The walls were the same bare logs as the exterior. Which should have made the small room seem smaller still, and depressing, but it just felt quaint and warm to me.
There was a long dresser across from the bed with a pile of books stacked there.
No TV.
No radio.
No tech at all that I could see.
Because the logs themselves acted as atmosphere, there was no art on the walls, no real decor anywhere around. The windows were bare of everything—no blinds or curtains. But I guess when there wasn't a chance of any neighbors or a random passerby, and the nature around you was beautiful and all around, why the heck would you obscure your view of that?
There was one large braided rug alongside the bed in warm browns, beiges, and deep reds.
The nightstands on either side of the bed matched the dresser, and each held a lamp and a small collection of items. On the side I was nearest to, there were two books, a watch, and a random button. On the other, there was a bag of dog treats, some change, and a pocketknife.
"Incoming!" Malcolm called, leaving me confused for all of three seconds before his giant, wrinkled dogs came rushing in. And by "rushing," I mean they walked in slowly, their nails tapping on the floor as their heads lifted, sniffing, as their gazes landed on me.
"Hey guys!" I greeted in my cute-dog-voice.
That was all they needed, apparently.
They made their way to the bed, jumped up, each of them turning in a circle, and grumbling as they bumped into each other in the small space, then dropped down at the foot of the bed, each with a long-suffering sigh, like having to get in the bed was the most inconvenient thing that had happened to them all day.
Malcolm moved back into the room, pausing to grin at the over-crowded bed.
"You know they're huge when they make a bed this big seem small."
"They're not supposed to be on the bed," Malcolm told me, sliding into the bed, needing to cock his legs up because there was no room for them. "They must like you," he said, reaching for me, pulling me into his side. "Wonder why," he added, fingers looking for a tickle spot on my stomach.
"Nice try," I said, leaning into him. "But I'm not ticklish."
"Hmm," he murmured as his fingertips glided over my ribs. "You alright? I didn't crush you?"
"Maybe a little," I told him. "But I liked it," I added, smiling to myself when his arms tightened around me.
"That night, last Saturday," he said, his fingers drifting up and down my arm, "I was on my way in to see you."
"I noticed you leaving," I agreed.
"I saw you leaning close to a guy, reaching out to touch him..."
"It was Glen."
"I didn't know. I got jealous," he admitted. "I thought I missed my shot. I'd been meaning to talk to you."
"About what?"
"About this. About us," he told me.
"What did you mean to say?"
"That I want to give this a shot," he told me, inching back, then waiting for me to look up at him. "Got some thoughts about that?"
"I... I don't have a lot of time," I said, my heart tripping when I saw the disappointment fill his eyes. "But what little I do have, I think I'd like to spend it with you."
The relief that crossed his face made a smile tug at my lips.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry I haven't been around at the diner. I was a dick for making you take out the trash."
"The daytime cook is doing it for me," I told him. "So, it's okay. Don't worry," I added, smirking. "He's just an acquaintance."
"Good to know."
"No need to beat him up," I added, smiling when a humorless laugh moved through him.
"I'm not usually that violent," he told me. "Just didn't like what that fuck was doing."
"Do you think he was the one to hurt me?" I asked.
"Dunno. Don't think so, though. Just your standard creep." I let out a sigh to that. "He hasn't been back, has he?"
"No. I think your friend scared him off."
"Dezi has that effect," Malcolm agreed.
"Are you going to share your cookies with him?"
"How many do I have?"
"A couple dozen. Plus the cake and bread and brownies."
"Might share a little," he conceded. "You have fun making 'em?"
"Yeah. I love baking. It's one of the few times during the day when I'm not stressed out."
"Got something," he said, moving to slide away, chuckling a bit at the grumble I let out. What can I say? It was nice being close to him.
"For me?" I asked, voice pinched.
When was the last time someone had gotten me anything? God, I didn't even know.
My heart swelled as he moved back out into the main area of the house, then came back with something in a small box propped on top of one of the cookie containers.