Page 32 of Revelry
Those were the mornings I liked best.
He’d get to work as soon as his coffee was finished, and I wouldn’t speak to him again until lunch. Then, he’d work until sunset, or close to it, and would give me an update before heading back to his cabin. Some days he’d only stay for the morning before making his way down to old man Ron’s or check in on the other cabins he worked on regularly.
But most days, he was with me.
I’d become so frustrated watching Anderson make progress all around me while I stayed stuck on blank pages of my sketchbook that I’d decided to help around the cabin in my own ways. So I’d driven into town and raided the small vintage shops until I returned with fabric perfect for new curtains.
I’d been a little giddy as I dumped it all out on the kitchen island and began sorting through it, measuring and cutting, planning the final product in my head. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed sewing until I’d sat down with those first few pieces under my hands.
It’d all come back to me then, with the fabric stark and clean under my fingers, my foot gentle on the pedal as I guided each stitch. The joy that always blossomed when I created something had flourished to life again. To watch the amethyst fabric morph from just scraps to curtains that brightened up the cabin made me feel useful again.
So while Anderson worked on the outside, I worked on the inside.
Momma Von stopped by one afternoon near the end of the first week of our new arrangement. She’d wanted to invite me into town with her, but had stopped short in asking me when she saw Anderson working on the back porch.
“What’s he doing here?”
I had looked over my shoulder, shrugging as if nothing was out of the ordinary when I turned to face her again. “Just helping me fix up the cabin a little.”
“Oh,” she’d answered, but her eyes were still fixed on Anderson. “So you guys made up then, did you?”
I heard the wariness in her voice and I wrapped my hands around her wrist with a gentle squeeze. “I apologized, and he did too, and now he’s helping me fix up the cabin. That’s all.” I gave her a pointed look—her wheels were turning faster than old man Ron’s when he paraded his truck up and down the road on a nice day.
She’d nodded, and in the end I had gone into town with her, but after that day, there were more and more surprise visitors.
Yvette would bring little Benjamin by, her eyes searching for Anderson the entire time. Davie, too—though he would just walk right up to Anderson and say hello. Their conversations didn’t last long, and both Yvette and Davie would leave with perplexed faces, sometimes whispering to each other.
Tucker dropped by once to ask if I wanted any of the deer jerky he and his brother had made after their last hunting trip. We had talked in the kitchen for a while, but I felt Anderson’s gaze hot on my neck every second he was there, that is until he redirected his laser beams at the back of Tucker’s head as he walked down the drive and back out onto the road.
The rest of the town seemed to make a point to walk by my cabin, their stares lingering as they passed. Sarah was one of them. One day she stopped, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Anderson cut fresh firewood behind the garage. I’d caught her staring from where I was sketching on the porch and waved, but she just narrowed her eyes and flicked her ponytail off her shoulder, stalking away.
“We’ve become the talk of the town, you know,” I said to Anderson casually one night as he packed up his tools.
It’d been just over two weeks, and every day we became more of a sideshow. He looked up at me, and I nodded my chin toward the end of the drive where two residents I’d yet to meet were walking slowly by, eyes glued on my cabin.
Anderson glanced over his shoulder and frowned, dismissing them just as easily and shutting the lid on his box. “Not much else to do out here other than talk, I guess.”
I chuckled, watching as the last of the sun’s beams spread over my front yard through the trees. “You should come back for dinner tonight.”
I hadn’t really planned on saying the words, but they’d tumbled out anyway, so I didn’t feel the desire to take them back once they had. It’d been nice having him around, and though we’d talked a little, I was still curious about him. I wanted to know more. I wanted to spend time with himwithouthis toolbox involved.
“I’m kind of tired,” he tried, but I rolled my eyes, grabbing his notebook off the counter and handing it to him.
“Too tired to eat?”
He opened his mouth, but closed it tight again, lips flat.
“Exactly. Go drop your stuff off and shower and let me attempt to cook for you,” I said. “I hope you like pancakes.”
This time, his brows folded. “It’s dinnertime.”
“And?” I pressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t like breakfast for dinner. That’s just un-American.”
Anderson chuffed, tucking his notebook under his arm. He looked out the window toward the mountains. “I don’t know.”
“Please,” I begged, dragging the word out. He looked at me again and I poked out my bottom lip.
“Fine,” he conceded, the edges of his lips fighting back a smile. “But I really am tired tonight. How about tomorrow?”
