Landslide (36 page)

Wow. He didn’t have a body like this before…

No, he most certainly did not. I guess seven years can really make a difference.

Mmhm, and they’ve obviously been quite good to him…and everyone capable of sight.

In my appreciative perusal of his display, I thank God that I catch notice of the barbecue tongs in his hand and am able to gather my wits quickly. “I didn’t know it was gonna be this kind of party…”

“Uh, party?” he asks, sounding confused and stepping aside so that I can enter.

Gesturing with my free hand to the tongs and his towel, I joke, “I think I might be a bit on the overdressed side.”

He chuckles and takes the cake from my hand. “Yeah, um, I’m starting to think I might be underdressed…or, uh, missing something.”

I look around what I can see from the entryway while I peel pieces of outerwear off of me, and even though I feel warmly greeted, I begin to get the sinking feeling that I somehow screwed up either the time or day. Payton is nowhere to be seen, the house doesn’t look like a house that’s expecting company, and the only thing even hinting that I got the day right is the smell of a lit barbecue somewhere close by.

“Am I early? Or…uh-oh…late?” I hang my jacket up on an empty wall hook and then digging in my purse for my phone, I check the time against Payton’s text, mumbling, “I could’ve sworn Payton said Wednesday at six would work…”
 

Understanding of some sort washes across Cole’s face as he turns from setting the cake down on the bar of the kitchen. “No, you’re right on time. I just…well, I’m sorry, I forgot what day it is. But, come in and make yourself at home. I just put some chicken on the grill and was sitting in the hot tub while it cooks,” he tells me, pointing across the living room to a set of French doors leading out to what looks like it might be an indoor patio or something akin to that.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna intrude. You know, you weren’t actually expecting me…”

Well, this sucks. I finally got myself to a place where I could be comfortable with Cole and now, I feel anything but that. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed when I’m not the one who forgot, but I do. Contributing to the awkwardness is that I almost feel like I’m a pop quiz, entering Cole’s home unexpected and looking around as I am.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m the asshole who forgot, you know,” he reassures, first using a fire iron to poke at a log burning in the fireplace, and then heading into the kitchen, he asks, “Want something to drink?”
 

“Uh, yeah, whatever you’re having is fine,” I answer half over my shoulder before taking a gander at the richly-hued and sparsely knotted wood belonging to the vaulted ceilings and walls of my surroundings.

“One Fat Tire coming right up then.”

Taking advantage of having his back to me again, though, I start at his heels and work my eyes up, remarking to myself that some time over the last years, Cole definitely changed. He grew up. He became a
man
. Getting to his waist, I catch a glimpse of wings of some kind on his left hip peeking out from the top of his towel. He isn’t standing still enough for me to tell what it’s a tattoo of exactly, although whatever it is, I think it’s on fire. The way it sinks down and disappears out of sight though lends a great deal of mystery as to what it might be, like you want to see the whole thing, but then again, not knowing and leaving it up to your imagination is almost better and, I have to say, pretty freaking sexy. As my eyes reach higher to the thoroughly muscled expanse of his wide shoulders, I notice more art. It’s just a sentence, or a phrase maybe, scrawled in a flowing black script on his right shoulder. I inch up closer to try to read it just as he closes the refrigerator. I wouldn’t have realized it if he hadn’t been standing right beside it, but the phrase—or rather the quote, as I see it is—that’s tattooed on him, is the exact two sentences printed in a bold block font on a piece of paper that’s being held on the door of the fridge with a magnet. Also printed on the paper is a picture of the
Pokémon
cartoon character, Mewtwo, who said what Cole saw fit to permanently carry with him, which reads:
“I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.”

The short hiss followed by the pop of my beer bottle being opened has me quickly turning my attention to Cole’s face so that I’m not caught openly gawking at his back or any other part of his impressive, half-naked body. Then, because I don’t know what else to say now, I begin with the trite small talk.

“So, Payton told me you built this whole place yourself…”

“Yep. Aside from pouring the foundation, I did it all,” he tells me, his expression and whole body reverberating the pride he unmistakably feels.

“It’s really incredible, Cole. You’re obviously very skilled.”

“Thanks. It was a labor of love kind of thing but in building it, I discovered that I’m sort of a control freak or OCD about my own things…I didn’t trust anyone to even hammer a single nail,” he laughs at himself, “Payton helped with a few things after most everything structurally was already done, although I’ll show you how well that worked out for me in a minute. Lemme throw another potato in the oven and check the chicken real quick, and then I’ll give you the tour.”

And what a tour it is. Aside from one empty bedroom that Payton mistakenly locked from the inside, Cole shows me every square inch of his beautifully handcrafted home. Attention to every detail is clearly recognizable in his workmanship, and both the loft above the family room that faces the rear of his house, and its view of the expansive mountains and a portion of Lake Gregory seen through the windowed wall up there are simply exquisite. Beyond his home gym, masculine yet warm and luxuriously decorated master bedroom, and everything else though, the enclosed patio sitting just off the living room is the most awe-inspiring feature Cole saw fit to include in his king’s castle. With potted greenery placed here and there, a couple of cushioned chaise lounge chairs, a hot tub, a sliding glass door that lets out onto a large deck, and a ceiling made of three rectangular sky lights that are currently just beginning to display the night’s stars as they come out to play one by one, Cole seems to have managed bringing a little bit of Heaven to Earth.

