Page 57 of The Cabin
I sigh. “Seems like it.” I nudge the still-smoking carcass with the toe of my boot, and bits of char flake off. “Way too long.”
I hear her feet on the steps, and she comes to gaze down at the poor burnt chicken with me.
“You should have set a timer.”
“I was watching the clock,” I protest. And then sigh. “But I guess a timer woulda been smart, huh?”
She hesitates. “Um, I made some pasta. Nothing fancy. But I have plenty. Since your dinner is, uh, inedible, to say the least.”
“It was gonna be good, too. Olive oil all over it, bunch of seasoning.” I sigh. “Well, I’ll have to try again.”
“Lower temperature next time,” she says. “Olive oil has a low smoke point. Burns easily.” A laugh. “I learned that the hard way.”
I snort. “Looks like I just did, too.” I glance at her. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
She waves. “It’s the least I can do for saving my life this morning. I’m not sure what I’d have done without drinkable coffee.” She indicates the chicken. “Whenever I make coffee, it turns out like that. My—I’ve been taught a million times. It’s easy, I know it is. But somehow, it just always turns out tasting like ass.”
I smile at that. “Well, you know, making good coffee is an art form. It’s not just hot water and ground-up coffee beans. It’s a whole complex chemical process. There’s nitrogens that need to escape for a certain amount of time, and the water needs to be clean and fresh and filtered and just off a boil, and the beans should be ground right before you brew, and they should be nice and granular—” I break off, because she’s blinking at me with a wry grin. “Sorry. My—um…I’ve been told I get lecture-y about coffee. I worked at a roaster when I was in trade school. Sorta got bit by the coffee bug.”
I notice we’ve both made the same slip-up.
“I’ll trade you your fancy coffee with the fancy glass thing for a big old pot of spaghetti.” Her expression goes dark, sober. “I…it’ll be nice to share it. To not eat it alone.”
“Eating alone sucks.”
“Amen to that,” is all she says, and somehow we don’t need to elaborate.
“Let me clean this mess up, and myself,” I say. “Should I bring anything? Don’t want to mooch.”
A shrug. “Nah. Unless you have garlic bread over there. The only bread I have isn’t really right for it, and I haven’t been into town to shop yet.” She gestured at the cabin. “It was, uhh, stocked, already, with pretty much everything I need. But you know how it is, there’s always something missing.”
She’s rambling.
“I actually do have some. It’s store-bought, the kind from the freezer aisle.”
Her eyes light up. “Ooh, I love that stuff. I know it’s terrible for you, but it’s so good.”
“Well, my oven’s already on. I’ll fix it up and be over in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She turns away, hesitates. “Nathan, um, I don’t want you to—”
I hold up my hands. “Just a neighborly meal, is all.”
A nod, her thick black hair falling in front of her eyes; she brushes it back with one hand, tucks it behind the delicate shell of her ear. She’s not been taking care of herself—I don’t know her from Adam, but I can tell that much. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s gaunt, exactly, but it wouldn’t be a totally inaccurate description. Beautiful, though. Her eyes, that deep shade of green, the olive complexion of her skin, the inky sheaf of hair cascading down around her thin shoulders…she hunches a little, as if to ward off a blow from the world. But the ghost of the woman she was, the woman she should be, is there within her.
I don’t know her, but I want to make her smile, just to leaven the sadness carved into the lines on her forehead, at the corners of her mouth.
She turns to walk away, and I remember the last time I talked to Adrian, he told me he first fell in love with Nadia because of her ass.
I catch myself looking, but her sweater, a long, gray, thick-knit cardigan, hangs over it. Probably for the best.
I look away, out at the water, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. How does this work?
All I know is, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I’ve been here utterly alone but for occasional trips into town, and after two weeks of total solitude, I’m going a little cabin crazy.
So maybe that’s all this is. Innocent. A little companionship.
Still, however, I find myself reading more of the book while I’m waiting for the garlic bread to bake.
Red wine, that’s the ticket. More from her POV. It’s indulgent, and goes with just about everything. Ice cream and red wine, popcorn and red wine, chocolate and red wine. Never mind those fancy chef pairings, red goes perfectly well with fish. And steak, of course. And obviously pasta. The redder and richer the better. Give me a nice dry cab sav, and I’m happy. Well, maybe not anymore, not HAPPY, per se. But you know what I mean.
