I went on staring at the fire while Linden stared at me. On the other side of the yard, I saw the black cat blink at us a few times before darting into the woods. Such a funny guy, always popping up at the most random moments.
Eventually, I said, "I don't know how to trust that sort of gesture."
"This is how." He held out the plate to me. "Eat something. You'll feel better."
I picked up a wedge of creamy white cheese with a black-speckled rind and a cracker studded with rosemary and raisins. "Thank you."
He nodded, taking a pull of his beer. Then, he held up the bottle, saying, "To Midge. A woman loved by many and freakier than anyone would've guessed."
"Bless her," I said, tapping my glass to his bottle. "Even if I'd rather pretend I knew none of it."
"At least you've solved the mystery of the closet shoeboxes."
"Lin, I opened two. There are at least twenty."
He grabbed a piece of cheddar and a grape from the plate, saying, "Yeah, maybe don't look in the rest of them."
"Maybe I'll just put off going into her room a bit longer. It was hard before the dildos entered the picture."
"If I've said that once, I've said it a hundred times," he muttered.
I laughed then, loud and bawdy and deep enough for it to rattle my bones a bit. It was good to laugh, to soften into the heat of the fire and the warmth of the wine. It was good to be here and it was good to be with Linden. I didn't want anything to change. Not yet.
There was a time when I'd seriously considered attending law school. Everyone in D.C. was a lawyer so why shouldn't I add some letters to the back end of my name too?
I'd decided against it because law school was really damn expensive and the notion of leaving my job and dropping out of the day-to-day work of politics seemed impossible to me, even if I would come out of it with the right to throw around expressions like "As an attorney, I can tell you…" and "I can only give you my opinion, not legal advice."
If I'd only known leaving the job and day-to-day politics for law school would be less complicated than termination via tweet. If only.
Now, as I wandered a circuit around the house while Midge's attorney droned on in my earbuds about filing tax returns and signing off on another set of documents, I thought about law school again.
Was it too late for me? Did it make sense to adopt a three-year-long project just because I didn't want to rely on this guy to explain things to me? Was that a valid reason to spend upwards of two hundred thousand dollars on an education? Would that give me the time I needed to sort out my life? Probably not but was there really a price I could put on not needing anyone for anything?
Then again, it would be much less expensive to learn the right way to fix up this house. Fewer exams too.
As I looped through the kitchen, I heard a great thwack. I glanced around for the source of the sound, peered at my phone to see if there was a wacky new notification there, darted halfway down the basement stairs and then back up when I found things mostly in order.
Then I heard it again.
It was outside. Definitely outside.
I murmured in agreement as the attorney said something about property taxes and escrow accounts and I hurried out the side door, down the steps I'd rebuilt. I was still proud of them, even if one did have a troubling wobble.
Walking along the side of the house, I headed toward the street until I realized the noise wasn't out there. I doubled back toward the very much in-progress porch and held a hand over my brows to block out some of the afternoon sun. It was hot today, unseasonably hot for November. This sweater was an enormous mistake.
As I heard that thwack again, I made my way along the remaining perimeter of the porch, my eyes narrowed while the attorney said something about title insurance. I didn't need to pay attention to that. It was fine.
Then I spotted Linden.
More specifically, I spotted the axe as it slashed through the air and then I spotted the man holding it. Another thwack went up and I watched two wedges of wood tumble off the stump in front of him and drop to the ground.
He stood with his back toward me and his feet planted a shoulder's-width apart as he lifted the axe again. A line of sweat dampened the back of his t-shirt. The tattoos on his biceps peeked out from under his sleeves and gleamed in the bright autumn light.
Then he swung and I felt that thwack inside me. I didn't know whether it was the thrill of covertly watching him or witnessing the insane ripple of muscle as he struck the wood but I didn't care because it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.
He tossed the split wood onto the neat stack he'd constructed near the edge of his deck. It was handy, I realized, to have all that firewood lined up for the winter. He planned it this way, of course. That was how Linden operated. Careful and precise and…fuck me, those shoulders were glorious. It was no surprise to me that my guy was next-level hot but this—this—was a lesson in lumberbears.
He bent down to heave an absurdly large slab of tree onto the stump. It was absurdly large, at least three feet tall and four or five wide. There was no way
