My eyes slid from the television to the coffee table, where a book sat, not having been moved since it was placed there. It was an old mystery novel, one I had read a couple of times and kept around because it had the author’s signature, even though the book itself wasn’t amazing or anything. It was the book that Desiree had been reading. I wasn’t sure if she finished it or not, but she left it on the coffee table when she left.
Usually, that would bug the crap out of me. I would have put it away as soon as she walked out of the door, my anxiety not letting me allow for things to be out of place. Out of place meant chaos. Chaos meant the nightmares. The nightmares…
I didn’t want the nightmares. Not if I could help it. Not that I was always successful in warding them off.
It kind of bugged me that I didn’t move it—actually, what bugged me about the book was that I had the compulsion to let it stay. Why would I do that? Why would I invite that little bit of chaos?
I missed her. That was why. It wasn’t a crazy, dying to see her type of thing. I didn’t think I was capable of that. But I did kind of miss her being around. The energy of another person being in the cabin was nice, and it broke up the monotony of my chosen life. I had the tendency to fall into a rhythm if the last two years were any example.
During the winter last year, I’d stocked up and didn’t bother leaving the living room for most of the time. I camped out with my sleeping bags and slept on the couch, conserving wood and only using the main fireplace rather than the wood stove in the bedroom. It was peaceful, but it was boring too. I read at least a book every two days, most of them for the second or third time.
But I didn’t really feel lonely. Those days—while boring and monotonous—weren’t lonesome. I was fine being by myself. And the occasional call from Brett kept me in contact with the outside world enough to not go completely stir-crazy.
Yet, here I was, sitting in my living room, the television on. I kept glancing over at that book because it was sitting in the last place Desiree put it. And of course, I couldn’t bear to move it. I was used to being lonely, so it wasn’t like I was disappointed that she left or anything. I just missed having someone there.
And she was hot. I had to admit that.
Shaking the feeling off, I went back to flipping channels. I hovered over the weather channel a bit, making a plan to go into town the next day or two and shore up supplies as another storm was predicted to land in the next week or so. It wasn’t supposed to be nearly as bad as the one that just hit, but I needed to be prepared regardless. Finally, I settled on a movie and put it on, sitting back on my recliner to zone out a bit, when there was a knock on the door.
Briefly, I wondered if perhaps there were signs on the hiking trail pointing to my house for lost wanderers. When I opened my door, I couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across my face at the sight of the person on the other side.
“I brought cookies,” she said, her shoulders rising up to the sides of her head adorably as she held the platter covered in plastic wrap ahead of her. I stepped aside, holding the door open as she came in. Her smile was bright and friendly, and though I had etched a lot of her features into my mind, refreshing them was nice too. She was wearing tight jeans and snow boots this time, a heavy winter coat and hat covering her long brown hair. But her dark chocolate eyes were as deep and soulful as ever.
“You can set them on the table,” I said. “Take off your coat. Warm up. It’s cold out there.”
“Thank you.” She slipped the coat off, which revealed a tight shirt that had just the hint of cleavage near the top. I tried my best not to stare, trying to keep my eyes on hers, but truthfully, I was struggling.
I took her coat and hung it up on the hooks in the hallway. Her coat and hat next to my belongings looked so… natural. I put up a mental block against that thought and went back to the dining room table, examining the goodies she brought.
“Oh wow,” I said, “you really didn’t need to do this.”
“I had to find some way to thank you,” she said. “If you wouldn’t take money, the least I could do was try my hand at baking. Just be glad I didn’t go with cannoli.”