He nearly spit out the bite of sandwich that was in his mouth. “Am I a serial killer? How did I get from being nice to being a serial killer?”
“My brother was concerned that you might be a serial killer.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess that’s a good question for a brother to ask.”
Guilt stabbed him. Because he was a brother. He was a brother, and he hadn’t reached out to his sister in a long time. Hadn’t reached out to anyone in his family.
“Well, are you? Because I would love to be able to answer him in the affirmative that you’re not.”
“No,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “I’m not.”
“Well then, that’s very nice of you, and I will think about it. It just... I wasn’t really considering getting quite that much independence all at once. But... If I lived above the bakery, it would be so much easier to get all my work done.”
“I’m sure it would be. Plus, solitude,” he said.
“You’re a big fan of solitude, aren’t you?”
He considered that. “Not specifically. But I find it...about the easiest thing.”
“You don’t seem to have too much trouble talking to me.”
“I’ve been saving up for this conversation for a number of years. Probably by tomorrow I won’t have anything left to say.”
“Well, I live in a house full of people. So there’s no saving up conversations. But I don’t mind. My family really is wonderful. We all had to... Really take care of each other.”
Now this was territory he didn’t want to get into. He didn’t want to talk about family. He didn’t want to think about it. No way in the world.
He finished eating while she finished tidying, and then he carried his blankets out to her car. In trade, she handed him one of the two giant insulated bags she was holding. “Your stove works, right? Your oven?”
“Wood fire. So it works as long as there’s a flame.”
“Some of these need the oven. There’s soup, which you can do on the stove top. And bread. There’s also meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Some roast chicken, green beans, rolls and salad. And this one has cake.”
She handed him the second insulated bag. “And cookies. And I also put slices of millionaire bar in there. I made them for my brother-in-law. I figured he didn’t need all of them.”
“That seems excessive,” he said.
“When do you think you’ll need more?” she asked.
“I’m not really sure,” he said.
He shouldn’t be hungry. He had just stuffed himself with more food than he’d had in recent memory. But the prospect of eating everything she just said made his stomach growl.
It was weird.
How suddenly his hunger had been awoken. How something he hadn’t felt in a long time had reared its head when he was reminded how good things could taste. He had forced himself to eat all this time. It had been all he could do to choke food down. And now there was this. Now there was her.
And that first taste of chocolate chip cookie had reminded him of how different it could be.
“How about I check back in with you tomorrow? You know, since I won’t quite have everything with the bakery up and running yet.”
“Sounds good. And that key will be on its way to you.”
“Right. My address.”
She reached into the car, and the loose skirt she was wearing blew up against her legs, outlining them. They were longer than they looked, considering she was so small. The thin fabric was tight against her bottom, and he couldn’t help but notice the round, pert shape.
He blinked, feeling like he was in a haze. Feeling like he just had an out-of-body experience.
She grabbed a small pad with sticky notes on it, scribbled the address and held it out to him, stuck to her finger. He took it, without touching her skin. “Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
She regarded him for a moment, and looked like she might say something else. But then didn’t. “See you tomorrow,” she said.
Then she got back into the car, put it in Reverse and drove away. He stared down at the address stuck to his finger.
And he watched as her car faded into the distance. He went back into the cabin, and grabbed his cell phone. Then he went to the trail just behind the house, past the stables that were just behind the cabin, and in much better shape than his own dwelling. Where he found the rock. That stuck up just a little bit higher than everything else and put him at just the right angle to make a call.
As soon as he got there, his phone vibrated, four voice mails showing up.
He bit back a curse.
He didn’t listen to any of them, instead he just called Lucinda. “I need you to mail keys to my new tenant,” he said. He didn’t bother to ask how she was, say how he was or give any kind of introduction. Then he explained the situation, and how he was bartering with Iris for rent.
“Are you insane?” Lucinda asked.
He looked around, at the stern silence of the towering pine trees all around him, the narrow wedge of blue sky and the needle covered dirt down below. His dirty, weathered boots on the boulder he was standing on. Doing a balancing act while he made a phone call to his business manager.
“Hell yes,” he said. “But that’s not a recent development.”
“That is prime real estate. It’s why you gave me permission to invest your money in it. And I don’t want it turning into an albatross. For you or for me.”
“I don’t care. She made a case for it. I think the business will do well. Plus, she cooks for me.”
There was a long silence. “She cooks for you?”
“As part of the trade,” he said.
“Right,” she said.
“Anyway. It’s my building. You might manage things, but you’re not the boss.”
“I’ve basically been the boss for five years, Griffin.”
“But you still aren’t,” he said.
“Fair enough. Do what you want. Give me the address and I’ll mail the keys.”
He rattled it off, and then quickly ended the phone call. Then he stared down at the voice mails. He hesitated for a moment, then started to play the first one. It was Iris. Asking about the property.
The next was just Lucinda, calling to tell him that there’d been an inquiry about the property, and asking what he wanted to do about it. It was over a week old now. Well, those problems had been self solving.