Page 24 of CowSex

“So can I stay, because, in all honesty, I checked every website I could think of and short of going to some shitty motel, I can’t find another place to rent until after New Year’s, everywhere else is booked out.”

That probably explains why she was a little quiet when she first came into the kitchen earlier.

Having her stay here will throw my plans out the window, but with this weather, it’s not like I’m gonna get much work done anytime soon.

“Why’d you wanna stay all the way out here on your own for anyway?”

She has a fork full of beans halfway to her mouth when I ask, and it just hovers there as she considers her answer.

“I need to work.” She shrugs. “I needed to get away, to be inspired. I thought six months somewhere that was in total contrast to where I live would give me that.”

“What is it you do?”

“I have a lifestyle blog, and I also have a fashion line, specifically designed to wear to festivals—well it was when I first started, but it’s kind of evolved.”

“What’s a lifestyle blog?”

“It’s kind of like an online magazine. I write about the latest fashion, makeup, fitness fads. I write about trending homewares, clubs to be seen at, films to watch. There’s a little bit of gossip about celebrities, but it’s more about what they’re wearing than who they’re fucking or which club they’re falling out of.”

I’m not entirely sure I understand, but she’s so animated as she speaks that I want to ask her more questions. Her work is obviously something that she’s passionate about. Her cheeks are flushed, and her good hand is moving around as she talks.

It’s been a lot of years since I’ve felt that kind of passion about anything other than my kids. I used to feel it for football until that was replaced with my music, but it’s been a couple of years since I’ve written a song, or even played my guitar.

“What do you do?”

“Huh?” I finish the last mouthful of my first ever cheesy beans on toast and wash it down with a swig of beer.

“For work, what do you do?”

I stare down at my empty plate. What exactly do I do?

“Well, I do a few things, but the last few years, I’ve mostly been flipping houses.”

“Fixing up old places and selling them on.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I’ve seen the shows. I watch all of those kinds of reality type shows as research for my work.”

“So, what’s festival wear?” I attempt to change the subject, not really wanting to talk about me or what I do or what I used to do.

“I design clothes that make life easier if you’re attending a music festival.”

“And you thought locking yourself away in a cabin in Colorado in the middle of winter was going to inspire you to come up with some new designs?”

She stares down at the table before looking back up at me. “I was initially coming here with my boyfriend. The plan was to try to work on us, but he decided that working on his career was more important, so we broke up.”

She gives me possibly the saddest smile I’ve ever seen and shrugs.

“How about you? Why are you hiding out here?”

She’s doing what I do—deflecting—and I’m not sure how to answer her question without doing exactly that.

“Who says I’m hiding out?”

“Last night, I thought I heard Nelson mention that you lived in Aspen?”

I rub my hand over my beard, watching her wait for my response.

“I do. I told you already. I grew up here, and my aunt passed and left me the place. I came to start renovations.”

“What renovations can be done in Arctic conditions? It’s like Siberia out there. I had to fight a polar bear on the landing, and at least a half-dozen penguins fell out of the tap in my bathroom when I turned it on.”