Page 27 of The Cabin

After scrubbing everything as quickly as possible and trying to pretend I’m not turned on by something as sad as the smell of soap, I step out of the shower to dry off. I am doing my absolute best to calm the fuck down and be normal. Why do I have to try so damn hard to be a regular, mentally stable human being? Doesn’t matter. This is all leaning towards obsessive at this point.

After taking several deep breaths, I open the door, planning to blurt out a quick, ‘Thank you!’ and be on my way, but I don’t see Grayson anywhere in the living room or kitchen. Maybe he’s outside?

I do a lap around his porch and around where he normally cuts wood, but nothing. It’s then that I notice his truck isn’t here. Um, okay. Weird. He knew I was in here showering. I can’t just leave his place unlocked to go back down to mine...

My mind races trying to come up with a solution that doesn’t make me wanna vomit. I can’t stay here and just awkwardly wait for him and I can’t just leave without saying thank you.

An idea hits when I go back into the cabin and see there’s a thing of bread on the counter in the kitchen. I think that works, right? I’ll make him a quick and easy thank you lunch (with his own food, but, whatever), leave a thank you note, and hope someone doesn’t come up and find his cabin and steal everything. I feel like whatever I come up with I’m going to feel weird about anyway, so I might as well go with the first thing that pops in my head. Save some time.

It’s easy to source the ingredients I need. I even find a box of macaroni and cheese that I pull out. It makes me giggle a little that someone like Grayson would have box mac and cheese.

Oh, shit. My stomach drops. The internal groan right now is very intense. I am so out of food at my cabin. Damnit, why didn’t I remember that when we were in town?Me cajo en la leche…

What the hell am I gonna do? I can’t make Grayson take me down again. Maybe I can find some berries in the woods or something? I’ll probably just accidentally poison myself.

I close my eyes and take a breath. I’m just going to have to humble myself and ask for his help. I’ll get enough to last the week that I’ll be here and then we don’t have to interact anymore.

The sandwich sits on a plate next to the stove with a thank you note written on the back of one of the coloring pages I must’ve left here. I leave the macaroni on the burner with the lid on, hoping that’ll keep it warm enough for when he gets home. I’ve done my due diligence and can leave guilt free. I’ll trek back up later when he returns from wherever the hell he is to beg him to take me to the grocery store.

A truck door closing reaches my ears and I panic. He’s not supposed to be home untilafterI leave. We had a very specific agreement in my head about this.

Grayson walks through the door with his arms filled to his shoulders with bags.

“Oh! Jeez, let me help you!” I scramble over to take some of the bags and put them on the island. “Hungry, huh?” I tease, taking in the piles and piles of groceries. His cabinets are pretty full. Not that I was snooping, per se, but circumstantially I saw some things.

“No, these are for you,” he grunts, unloading his arms as well.

I stare at all the stuff. “Grayson, what?” I turn to look at him, which in hindsight was a bad idea because he meets me with those green eyes and I all but melt.

“I’m such an asshole. I’m so sorry, Sol. I wasn’t even thinking. You mentioned the books and it all came together in my head. I knew you didn’t have a car. It’s been days! Weeks! What have you been doing this whole time? Eating fucking leaves? You should've said something. I would’ve taken you to get food.” He shakes his head. “No, I should’ve checked. I should’ve come down and checked and I’m so fucking sorry.” I’m a bit stunned. He is so genuine in this moment. Tortured. You can see it all over his face. He doesn’t owe me anything. It’s my own fault I don’t have a car. Well, it’s the ditch’s fault, but, whatever.

“Grayson –”

“I know. I suck as a human I fucked up and I’m really sorry I told you I was here for you especially because you’re essentially stranded up here and I wasn’t I let you starve and probably have to rinse off in the creek every day I can take this all down to your cabin but I would really really prefer if you agreed to stay here instead.” He spews all of this in one long run-on, all of his words squished together. He hardly takes a breath before he’s done.

“Grayson, I don’t need to –”

“God, you’re right. You shouldn’t have to be anywhere near me. Okay, if it’s alright with you, I’ll move down into your cabin and you can stay here.” His eyes are wild, desperate. So much emotion. What happened to the caveman? The guy who said I was immature and acting too provocatively?

I put my hands on his chest and gently guide him into one of the dining room chairs. I do not notice how broad and warm his chest is. That would be so unlike me and totally inappropriate.

Pulling up a chair of my own, I study his face. “What in the world is going on?”

“I want you to stay here. I want to make this up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up for.” I mean, there kind of is, the whole bar fiasco for one, but not for leaving me alone when I asked him to. “Grayson, just last week you didn’t want me in your kitchen doing the dishes! You don’t want me to stay here. I’d be doing a lot more than touching the dishes!” I didn’t mean itthatway, but I can tell by the shift in his expression that he took it that way. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Not to mention just about everything I do upsets you in some way. And I don’t want to be fighting all the time. And I’m certainly not stealing your cabin and having you move into mine. I’m fine, I promise.” I stand up and look towards the counter. “How much were the groceries? I’ll pay you back.”

I’ve got one bag looped up to my elbow when I feel him cage me in. Both arms on either side of me, leaning on the countertop. Chest flush against my back. My stomach flips.

“You’re not paying me back. And you’re not going back to your cabin.” His lips graze my ear with every word. I have to fight so damn hard not to whimper. I am rigid as a board, body completely tensed up. We’re back to demands. How did we go from Genuine, Sweet, Thoughtful Grayson to Demanding Grayson so quickly?

“Grayson…” It’s a breathy, whispered response. Any more than that and I’d be purring.

“Say you’ll stay.” He’s gripping the counter so hard I can see the muscles in his forearm straining. I know this is my imagination. I know I slipped and fell hiking down the mountain this morning and am about to finally die on the side of the road. And I most definitely, irrevocably, positively know I am imagining the fact that I can feel his dick on my ass.

“Say it.” He’s essentially growling in my ear and it is going straight to my clit. Direct line, no stops.

I must be crazy. I must’ve hit my head. I must have gone loony after being alone in the woods one too many days in a row. I know I’ve suffered brain damage because I hear myself breathe, “Okay.”

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