Page 5 of His Big Pipe

She rolls her eyes and I fight back a chuckle.

“Not like I have a choice? I can’t afford a cabin rental.”

I pause, and take a breath. “I can pay for a cabin, if you’re concerned.”

She smiles at me and my jeans get even tighter. “That is nice of you, Sully. But you’re already getting the raw end of this deal so I’m sure one night at your home is just fine.”

I like hearing her say my name. I imagine her whispering it in my ear. Or screaming it as I’m buried inside her.

Damn. I leave before I do something inappropriate and ruin everything.

When I return less than an hour later, Talia’s already dried almost everything except the floor with towels. She’s opened all of the windows and I go to work vacuuming out the water and setting up the fans.

As the sun begins to set, she packs up some food from her refrigerator.

She pats the insulated bag. “This is most of our dinner. I still need to prepare some rice and vegetables to go with the dumplings.”

“Sounds delicious,” I reply. I decide to leave the vac, in case I need it again. ”You have an overnight bag?”

She hands me the food. “You carry this and I’ll get my bag.”

We get in my truck and head to my house. When we pull up, she gasps.

“When you said ‘lake house’ I pictured a modest cabin on the water, not this. This is gorgeous.”

I open the door for her as we walk in. “Thanks. My friends and I built it.”

She puts her bag down, then tries to take some of the food from me.

“I got it,” I say, blocking her playfully. She grins and follows me into the kitchen.

“Wow. Beautiful.” She gazes out at the lake, then at my chef’s kitchen that’s barely been touched. “This kitchen begs to be used, Sully. Why don't you cook in it?”

I set the food down on the counter and shrugs. “Never got into it. But I do miss home-cooked meals.”

She begins to unpack the bags, taking out containers and produce. “Who made them for you?”

My thoughts turn to the old table at my parents house…full of stew, chowder, and soda bread. “My mom and aunts.”

“Are they nearby?”

I shake my head. “Ireland.”

“What?” She stops and looks me up and down. “I figured you might be Irish because of your name, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“I was raised here in Deepwood by my mum and dad, but when they retired they moved back to be with family.”

“That must be tough.” She puts on an apron she pulls from her bag.

It is, but I they’re happy. And that’s all that matters.

“You know, my mom’s Irish. Her maiden name is Doyle.”

“No kidding. And your dad’s Chinese? And a chef?”

“Yep, they met when my mom was in China teaching.”

“Where are they now?” I ask, getting a couple of beers out of the refrigerator.

---