Page 70 of Verses

It was sad letting go.

When we were in the house proper, Wolf said, “You can hang your jacket on the coat tree in the living room—or I can do it for you if you want.”

“No, I can get it.” It wasn’t exactly like I was being given free rein of his house, but my brain went there anyway. The lights had been on in the kitchen where we’d entered from the garage, but the rest of the house was dark. I considered asking where to find the light switch, but it wasn’t too hard to find on the wall, thanks to the light spilling out of the kitchen. There were several switches, though, and the one I turned on was for the dining room. Because there were no walls between the dining and living rooms, I had no problem spying the coat tree Wolf had spoken of. Pulling off my jacket, I hung it on a loose peg and then headed back toward the kitchen.

“You can leave that light on if you want.”

I found Wolf pulling a couple of things out of the fridge and setting them on the counter beside it. “Can I help with anything?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m gonna go get the grill preheating. Be right back.”

I looked around the kitchen, wondering if it got really light in there during the day. The kitchen area in the apartment always felt dark and dreary and I never wanted to cook in there. Inthiskitchen, though, mostly white with a brown marble countertop, I could imagine the sun streaming in the kitchen with its south-facing windows, making it cheery and bright.

I might not ever know.

When Wolf came back in, he said, “It won’t be too long.” He touched a couple of buttons on the stove and then, opening the oven door, took the two large potatoes that had been sitting on top and placed them on a rack. “These are all but cooked, but I’m gonna keep ‘em warm.” Then he took the plastic wrap off a big bowl filled with a colorful salad and opened a drawer to take out some wooden tongs.

For a single guy, he seemed to have his shit together. That had to be the age factor…but it only fueled my attraction. “I hope you like shreds of carrots and cherry tomatoes with your greens.”

“I’m not too picky.” One thing I’d give my mom credit for was she always made us eat lettuce regularly—and other foods I didn’t quite like. Although I’d never be accused of eating like a rabbit, I’d grown to like salads over the years.

“I think everything’s just about ready, so we can head out back to grill.”

“You want me out there?”

“Yeah. I guess I should have had you keep your jacket on.”

I laughed. “That’s okay. But do you need me to set the table or anything?”

“Already done. Now go get your jacket.”

I walked briskly back through the dining room but this time I glanced at the table to find that it was already set, just like he’d said. Pulling my jacket back off the peg, I slid it on and headed back to the kitchen. “Ready.”

Nodding toward the island, he said, “All right. You can grab those tongs if you want.” Meanwhile, he peeled plastic wrap off a platter holding two big steaks.

“Will do.” These tongs were gigantic, and I imagined they were only used for grilling.

He flipped on a light switch before heading through a door and storm door. “Watch your step,” he said as I stepped through. “You can leave the door open so it’ll let more light out.”

“Won’t that let a lot of cold air in?”

“Not with the storm door closed.”

He was right—a lot of light came through the door, helping the poor outdoor light bulb that struggled. “Do you do a lot of night grilling?” I asked as he placed the platter on the side of the grill and held out his hand to take the tongs from me.

“Not as much as I should. I grill a lot in the summer to keep from getting the house too hot, and it’s always plenty light out here.”

“I’d say if you make it a habit in the winter, you might invest in better lighting out here.”

“You’re right—but I usually stop sometime in September. This felt like a special occasion.”

Oh, shit. I had no idea what to say about that—so I slightly changed the subject. “So do you ever actually put the steaks on the grill?”

He grinned. “I’m waiting for it to get a little hotter—like up around five-hundred degrees. Remember when I told you I sear them first?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I guess it’s close enough,” he said, lifting the lid of the grill and grabbing the platter of steaks.

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