“I believe you.”
He kept the handbag and opened the door.
I should’ve taken it back.
Instead, I followed him inside.
The cabin’s entire main room could’ve fit inside Daddy’s office with space left for his conference table. A small kitchenette occupied one wall. A square wooden table sat beneath a window, and two mismatched chairs faced each other across it. There was no sofa, only a worn armchair beside a narrow bookcase filledwith equipment manuals, local histories, and several battered paperbacks.
The air smelled faintly of pine cleaner, sun-warmed wood, and Jonah.
That last part was inconvenient.
He set my handbag on the table. “Bathroom is through there. The bedroom is the other door.”
“This is all of it?”
“This is the rest of it.”
“I see.”
“You don’t.”
“No, I’m trying to.”
He opened a cabinet and took out a glass. The faucet ran cold enough to fog it.
Jonah handed it to me without touching my fingers.
I drank half before I realized how thirsty I was.
He opened the refrigerator. “I have bread, sliced turkey, cheese, apples, and some tomatoes.”
“Is that dinner or an inventory?”
“It’s what I can offer without cooking.”
“I can make a sandwich.”
“I assumed you could.”
I put down the glass. “You keep saying things that sound insulting and then removing the insult before I can respond.”
“I’m answering the question in front of me.”
“I didn’t ask one.”
“You looked at the food like you were expecting me to explain it.”
“I was trying to figure out whether you were saving something for later.”
“I wasn’t expecting a bride.”
“Neither was I.”
Jonah shut the refrigerator.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” he said.
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