“I take it the bathroom is through there?” I ask, pointing at the door by the old dresser that willnotbe seeing any of myclothes. Art supplies, maybe. In fact, I may just use some to give it a little life.
He folds his arms, watching me as he offers a subtle nod.
Unzipping my backpack, I pull out a pack of disinfectant wipes I brought for the plane and hold it up. “Well then, I’ll be right back.”
“Rose.” It’s a mix of warning and calling my bluff, but I don’t turn around.
Pushing the door to the bathroom open, I pause at the threshold. It’s surprisingly clean. Small, yes, but not all that different from my apartment. Maybe a bit more rustic.
“Smells nice in here,” I call out, still wiping down every surface.
“Sure it’s not the coconut-scented toilet wipes you got in there?”
“They’re hand wipes and they come in handy.” I chuckle out loud at my own pun as I finish my business and flush.
“Bet you won’t find it funny when the bears come around .?.?.”
I yank the door open. “Bears?”
“Only seen once or twice this year. Just keep your door locked.”
I almost laugh at the irony.
Oh,don’tworry,cowboy.Ialwaysdo.
My eyes flicker to the wooden door nervously, resisting the urge to ask if I’m safe here. If there’s a history of break-ins. Or .?.?. if he’s got a few extra locks I can borrow. I don’t ask any of that. Not yet, at least. “So there’s some huffing and puffing in my near future?”
He watches me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah, you’re fine. Besides, I didn’t say wolves. I said bears.”
I march to the front door and carefully pull it open, to ensure I don’t yank the knob right out of the wood. “Well then, let’s test out this lock now, shall we?” I cock my head, gesturing for himto leave.
“Rose, come on, you are not staying here.”
“And why not? Others do.”
He goes into the logistics of the practicality of having cowboys live on the property. The types of emergencies that can happen at any hour and needing staff on site to tend to it.
“Well, I’m part of your staff now,” I say with a shrug. I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove here. It could be the way he’s been rolling his eyes at me like I’m some hopeless, spoiled city girl. Or that I like watching him squirm. Or maybe .?.?. this rustic living .?.?. is just the adventure I need.
“So are Ginger, Wesley, and several others who have homes outside these gates.”
I sigh, still holding the door open.
“Rose, I don’t got time for games. You’re staying at Mil—you’re staying at the cottage. End of story.”
“Or what?”
Hands on his hips, he twists his neck. “Know what? Have it your way. Breakfast starts at five and ends at eight in The Shack—that’s the kitchen. I suggest you get there at six since you’re due in my office at seven.”
Ishemental?
“Seven. Got it, boss. Am I to bring you coffee too? Extra foam, no sugar?”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
If I needed some sign that he’s not perfect—besides his biting remarks, which I’m totally here for—that was it.Hedoesn’tdrinkcoffee?
“Explains why you’re so grumpy.”
