“Have you eaten yet?” I asked over my shoulder.
“No.”
“Great. I'll make grilled cheese.”
She didn't protest, which I took as a good sign. Instead, when I turned around, she'd become engrossed in a picture of me, JJ, and Lizbeth on the wall. JJ had his arm around both of us. While he and I laughed, Lizbeth stared up at him with utter adoration, red hair glimmering in the summer sunshine. Lizbeth had tacked it onto the wall as soon as she'd printed it, and it had been there since the spring. With them gone, I couldn't bring myself to take it down.
“JJ?” she asked, still studying the photo as she gripped one foot behind her in a stretch.
“Yep.”
“You're not identical, then?”
“Not even a little.”
With a little tender care, the fire flared back up around the small kindling and my driest logs. I abandoned it to grow slowly and grab a drink of water, then tossed her a cup to help herself. She did, and I was relieved. I wanted a friend, not someone to take care of. She seemed perfectly happy to do it herself.
“You plan to shower?” I asked, leaning on the back of a chair.
She nodded.
“Great. We'll both shower, then I'll fix dinner. Once I'm done, we're watching a movie.”
An eyebrow arched. “Are we?”
Taking command was natural in some aspects of my life. Work. Travel. Lifting. Mom had always said I was born a natural leader, while JJ assumed I just couldn't help myself. But dating was my fuzzy realm. The place of uncertainty. The place where my dreams went to die because some women didn’t like male leadership. Or maybe I came on too strong. Maybe that was why everything failed me.
“You don't have to,” I countered. “But you'll regret it if you don't. I'm just about to start a James Bond marathon and that's one stud muffin you don't want to miss.”
I held out my hands as if to say just saying.
Her gaze tapered. “Which Bond?”
I scoffed. “Don't insult me. We start at the beginning and we watch from Sean Connery to Niven to Lazenby to Dalton to—”
“You forgot Moore.”
A hint of color brightened her cheeks when I grinned, a hand pressed to my chest. “You know your James Bond actors?”
She scoffed. “Don't insult me.”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart. You passed test number one. Get that stinky smell off you, my friend. We have grilled cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and Twinkies to destroy while we watch the world's greatest superhero in action.”
To my relief, Stella Marie gave no peep of annoyance at the old video or my junk food. We sat on opposite sides of the couch, gazes fixated on the TV mounted on the wall while the studly Mr. Connery flashed onto the screen.
“He's my favorite one,” she whispered.
My curiosity was piqued. First of all, she might be the only woman I'd ever known to be able to name all the 007 actors. The ones that knew anything about James Bond almost exclusively knew Craig—sometimes Brosnan.
“Not Daniel Craig?” I asked, scandalized.
She shrugged. “Meh.”
“Why?”
“It's the drawl.” She dropped her voice in a poor imitation of the famous Bond . . . James Bond line, and ended up laughing at herself.
“You must live like ten secret lives,” I said in shock. “Where has all of this truth been hiding all these years? You're a closet Bondie. We should have been best friends years ago.”
She smirked and had another bite of greasy—but delicious—grilled cheese. I’d already wolfed down my third. “Somewhere beneath reconciliation charts and spreadsheets?” And I thought I heard her mumble, “with the rest of my life.”
“Fair.”
We fell into a relaxed back-and-forth, with the movie absorbing most of our attention. Or, at least, appearing too. I had a hell of a time keeping my gaze forward, and she remained mostly quiet. Every now and then a tidbit would arise. A question. A snarky comment about a love of bouffants. But unlike the pressured dates I was used to, this almost felt like a movie with JJ or Megan. Maybe I was too tense and ready to impress on dates. Maybe I should run ten miles before every date, just like this one.
A voice in my head couldn't help but wonder if I was too wound up. People said it too much all the time. Be patient. Or wait it out a bit. Or calm down, Mark. Maybe I should have had more dates out in the middle of the wilderness.
Now there was an idea.
My thoughts narrowed in the familiar churn that meant I was onto something. Dating in the wilderness? No. Too unsafe for women. But there was a sense of escapism in the mountains. Some people might want to escape out here. Some people—the right people, like Stella—might pay to . . .
With a shake of my head, I flicked those thoughts away to focus on the movie. Tonight, I could just enjoy the fact that I didn't watch this movie alone.
Halfway through, Stella grabbed her twinkie, broke it in half, and sucked the cream out of the middle. It must have gone straight to her windpipe because she started to hack. I reached for her water and handed it over. Flushed, she accepted, and the coughing spasm quieted.
Trying to hide my laugh, but failing miserably, I said, “Twinkies fight back, Stell.”
Lips pressed, she nodded. The high color in her cheeks had nothing to do with the blazing fire on the other side of the room. Wet strands of hair rested around her ears, still drying after her shower, and the light scent of something floral wafted by every now and then. Under the easy ambiance, I relaxed.
Eventually, she did too.
And the flickering lights pushed the dark, cold night into the back of my mind. I didn't think of Adventura slipping away from me. From my supposed failures. From anything like that.
At least for one night, I wasn't all by myself.
For
