Wanting to escape him and her embarrassment, she hurried into the bathroom. She found the toothpaste, brushed, used the toilet, washed her face, and returned to the main part of the cabin.
Rain stood in front of the stove and motioned her closer. She hesitantly approached him, preferring to leave and forget about waking up in his room. When she stopped an arm’s length away, he reached for her hand. Against her better judgment, she let him pull her beside him and even allowed his hand to stay on her lower back.
He watched the pot of boiling water. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“You. Me. Us.”
“Us?” she said, trying to step away. “I know you’re not stupid, Rain. Please, stop saying that.”
He pulled her closer. “You gave me cookie dough.”
“That doesn’t make us best friends.” She shook her head. “God, I feel like I’m dreaming, and any moment I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone. I’ll be … somewhere else.”
“I’m making breakfast. You’ll feel better once you eat.” He shot her a look that turned softer the longer he gazed at her.
She turned around and stared at the rumpled bed. “How about we don’t? I need to go change clothes and open the coffee shop.”
“Already done. Taylor’s got your business covered and is making coffee for your customers.”
She whirled around, grabbed the counter to slow the dizziness coming over her. “She doesn’t know how to make my coffee. How did she get inside?”
“Relax. She’s telling your customers you have the day off. They’ll understand, and be back for your coffee when you’re feeling better. This is Pitnam — they keep their business local.” He stirred oatmeal into the boiling water. “I found your keys in your purse and let her inside. Nice setup. Hell of a wagon.”
“It’s not a wagon. It’s a trailer.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes a moment. “This can’t be happening.”
“You like to argue,” he said.
“No, but I don’t like not having control,” she said.
He carried two steaming bowls to the table. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.
“Babe … ” He lowered his voice and muttered, “Don’t want to have to tell you twice.”
She walked over and plopped down at the table. Unsure if she could force a bite down her throat, she propped her head in her hand and leaned on her elbow. He was the bossiest person she knew.
The bowl of oatmeal sat in front of her. He reached over with his spoon, made an indention in the middle of the mush, poured a couple teaspoons of milk in the hole, sprinkled sugar and cinnamon in the milk, and with a stern nod, motioned for her to eat.
Any thought of food in her stomach made her nauseated. She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big fan of oatmeal.”
“Trust me.” To show her, he took a bite and smiled. “Try it.”
With reluctance, she brought the spoon to her mouth and scraped the oatmeal off the utensil with her top teeth, grimacing. She swallowed, pleased it went down easily. He grinned before ducking his chin and going back to eating out of his own bowl. She continued, and a few minutes later, she’d finished every bite.
“You were right. That was good.” She leaned away. “Thank you.”
“It’s the cinnamon.” He pushed his bowl forward and leaned his elbows on the table. “My dad drank a lot growing up. It helped him on rough mornings.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, not liking that he’d had the experience of taking care of a parent who drank to excess. She wondered who’d parented the child Rain. “I don’t normally drink. I don’t want you to think I’m a lush. I’m not. I don’t even know why I started last night.”
“I forced you to drink, babe,” he whispered.
“You? Why?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. Last night, I found you hiding under my desk.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist when she moved to get up.
“I need to
Rain stood in front of the stove and motioned her closer. She hesitantly approached him, preferring to leave and forget about waking up in his room. When she stopped an arm’s length away, he reached for her hand. Against her better judgment, she let him pull her beside him and even allowed his hand to stay on her lower back.
He watched the pot of boiling water. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“You. Me. Us.”
“Us?” she said, trying to step away. “I know you’re not stupid, Rain. Please, stop saying that.”
He pulled her closer. “You gave me cookie dough.”
“That doesn’t make us best friends.” She shook her head. “God, I feel like I’m dreaming, and any moment I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone. I’ll be … somewhere else.”
“I’m making breakfast. You’ll feel better once you eat.” He shot her a look that turned softer the longer he gazed at her.
She turned around and stared at the rumpled bed. “How about we don’t? I need to go change clothes and open the coffee shop.”
“Already done. Taylor’s got your business covered and is making coffee for your customers.”
She whirled around, grabbed the counter to slow the dizziness coming over her. “She doesn’t know how to make my coffee. How did she get inside?”
“Relax. She’s telling your customers you have the day off. They’ll understand, and be back for your coffee when you’re feeling better. This is Pitnam — they keep their business local.” He stirred oatmeal into the boiling water. “I found your keys in your purse and let her inside. Nice setup. Hell of a wagon.”
“It’s not a wagon. It’s a trailer.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes a moment. “This can’t be happening.”
“You like to argue,” he said.
“No, but I don’t like not having control,” she said.
He carried two steaming bowls to the table. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.
“Babe … ” He lowered his voice and muttered, “Don’t want to have to tell you twice.”
She walked over and plopped down at the table. Unsure if she could force a bite down her throat, she propped her head in her hand and leaned on her elbow. He was the bossiest person she knew.
The bowl of oatmeal sat in front of her. He reached over with his spoon, made an indention in the middle of the mush, poured a couple teaspoons of milk in the hole, sprinkled sugar and cinnamon in the milk, and with a stern nod, motioned for her to eat.
Any thought of food in her stomach made her nauseated. She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big fan of oatmeal.”
“Trust me.” To show her, he took a bite and smiled. “Try it.”
With reluctance, she brought the spoon to her mouth and scraped the oatmeal off the utensil with her top teeth, grimacing. She swallowed, pleased it went down easily. He grinned before ducking his chin and going back to eating out of his own bowl. She continued, and a few minutes later, she’d finished every bite.
“You were right. That was good.” She leaned away. “Thank you.”
“It’s the cinnamon.” He pushed his bowl forward and leaned his elbows on the table. “My dad drank a lot growing up. It helped him on rough mornings.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, not liking that he’d had the experience of taking care of a parent who drank to excess. She wondered who’d parented the child Rain. “I don’t normally drink. I don’t want you to think I’m a lush. I’m not. I don’t even know why I started last night.”
“I forced you to drink, babe,” he whispered.
“You? Why?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. Last night, I found you hiding under my desk.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist when she moved to get up.
“I need to
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