“A promise for what?”
“Marriage. Eventually.”
“Then it is an engagement ring.”
She frowns. “I guess it’s a promise for an eventual engagement then.”
“It’s October.”
“Yeah?”
“Ten months of a promise for engagement that’s a promise to marry is no promise at all. Appeasement is not the same as a promise.”
Her gaze slips to the floor.
“Goodnight.”
Eleven
Alexander
“You made me breakfast.” I stare down at the bowl of oatmeal and mug of hot coffee that I find waiting for me at the table in the morning.
“I did,” she says, smiling brightly.
“What’s this?” I point to the mason jar that’s filled with pine boughs and cones.
“Table décor. Just because we’re stuck in a cabin doesn’t mean we can’t try and be civilized, right?” Her gray eyes sparkle with energy.
I take my bowl away from the table and décor and eat it while standing and looking outside. No new snow is a good sign. The clouds are less dense than yesterday, but the wind is still high.
“I have an idea.”
With a spoonful of oatmeal suspended inches from my mouth, I look at her.
“If I put the basin right here on the table, I think I could wash my hair.”
I put the bite of oatmeal in my mouth.
“But…” She sucks in air through her teeth. “Because of my ribs, I’ll need you to help me wash it.”
“No.”
“Don’t answer yet! I haven’t told you the best part.”
I chew and swallow my food, waiting for her to continue.
“I’ll wash yours, too.”
“No.”
She stomps one foot. “Why not?”
I open my mouth to answer but reconsider since she probably won’t accept because I don’t want to as a good enough reason.
“I’ll make you breakfast and dinner every day for the rest of the time we’re here.”
Ahh, I see what’s going on here. Manipulation. I’ve seen the women in my father’s life pull the same trick on him. Of course, they were asking for a hell of a lot more than having their hair washed. They all keep their mouths shut about his affairs when the price is right. An expensive trade-off.
I finish the last of my breakfast and put the bowl on the table. “You’ll also clean the dishes after those meals.”
“Deal.”
“And—”
“Are you serious?”
“—you’ll reserve your incessant question asking for mealtimes only.”
I expect her to fight back and reply with a sharp verbal jab, but instead, her expression dims, and she nods. “Okay.”
“Good. I’ll help you.”
“Thank you,” she says without meeting my eyes.
She goes about filling the big pot with water and putting it on the woodstove. Next, she pulls out the jar filled with soap that I use to wash clothes.
Usually, I’d bathe in the lake, but the weather makes that impossible. I do have a small travel-sized shampoo I keep in my bed platform, but with all her long hair, I don’t think it would be nearly enough to do the job.
While she prepares what’s needed, I go outside and check the water pump, grateful it’s not frozen. I grab as much wood as I can for the stove in case we get another storm, and I shovel the path from the outhouse to the cabin.
When I come back inside, the basin is on the table, and the chair is turned against the table.
“It’s ready.” She grabs the big pot of water, fills the basin up to halfway, and places a towel next to it. “You first.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” Her eyes are big, and a tiny smile tilts her lips. “Trust me.”
Whatever.
I take a seat, and she instructs me to lean back. Using the same mug I drink my morning coffee in, she pours steaming water over my head. It’s been over a month since I’ve felt warm water, I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.
She unscrews the lid from the mason jar. “You might want to close your eyes.”
I do as she suggests. Plunged into darkness, the heat of the woodstove at my feet and warm water against my scalp, my muscles relax and release their tension. With one hand, she rubs soap into my hair, and with firm fingers, she massages and rakes the suds from my forehead to my nape. She’s able to use both hands, but the touch of her left is much softer than her right. Not that it matters. They both feel great.
When I think my hair must be clean enough, she uses her fingertips to rub small circles against my scalp. Pressing in at tender spots, she rubs deep down into my temples, and a hum of relief rumbles deep in my throat.
Lost in the