Page 29 of Training the Heart

The dreams of Brad not being there for me come a lot less now but they still come, and I wonder how I didn’t see it when I was in the thick of it.

Can’t go backward, only forward, Angel.My dad’s age-old saying runs through my mind as mid-morning sunlight streams through the windows, little dust fragments floating in their beams as I gently try to move my foot. Miraculously, it doesn’t feel quite as tight as it did when I fell asleep. It’s still propped on the pillow Wade placed there for me; in fact, I don’t think I even moved. I search for the clock, knowing my cell phone is still in my cabin, likely dead at this point.

Ten a.m. Good Lord. I just slept for almost nine straight hours. In Wade’s cabin. My boss’s cabin. The boss who tenderly blow-dried my hair last night and behaved like a perfect gentleman when I pulled him down on top of me in bed. The boss that didn’t even bat an eye helping me even though it seems like making himself uncomfortable is the last thing he ever wants to do.

I sit up and stretch myself out. My ankle is still swollen but it definitely feels a little better than last night. When I get to the living area, I see the coffee table has been moved and a blanket is ready for me on the sofa, and my mouth falls open as I look to the kitchen in shock. Either Wade’s gone overboard or a pack ofyellow Post-it notes exploded. They are everywhere, in various places around the cabin.

The first note I see is on the very fancy-looking gas range stove and it says, “Don’t fuck with my stove until I teach you how it works or there will be hell to pay,” in his angled, manly scrawl.

His coffee maker is ready with coffee to be brewed and Post-it instructions on which buttons to press depending on whether I like a light or dark roast. A mug sits beside it and my phone, which is plugged in and fully charged with two missed calls fromBrad 1andBrad 2—Brad’s ranch and house lines—beside a crockpot on the peninsula that is full of warm oatmeal, and a bowl, sugar, maple syrup and honey. The note in front of it reads, “Didn’t know what you’d like so here is everything.”

A tight feeling takes over my body. Knowing he made the effort to go get my phone for me, and that he was in my cabin, doesn’t even bother me. I’m grateful he even thought about it. I’m not sure how to manage the feeling as I wonder briefly when he did this. After he left me at one a.m.? Did he not sleep all night?

I press the button for dark roast because I need something strong this morning. This whole situation is a little overwhelming. In the time my coffee takes to brew I make my way around the comfortable cabin. I probably shouldn’t venture into Wade’s side of the house but I can’t help myself. I move slowly down the dark hall and peek into his bedroom. The door is wide open and the entire space smells like Wade straight out of the shower. There isn’t much in here, just a massive king-size bed, maybe the biggest one I’ve ever seen. The walls are deep wood like the rest of the space, and his large rustic headboard takes center stage. The bed is perfectly made with solid navy bedding, and one dresser with a simple lamp sits against the far wall. I make my way over to it and take in the things sitting on top. A docking station for his phone, antler bookends around vintage copies ofThe Great Gatsby,The Art of War, and a few others I don’t recognize, a very old cowboy hat, and the culprit for his delicious scent.

I pick up the amber glass bottle and inhale. It’s locally made. Cedarwood, bergamot, smoke, citrus, the label says. Whatever it is, it threatens to dampen my panties every time I breathe it in. I leave his room behind and move back to the kitchen, and sitting down on a stool at the counter I scarf down some oatmeal and peruse his other notes.

One on the drawer labeled “Cutlery.”

One on the pantry labeled “Dry food, help yourself.”

Another on the pantry that says “Don’t eat my Pop-Tarts.”

I smile.Big mistake writing that, buddy.

I drink my coffee, then make my way to the living room, scooting up to the comfortable sofa. There are Post-it notes with the remotes on the side table that say what streaming services he has. I open my favorite one up and scroll through his “Watch Again” catalog, selecting one of my own favorites, and settle in. It’s midway throughPoint Breakthat Wade finds me curled up on his sofa.

His eyes flit to mine as he takes his cowboy hat off and sets it down on the bench near the door.

“You behave this morning? No cooking?”

I nod, trying to ignore the odd way heat covered my body when he asked if I’d behaved.

“Yeah, I’m not taking any chances of making it worse.”

“I don’t know who the ‘Brads’ are but they called you twice between the time I got your phone and plugged it in,” he says. “I wanted you to have it in case you needed anything. I don’t have a landline,” he offers as what seems like reasoning for going into my cabin.

Always practical, always in control and always thinking of everything.

I’m starting to realize these are the cornerstones of Wade’s personality.

Wade doesn’t seem to be looking for an explanation but I give him one anyway.

I chuckle and then spill the tea. “The ‘Brads’ are one person, my ex. The numbers are any line he tries to call me from. I worked with him during my time at Bellingham.”

“As in Bradley? The Bellinghams’ son?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“Met him briefly when I was a teenager, but probably couldn’t pick him out of a lineup now. A little spoiled, if I remember right. He told us all more than once he was the boss’s son and he’d take over the ranch one day.”

“Sounds about right, and he’s still waiting,” I say.

“None of my business, but why don’t you just tell him to stop calling if you don’t want to talk to him?” Wade asks as he starts pulling things out of the fridge and fills himself a glass of water.

I laugh because yes, it should be that simple. “I’ve tried that, he doesn’t listen. Doesn’t take no for an answer very well. I’ve been meaning to get a new phone, but I’m trying to save every penny right now and blocking his numbers didn’t work so well. He calls less than before but it’s still frustrating.”

Wade’s jaw flexes in thought as he grabs a knife and cutting board. “No judgment, I have lots of experience in the shitty ex department, but bottom line, Trouble, a man should always respect a woman’s wishes, even if he doesn’t agree with them.” He says nothing more on the subject and then looks up at me and asks, “Okay then, you like pineapple?”

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