"It's you," I said dryly.
"It’s good to see you too," she replied sarcastically, looking around at the property.
"Well, you're not lost. What do you want?"
"This is...nice," she said. Yeah? And where did she live? The only place I could see a girl like her living was Barbie's fucking Dreamhouse.
"Want a tour?"
"Can I have one?" she asked. I hadn't been serious, but she sounded like she was. I sighed, looking back at the chopping block. I needed to get rid of her. If she was here, it was to try to twist my arm. The sooner I let her do that, the sooner she'd leave.
"Let's get inside," I offered. She followed me up the porch steps.
"Were you doing something when I came?" she asked.
"Nope," I lied, holding the door open. She smiled at me and walked in.
"Wow," she said appreciatively, slipping her parka off her shoulders. The cabin had been redone recently, so it had great insulation. The worst of the cold hadn't gotten here yet, so I was happy for that. As far as cabins went though, I guessed it was nice. It wasn’t bad, at least. The wood was all finished, and its design was rustic without feeling too old fashioned.
"This is the kitchen, that is the living room, through there is the bathroom, and the bedroom is up those steps," I said, giving her the layout of the place. The open plan meant
she could see it all right from where she was near the door. My little kingdom at the top of the mountain. I walked past her into the kitchen. "Do you want coffee or something?"
"Coffee sounds good," she said, walking into the living room. "Thanks." I looked back over my shoulder at her where I was at the stove. She was looking around, walking slowly around the space, stopping at the windows and looking outside. "It's beautiful out here."
"Yup."
"Do you need help with that?" she asked. The water in the percolator was beginning to bubble a little. The coffee would be done soon. I had snagged the vintage Pyrex percolator from my parents’ house and had finally gotten the hang of making drinkable coffee using it. Mom had a whole collection of vintage china and other cookware. It wasn't like she'd be needing it, and I hadn't been about to haul a Keurig up here.
"No," I said, distractedly, getting one mug out of the cabinet and rinsing the other one that I had used for breakfast off before drying it. I had two of everything, clearly not prepared for guests. I hadn’t made Brett take an oath of secrecy, but I was still a little peeved that he told on me. I hadn’t had to deal with another person in about a week, so it was a little weird, but social interaction was probably one of those things you couldn’t truly forget. "You're not hungry, are you?"
"No," she said. I turned and looked at her. She was trying the door to the deck, but it was locked.
"Key's on the loop on the front door," I told her. She went over and got it, opening the door to the deck. She disappeared outside for a few moments while I poured the coffee. How did she take it? I always had mine black. I picked up both the mugs and walked out onto the deck. It was covered, with steps leading down to the ground. Behind the house, the ground sloped down, and I thought there was a creek at the bottom, but I wasn't sure. I hadn't explored that far. The tree cover was decent but not too dense. I always saw deer when I'd come out. If you were just looking out at it from inside a house or on a television screen, it looked calm, silent, and eerily beautiful.
She was right; it was nice.
"How was the ride up here?" I asked, handing her the mug of coffee. She thanked me and took a sip.
"Well, I made it," she said, shrugging. “It was a little bumpy."
"Bet you're mad Brett's making you do his dirty work."
She laughed a little. "Are we that obvious?"
"As much as I'd want to believe you just wanted to visit me to see how I was, I know that isn't the case."
"Wow," she murmured. "Shit, let me just leave then."
"You came all the way here, might as well finish your coffee." We stood looking out over the snowy back of the house in silence for a few seconds. It had come down last night, at least another couple inches.
"You're still in one piece, so Brett's going to be happy to hear that. You don't look frostbitten or starved."
"How's he doing?"
"I don't know," she said. "Drive back down to Salt Lake and find out." I looked at her. Both her hands were wrapped around her mug, and she leaned on the railing with her elbows. There was a slight breeze blowing through her hair.
"Okay," I said, "maybe I deserved that."