I bite my bottom lip. Hijinx is my constant, and not being with him feels scariest of all. Bartlett must sense this because he wraps me up in a warm hug.
“Hey. Why don't you just stay with me tonight? I mean, not to be presumptuous. And you can say no, if you want. I can take you over to the motel. Of course, it's just, well, it's not the nicest place. And you've already had one hell of a day. I have an extra bedroom at my cabin. It's nothing fancy. It's not like my parents' house, but if you want to stay with me, of course I'd have you and Hijinx. I'm not allergic to him.”
“Really?” I ask. “You wouldn't mind?”
“Don't say another word.” He gives me a smile that melts my weary heart, and then he jogs inside to tell Mary that I'm not going to be staying there at all tonight.
A moment later, we're back in his truck driving up Rough Mountain once again. But this time we turn left towards his place on the edge of Rough River on the left side of town. When we park in front of his cabin, he grabs my backpack and Hijinx. Then he unlocks the door and pushes it open for me.
Before flipping on the lights, he says his cabin is nothing special, but he’s being modest which shouldn't surprise me.
It's a lovely cabin. It's rough and wild, just like him. “I felled all the trees myself for this place,” he says. “I wanted it to feel rustic but still cozy. I know some people like a little bit more of ahousehouse, but I wanted to feel like I was in a cabin in the woods.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Does that sound weird?”
“No, it sounds like you're a real mountain man,” I say with a grin.
“You like that?” he asks me. “Mountain men?”
“I like you,” I say.
He sets Hijinx down and heads to the kitchen to fill up a bowl of water for him. Looking around, I see the floor plan is open. There is a hall down to the left with a few doors, the bathroom and bedrooms, I assume. And then there's a big open living room, dining room, and kitchen. There's a loft above, and looking up, there’s a big light fixture full of antlers.
All the furniture is covered with plaid, red and forest green. I smile, thinking how wonderful this cabin would be at the holidays.
Bartlett comes toward me a moment later, asking if I'm thirsty or hungry.
“No, I don't think I could eat another thing after that meal at your mom's house.”
“Me too,” he says. “Well, then, I can show you the bedrooms. I don't know if you want to shower.”
I swallow, thinking of what I really want. Him, him, him.
I follow Bartlett down the hall, and he pushes open one bedroom door, then another. They're nice. One is set up as an office. And another one is a guest room. The third room is his. It has a big bed and a nice, masculine dresser.
Everything is just so put together and orderly. Nice. Clean. My eyes flit around the surfaces, taking it all in.
“Where are you?” he asks. “I feel like I lost you somewhere from the car to the house.”
“I just am trying to put you together. I’m wondering, how are you single?” I ask. “You seem so perfect.”
He groans. “You know, I’ve heard that my whole life. Bartlett, you know, it's a kind of pear. So people always said, you're gonna find a girl one day and you're going to make the perfect pair. It’s a lot of pressure.”
“Pressure to look for your perfect pair?” I ask him.
“More like pressure to find the perfect girl.”
“That makes sense. I mean, with a family like you have, I can see how there would be pressure to live up to their expectations.”
“Well, it's not just that I want my family to approve. I put high expectations on myself.”
I nod slowly, running my hand over the top of his walnut dresser. “So you're looking for a certain kind of woman, and until you meet her, you'll be alone in this perfect house, this perfect cabin, with the perfect job and nearly the perfect life?”
“When you say it like that, I kind of sound like a dick, don't I?”
“I don't think so. Like I said, you're pretty lucky.”
“What about you, Abby? Why are you single?”
“Me?” I let out a sigh. “I'm single because I could not imagine spending a life with the guy my parents picked for me. He was the kind of man who made you feel small when you just wanted to be yourself. The kind of man who made me feel weak, even when I felt strong. I couldn't be with a man like that. And my parents wouldn't listen to me when I told them. But that is a story for another day.” I shrug. “So, what is your idea of perfection, Bartlett?”