The ride home was quiet, maybe because we're both tired, but there's also an undercurrent of awkward excitement running between us. Seth and I are going to be alone at his place. I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss someone this badly, especially since it's not even the first kiss. Every time I look at him, my eyes drift to his lips, and I'm seized with the desire to pounce on him. If he suggests watching a movie, I'm not going to make it through the opening scene.
On the walk from the driveway to his cabin, I can smell the jasmine more intensely than ever. We must be walking right past it. I need to capture every sensory detail of this place and this night because I feel like it's going to be important later. All of our arguing and joking and lusting has led us to this point.
There are lights on in the cabin, and I'm reminded he left in a hurry. He's reassured me that the saw with the blood on it is in the barn so I don't have anything to fear, which is fortunate because even the thought of that horror scene makes me feel faint.
"Come in," he says, turning the key and entering the cabin.
Mutt bolts toward us and wiggles through his dog door on the porch. He isn't interested in me for once. The poor dog has been locked up for hours and needs to relieve himself immediately.
I peer inside the cabin, instead of following Seth in the door. Why does crossing this threshold feel so difficult? Maybe because if I step inside, there's no going back to how things are now. If I go inside, there's going to be a new version of Seth and Andie, and I don't know what it will be or what it will mean.
I realize that I've paused for too long when he misreads my anxious expression as disgust.
"What? Come in. It's not some freaky man cave. I don't have lamps made out of deer hooves, if that's what you're worried about."
I attempt a cheerful smile, to convince him I'm not a basket case when it comes to relationships, but I must look like a serial killer because I can't seem to get my lips to slide over my teeth. Dry mouth. I might be having a panic attack.
In the year that we dated, my ex-boyfriend Kirk had me over to his place twice. Once would have been more than enough. He had three permanent roommates and a rotating cast of couch surfing friends from out of town. His place smelled like weed, fast food and unwashed laundry. If you wanted to get high and play video games, his apartment was the place to be. Otherwise, not so much.
Seth's house is the opposite. You can tell that a grown man lives here. He has real furniture that doesn't look like he found it dumpster diving, and there are framed pictures hung on the walls. The floor plan is open concept with a spacious living area separated from the kitchen by an island with bar stools. The hardwood floors have been stained a honey color, and the walls are painted a soft white. There are large windows on every wall, giving the place an airy feeling and providing views of the outdoors.
I was never concerned that his place was going to be awful. He's too anal retentive to have a slovenly living space, but this is even lovelier than I imagined. I'm worried that I'll never want to leave. It's going to be a Goldilocks situation where I try out every dish, every chair, every...bed. But tonight's visit to this cabin might lead to heartbreak, and that's the last thing I can handle, what with Dad and Hugh both moving away.
"At first when I heard you had a cabin, I thought this place would be built out of logs," I say, running my hand along the wall as I walk inside.
Seth laughs, sounding slightly nervous. "That's dry wall."
He's watching me closely as I walk around the room, taking everything in for the first time. I realize that he's putting himself on the line here, showing me something he built himself. It's more personal than most people's homes. Half the time when I visit my friends' apartments, they complain about everything their shitty landlords won't change or fix. Seth can't do that here. This place is his creation.
"I built the cabinets myself," he says, referring to the pine cabinets in the kitchen and the bookshelves built in around the fireplace. "Did the floor, too. I had a lot of help with the fireplace though. That was something I'd never attempt on my own."
"I thought there was nothing you couldn't do," I say. "I half expected you to suture yourself today."
Seth smiles, and it changes his whole face. I want to make him do that again. This could be my job now, saying things that are funny enough to make Seth smile.
"It's beautiful," I say. "I love it all."
To prove my point, I flop onto the couch and tuck myself into a little ball in the corner.
"You stay there," he says. "I'll make some food."
"Seriously, Seth, do not cook anything. At this point, I'm happy with a bowl of cereal."
"Really?" His shoulders drop an inch. "I am tired, but I'm happy to make you a meal, if you want."
I shake my head. "Cereal or toast or whatever is fine. Do not cook."
Cooking and kitchen cleaning time would mean delaying the kissing, and I am not down with that.
"I have half of a pan of leftover lasagna," he says uncertainly.
"Perfect! Heat that up, and we're golden," I say. "Wait, it's vegetarian, right?"
"As far as you know, yes," he says, an evil glimmer in his eyes.
"I'll just be going through your underwear drawer and reading your diary while you're in the kitchen.” I wave him away. "Now, go."
He gives me a look like he's not sure whether or not I'm serious before he retreats into the kitchen area. While he's getting food for us, I walk around the main room, inspecting the weight of every door, sliding my hand along the fireplace mantle, taking in every detail. The whole place is a miracle to me. After all, I did grow up with a dad who could barely change a lightbulb.
