Page 11 of The Cabin

“Medium rare okay for your filet?” he checks and I almost jump out of my skin. He’s directly behind me, lips all but touching my ear. I can feel the goosebumps rise up my neck as he reaches around me to grab the pepper grinder. His chest touches my back briefly.

“Yeah, that’s great.” I grab the salad and a bottle of dressing and stumble toward the table, hoping to escape Mr. Sexy’s Kitchen in one piece. He follows with the rest of dinner and another bottle of wine.

“Bon appétit!" He watches me take my first bite. I have zero control over myself when an absolutely obscene moan leaves my lips as I chew. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m three glasses of wine in, that I’m all hot and bothered from all the touching in the kitchen, or that I haven’t had real food in four days, but I simply cannot contain the noises I’m making in approval of his cooking. His eyes darken, and his gaze narrows in towards the fork I’m pulling from my lips.

I’m totally imagining it because I’m tipsy and apparently super horny all the time now. Totally. 100% imagining it.

Although, I swear on my life that he watches me take every goddamn bite. He is barely touching his plate, and I feel like my skin is on fire.

I clear my throat and attempt to give small talk another go. “I can’t imagine what more you could do in here, it’s basically a five-star hotel compared to mine.” Success. He picks his fork back up to take a bite.

“The bathroom isn’t done, I only put the plumbing in for the kitchen. I’d rather not have to go to the Y every time I need to shower, ya know?” We both tense at the mention of the Y. I totally lied when I called it even. It’s, like, all I can think about.

“Lucky duck!” I smile to try to ease the tension.

“Oh, you can come up and use it anytime you want. Mi casa es su casa.” I try not to laugh at his Spanish. Why is it always one of three options when someone assumes I speak Spanish? (Which I do, by the way. My mom spoke it to us growing up. She isn’t a native speaker, but she lived in Spain for like two decades and felt strongly about us being bilingual.)

The three options are as follows: a) mi casa es su casa, b) ¿Dónde está la biblioteca?, or c) una cerveza más por favor. Yes, good job, so original. You’re doing great, sweetie.

His face heats. “I mean, we’ll take turns, obviously. I wasn’t saying we would shower together or anything.” His cough is loud as he tries to swallow a huge bite of broccoli.

“Wouldn’t want a repeat of today’s peep show!” The nervous laughter coming out of my mouth is embarrassing, but the red wine in my system argues that it’s, ‘super adorable.’

“Oh, yeah, definitely not.” Another cough.

I fight to keep a frown off my face. So, Iwasright. His little peek earlier was totally circumstantial. It had nothing to do with him finding me attractive. He couldn’t have agreed with me fast enough.

“Right…so I can do the dishes. You cooked, I’ll wash.” This was such a bust. I couldn’t keep a conversation to save my life and it’s so obvious this was a pity invite.

“Absolutely not,” he counters, shaking his head a bit, grabbing our plates and placing them on the counter.

Grayson fills my glass and nods towards the couch. “C’mon, I’ll start a fire.”

It’s like stupid warm out, but okay.

“Actually, I feel like I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I don’t wanna be a bother.” I begin to back up towards my escape. So close. Only two more feet.

“No, c’mon, we haven’t even had the gourmet dessert you brought!”

I feel myself relax a little, at least enough to laugh. He’s smiling, and now I feel like I have whiplash. I feel very, very fuzzy. Suddenly very aware of the red wine I’ve consumed. Or maybe it’s just the intensity of his eyes making my brain fog up. I can tell by their sheen that he’s feeling his wine too.

—

An hour (or four…or ten…or maybe a year?) later I feel loose and free and maybe a little too comfortable. Solid proof can be found in the indecent amount of Cosmic Brownies wrappers littering the floor.

“I have always said that! I’m a huge Disney fan. I know all the words to every song in every movie. But going to Disney World is just several hot days in a row where you stand in lines and maybe, sometimes get on a two-minute ride.” I’m gesturing wildly and definitely talking way too loudly.

Grayson looks around like the Disney police are going to pop out of the woodwork. “I don’t get the hype. I never have. And I know I would probably get crucified for saying this…but all the ‘classic’ rides people hype up…are just old and outdated.”

“The It’s A Small World ride is creepy! It is freaking creepy.”

“One thousand percent. Why is everything on a boat? Why is almost every ride on a boat?”

“I have never met anyone who feels the same way as me on this. I didn’t go until I was an adult, but still. I don’t think that matters.”

“I went as a kid. Changes nothing.” His head is leaning back on the couch, legs sprawled, totally relaxed.

“Going was something I had always wanted to do. Pretty anticlimactic.”

---