“Parents?”
“I was thinking artist, but I can go with that!”
I blinked. Now that had taken me by surprise. Artists? How oddly . . . specific.
“Artists?”
“Yeah. We rent out a cabin or two and prep it for artists.” He gestured around us. “Take this homey little number. We make it cozier if possible, you and Lizbeth have done a great job, and prep it for art. Get a big drafting table—”
“A drafting table?” I cried. “That would take up the whole space here.”
“Okay, so we do that in a different one. Whatever, those are details we'll figure out later. We advertise it as an artist's retreat. Maybe we have the wifi turned off for them during the day, or . . . food!” he exclaimed all of a sudden. “We provide all meals and delicious food. JJ could cater!” His face scrunched. “Those details can come later, too. But we have a winter retreat for the crazy creatives that feel like they can't create in their usual spaces.”
This conversation had instantly pushed us back into the Mark-and-Marie that I knew so well, and that calmed me. For a moment, it felt like we were on the phone, worlds apart. Now, however, immersed in his life, his vision seemed so much brighter. The idea ran through my head a few times, accruing statistics and numbers as fast as I could form a thought.
“Do you have supplies to 'cozy this place up'?” I asked.
“Maybe. I also have a Justin.”
“What's a Justin?”
“Justin. The camp ranger.”
“Oh!” The name finally surfaced in my mind from his payroll paperwork. It struck me—not for the first time—how oddly intimate a relationship between accountant and client could become. We saw most people in a light they didn't even comprehend themselves. Behaviors, statistics, impulses, challenges, all laid out in numbers.
To see it in real-life was disorienting, at best.
“Justin.” I nodded. “Right.”
“We'll need to do most of the work.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Lizbeth nearly perfected this little cabin, not to mention the addition of the bathroom, so we could spruce it up a little more with an artist in mind and try here first.”
His ideas flowed so easily now I almost missed the we in there. When had we become an official thing? Drywall? No thanks. Then again, this cabin wasn't too bad. Maybe people would pay to live here.
Hadn't I?
I cleared my throat.
“If we rent this place, then what about me?”
“The attic,” he said immediately. His brain really did move fast. He waved his hand in that direction again. “I'll crash on the couch or something. I've done winter camping before. It sucks, but with the right gear, it’s livable.”
My mouth opened to protest, but I stopped. Winter camping? Okay, this was going sideways somehow. His phone was buzzing incessantly in his back pocket, so I pointed to it with the hope of a mental break. He was hard to keep up with.
“Do you need to get that?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just the app.”
What app? I wanted to ask but figured it must be his online dating one. He'd mentioned it vaguely one day when leaving for a date or something. Because we were client and accountant, I hadn't asked. Stupidly, I had to shake off a flare of annoyance that came with the thought of him on a dating app. I forced myself back into his idea.
“Give me a sec,” I murmured. “I need to think.”
He said nothing but kept pacing. Because he moved, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back on the mattress. With the chance to stop talking came more thoughts, and with them, more clarity. Finally, I pegged what had me most stymied here.
What Mark was really asking—though I couldn't be sure he realized it himself—was a dissolution of the client-accountant boundary. Mark wanted to approach our mutually-messed up situations as . . . friends.
Why did that make my throat tighten and feel like a bad idea?
I had no idea. Friends were in short supply these days, and I needed more of them. Or just one really good one. Fortunately, Mark had all the underpinnings for that. His offer was mostly innocuous but hid so much more. Was I willing to live and work with Mark? To be his . . . buddy? We were water and fire when it came to details. The details he brushed off so easily were the ones I hyperfocused on because you had to. Those were the parts of a project that could make or break the entire thing.
But he'd also offered me a safe spot. Himself, on some level, as protection. And I couldn't deny that it gave me an unexpected level of comfort to know I'd be near him. He was a gentleman, indeed, and had no absence of strength or ability. At the very least, he could keep me physically safe, which felt like too much of a selfish ask. But one I would gladly take.
In fact, Mark was far lonelier than I would have ever imagined. Like a puppy stuck in the store, staring out the window and wishing someone would just take him home already.
Once again, I had to force myself back to his business idea when my mind wandered into deeper territories. Thankfully, he left me in blessed silence for almost ten minutes. I kept my eyes closed, but quietly cataloged all my thoughts around it until I had no more.
Then I opened my eyes. He sat on my desk chair and stared at the ground. When I shuffled, his gaze locked on mine.
“You know, Mark . . .”
He stopped, eyes wide. “Don't tell me! You love it.”
“I don't hate it.”
He let out a whoop. “That is definitely a first.” He bounced back to his feet and rubbed his hands together. “We're going places. So what do you say? You hang out here and help me get organized and prep these cabins? I'll run the errands in town so no one can see you, Justin will help
