Page 53 of Resonance
“Cats love me.”
“Only because they recognize their kind.”
“Adorable and graceful?”
“Too curious for their own good.”
* * *
I’d managedto tidy the spare room somewhat by the time I heard Owen pulling up the drive later that evening. There were now fresh sheets on the old full-sized bed that’d been previously covered in crates of records and papers I hadn’t gotten around to sorting through in oh, the five years since I’d moved in. The house was twenty miles from downtown Nashville. Close enough that the daily commute just skirted the edges of miserable, far enough away that the rolling hills and fence posts made it easy to forget. It had been my parents’ and passed on to me and Aiden after they died. Aiden had asked me to buy him out of his half immediately on the basis of starting his own business. He’d blown through all of it in six months.
When I opened the door and stepped onto the porch, Owen was standing at the split-rail fence next to the drive that opened on the big grassy field adjacent to the house. There was a barn that needed some love and a lot of maintenance, now filled with old tools, furniture, and a riding mower. During my teens, when we’d first moved in, we’d had horses.
Above, the sky was an orange crush twilight, color marbled over a cumulus field like a giant finger had swirled haphazardly through the deep plums and ochres.
Owen rested his hands on a rail and leaned back, tilting his head to the sky before glancing over at me as I approached, gravel crunching under my boots. I’d always loved the sound. It was half the reason I’d never paved the drive. The other half—maybe more than half—was money.
I folded my arms over the post next to him and looked out into the field, the grass short and spiky, beaten back by the few freezes we’d had.
“It’s pretty.” Owen’s lips tipped up in a dreamy smile. I’d gotten used to the property over the years, but now I considered it as if I was seeing it with new eyes, the soft slope that curved up to a small hill near the back of the property. The rickety wood siding of the barn silhouetted against the sky. It was. It was pretty.
“No animals?”
“Oh, they’re there. Just invisible. Like your mansion and helipad and what have you.” I picked a wood splinter from my shirtsleeve. “Fact, there’s a jackass standing right next to me looking like he needs a sandwich or two.” I cut a sly look aside at him, suppressing a grin, and he tipped his head back again, laughter ringing out. I thought maybe he’d struck on something with his weird laughter categorizations, because I liked the sound of his, too.
“All right, that was a good one. It’s almost like you actually have a sense of humor sometimes. It’s really confusing. Here,” he said when he sobered, thrusting a paper bag with a prominent grease stain on it toward me.
I held the bag between two fingers, suspicious. “What’s this?”
“A bear claw as a token of appreciation. Or at least one of them’s for you. The other’s my dinner.”
“You’re having a bear claw for dinner?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are you made out of sugar?”
“You’ve had a taste. You tell me.” His eyes widened briefly. I’d noticed that about him; he appeared caught off guard sometimes by the things that came out of his mouth, like what little filter he had had betrayed him. Different than the rambling, these were sharp, quick jabs that in moments like this made me feel as if I’d missed some important transition between one conversational step and the next.
And what I thought was that it was probably best for me not to answer that question.Jesus.So I grunted in response and glanced at his car. “Need help getting anything inside?”
“Nah, I didn’t bring much.”
After Owen grabbed his stuff from the car, I flung the front door wide, watching as he stepped inside and peered around. I tried to see my home as a visitor might. I had friends, of course, who came over on occasion, but lovers never. The place was tidy, but not particularly impressive, filled mostly with the same dark wood patchwork of furniture that’d been here when my folks had been alive. It was a far cry from the farmhouse chic on display back in Arkansas.
Owen drifted deeper inside, owlish gaze swallowing up everything as if he’d discovered some secret oasis.
“If you’re looking for a drawbridge, you won’t find one.” It came out a little gruffer than intended for his scrutiny.
“No, it’s just… I dunno. I dunno what I was thinking about where you might live. It’s cozy, though. Very confirmed bachelor.”
I surveyed the old lace curtains on the window, Jezebel as she prowled toward us. “I was going for crazy cat lady, but I seem to have stopped at just the one.”
“You’re a country dude. You need a yellow lab named Roscoe or something, anyway.” Owen crouched down when Jezebel got close and stroked her gently as she butted her head against his palm.
“Failure to live up to stereotype. Uh-huh. I see. That must be what’s been keeping me awake at night.”
Owen glanced up with a lopsided smile. “Do you really have trouble sleeping? Because I do, too. Hard to find the kill switch on my mind.”