t danced sober, for the hell of it, to be silly, since I was a teenager. I’m feeling very awkward.

With about ten percent of Grayson’s pizazz, I meet him in the middle of our ‘stage.’ Very angry eyes stare me down. “Are you even taking this seriously?”

“Of course I am. I am taking this as seriously as you can take two grown adults making up a dance in their kitchen.” Deflecting.

His face falls. There is literally nothing worse than a sad golden retriever puppy.

“Okay. It’s fine. I’ll just get back to the work I need to get done.” The music is paused and the way his shoulders have sagged has me feeling very guilty. He needs a distraction. That's what I came over here to do. He showed me exactly what he needed and I am letting residual insecurity impede supporting him the way he’s supported me.

“Wait, wait, wait. Sorry. I think I just didn’t see it from the right angle.” Unpausing the music, I get back to my starting point and jump out and around as boldly as possible.

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