Page 73 of Paradox
Romance is really not for me. Though, credit to the author, I guess, cause I have read all the way through to chapter ten.
Closing the book, I reach over to put it on the coffee table before standing.
It’s well and truly dark, and now that I’ve torn myself away from the world of romantic make believe—where the main love interest is established by the second chapter and they fall in love at first sight—my whole body feels like putting on the second pair of snowshoes and wandering off randomly into the trees because what could Eden possibly be doing that has him out this late?
Away from the cabin.
Avoiding me.
Forcing me to go insane in his absence.
Deciding that it’s not like we have any shortage of extra snow, I march to the bathroom.
I need another shower.
Anything to wash away this doubt.
“Jin?” I call from the front steps of the cabin with full arms.
In hindsight I should have stopped off at the shed first.
“Jin?” I try for a second time. But after another minute of no answer, I leave everything I don't need on the porch and let myself in.
The familiar warmth is like a hug, and there's a slight lingering of sourdough still in the air.
All the couch cushions are in a pile in front of the stove, and a book is on the coffee table. I wouldn’t have picked Jin as a romance fan, but then again, I didn’t realize a lot of things about him until last night.
There’s a nervous tension in my chest as my lips pinch into a tight smile. It would have been nice if he was here to greet me, but I’m not going to get mad about it. If the kid wants to have a shower while I'm not here, there's nothing I can do to stop him.
Heading straight for the kitchen, I dump my fishing bag in the sink then open the cumbersome cooler to let the mushrooms and flowers begin thawing.
Back outside, I take the small Douglas Fir I found and nail a thin wood round to its base.
It fits perfectly between the stove and the dining table. Just like I hoped it would.
I'm halfway through washing the pre-cleaned fish when the shower stops. Forgetting how to function, I stand stupidly at the sink with a frozen bass in my hands because my brain is playing a film of Jin drying himself behind my eyelids in real time.
So much of me wants to open the door and let myself in so I can tear the towel away from him, lift him, and pin him against the door. But I don’t know if that’s something he’d want. We both had so much to drink last night I'm not sure if everything I remember actually happened.
I barely slept, and it had nothing to do with the hardness of the cabin’s floor.
What we had done, and what we promised each other we wanted, felt so unreal. Not in a bad way, but not in a good one either. Because, no matter which way I look at it, the reality is, I have a lot more skin in the game.
The bathroom door opens behind me, and it takes all of my self control not to spin around. But I play it cool, waiting for the door to close again before looking over my shoulder. And when I do, I'm not met with a half naked and hot as hell Korean-American boy, like I'm expecting I will be. Instead I get a fully clothed, hood up over his head, Jeon Jintae with the same emotionless face that plagued me so much when he first arrived.
“I got fish,” I tell him. “Three yellow trout, a bass, and a whitefish.”
All he does is stare.
The silence that stretches between us is so thick I can almost touch it.
I tell myself that if I didn’t have fish all over my hands that I’d hug him and carry him to the couch. But I’m not sure how true that is.
After what feels like an eternity, Jin walks away and I whip my head around to look over my other shoulder.
Picking up a plate with a sandwich on it, he marches back to me and throws it on the sink beside me. “I made this for you.”
“Ah, thanks—”
