Page 30 of Cabin Fever

Olivia slid into the booth and I lifted my broken arm, pushing myself into the other side.

"It doesn't matter. What's important is that I'm being honest. I called you Mr. Grumpington because you're not exactly a ray of sunshine every day."

I shrugged and glanced out the window. "That's true. But you shouldn't call people names."

Why did I feel like I was eight years old again defending my father?

The warmth of her hand as she placed hers on mine brought my attention back to Olivia. As the light from the window fell on her wavy locks, it appeared as if glitter floated around her head. That's where she belonged—surrounded by light and warmth and everything that's golden. Not restricted by old wood, mud, and sheep poop.

"It was wrong of me. I'm sorry. But you have to admit, you do love to complain about me."

No, I didn't . . . did I?

I thought back over the past eleven days when she attempted to help with chores and ended up dying all the sheets pink. Her eyes wide with hope and when I saw the beds, instead of thanking her for trying, I yelled and told Olivia never to do a load of laundry again.

"It's not—"

"Here are your menus." The waitress with a head full of graying curls handed over a large plastic menu. "Hey! I know you. You're the coffee guy. Never seen you sit down for food before."

"I guess there's a first time for everything," I grumbled and raised the taupe-colored menu up to my face.

"This is where you buy that amazing coffee? Let's get a big bag of it. I want to bring it back to DC when I leave."

I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of Olivia leaving. Must be the pain I'm in that's causing me to be overly emotional. Olivia just mentioned how my temper had been fluctuating up and down.

"You're from DC? We had a young woman last week in here from DC, too. Maybe you know her?"

I shook my head. That was one of the reasons why I didn't go around having conversations with people, or being social as Olivia put it. People had the most ridiculous ideas. Because someone was from a certain place, they must know everyone from there.

I'm from DC, but I had never met Olivia before last week.

"Did she have short brown hair that dusted her chin?"

I lowered my menu enough to stare at Olivia.

"Yes. And the most beautiful brown eyes. Just like yours. Hey, are you related to her?"

Olivia nodded. "That must have been Bea, my sister. Was she asking about me? I'm Olivia, by the way." She reached out her hand to the waitress. "Olivia Love."

"Yes! Love. I thought it was such an adorable name. It must have been your sister. She left a letter here for you." The waitress began to step away but stopped and turned back. "I'm Debbie. I own the diner with my hubby, Jack, who is in the back cooking."

"Nice to meet you, Debbie. It's so refreshing to talk to another person after over a week."

"Hey," I said setting my menu on the table.

"You know what I mean. It's nice to have a conversation with someone who likes to be social." Olivia nodded as if that explained everything.

"I'll go get that letter. You two take your time deciding." Debbie walked off with a smirk.

"It's not like I had much choice in the matter."

"Choice in what? Having me as a temporary roommate?" Olivia said absently as she gazed at the menu.

I leaned toward her. "That, yes, but also in how I was raised. No one has a choice in that. Living out here with only sheep to keep me company . . . how do you expect a man to act?"

Olivia raised her head from the menu and rubbed her lips together. It dawned on me what I meant and what I said were two very different things. "I didn't mean that. I don't . . . uh, being with a . . ."

"A what, Carter?" Her mouth twitched.

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