My tour comes to a close and we head into the patio just as the chicken and baked potatoes are done cooking. Like a person practiced at being a perfect host, Cole sets the small wrought iron table on the patio for two, and he won’t let me lift even a finger to help move our dinner onto serving dishes, plate the salad, or pour either of us a glass of wine from the bottle he brings out along with a basket of sliced French bread. It doesn’t occur to me that we’re obviously eating alone though until Cole opens the wine bottle and begins pouring.

“I don’t know how you feel about wine…I’m not the biggest fan myself, but Payton insists that I’ll like this one. He’s been harassing me since he bought it and he’ll throw a hissy fit if I don’t at least
try
it soon. So, feel free to spit it back into your glass like I plan to if you hate it. He’ll never know unless one of us tattles.”

I laugh. “I’m not a big wine connoisseur either…I don’t think my pallet is refined enough to appreciate it. At least that’s how I get around flat-out admitting that I can’t tell the difference between Boone’s Farm and…um, whatever a good brand of wine is. I don’t even know.”

“Amen, sister,” he says with a nod, and toasts me with a pleasantly resounding clink of our etched crystal wine glasses.

“But hey, your wine glasses are pretty!”
 

“Yep. He picked ‘em out,” Cole mutters before raising his glass to his lips, “Well, bottoms up!”

I sip and Cole drains his in one swallow. Then we look at each other.

“This is actually
really
tasty…”

“Right? Son of a bitch, I can’t believe I’m gonna have to tell the pain in the ass he was right,” he says, grabbing the bottle to pour himself another glass, “Good thing he bought two bottles…”

“So, I take it Payton isn’t eating with us tonight?”

“Nope. He left.”
 

Cole doesn’t look or even sound distressed in the least admitting that Payton left him, his unaffected demeanor once again making it difficult for me to know how to respond. “He…left? Just like that?”

“Mmhm. Got up this morning and decided it was time to go back home to Alabama.”

“Seriously? Why? Didn’t have to do with me in any way I hope.”

He inspects my face briefly and chews a bite of salad before coming to a decision on how to answer. “You might’ve had something to do with it.”

I feel my face squeeze into a wince with his truthful reply. I knew it. I should never have told Payton about me kissing Cole. I should’ve let Cole do it himself in his own way and time. Shit. Now I feel like I need to try to explain to Payton or do something to bring these two love birds back together, except being the person who effectually split them up, I don’t know if that’s really the most helpful thing to do.

“Oh, Cole, I’m sorry…I—”

“Don’t be. He’ll be back.”

“Yeah, but, I told him about what I did the other night and I
think
I probably should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”

Cole starts chuckling and nodding his head. “Yeah, well I beat you to it with opening my mouth when I
know
I shouldn’t have. I told him when he got in the truck that night…he wouldn’t leave it alone after that, but I don’t think that’s why he left. I mean it is, but it isn’t,” he pauses to refill both of our empty wine glasses and select another piece of chicken for himself from the platter, “He was already planning to go back home before moving out here permanently, but I think he sped up his itinerary to give you and me time to get reacquainted without an audience.”

Well, go figure…I misunderstood a situation. That’s
never
happened.

“Oh. Well, that’s…damn, what a nice guy!” I’m coming to like Payton more and more and I think I might be starting to become a little jealous of Cole now instead of the other way around.
 

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy alright,” Cole lets out a sarcastic
humph
and gives the now empty wine bottle a pouty look, “Think he turned me into a wine-o though…”

I tip my head back and swallow half the contents of my glass. “Me too.”

He pushes back from the table to retrieve the second bottle of Santa Margherita pinot grigio and when he returns, we finally get down to the reconnecting business at hand. I give him a more or less detailed run-down of what I’ve been up to the last seven years, including the whole sorry tale about my grandma, which also entails me explaining why I’m interviewing for jobs and living up here now. And when he inquires about a husband, boyfriend, or anyone special, I’m completely up front about all of my few relationships, Greg’s proposal, and my reasons for turning him down. Although that’s when I do the math and realize I haven’t had sex in close to a year, which sucks and is embarrassing too so I leave that small detail out.

Cole in turn tells me about meeting Payton in tech school, but he talks very little about his time overseas, which I don’t push him on. Some people just simply don’t want to remember certain parts of their military career and recapping your life for an old friend can sometimes make glossing over the ugly parts difficult if that friend doesn’t take hints well. And although being somewhat guarded still, he admits to having been medically discharged—or retired, I’m not sure, but I think it was both, if that’s even possible—from the U.S. Air Force due to a TBI.

As a nurse I already know that TBI stands for traumatic brain injury, so if it wasn’t for that, I would’ve totally smacked him in the head hard when he told me what he did work-wise in the military by somewhat hesitantly pointing out a third tattoo that I hadn’t seen when I was slyly checking him out earlier, being that it’s round and tucked kind of higher up on the inside of his bicep. It’s the EOD badge encircled by their motto that states, ‘Initial Success or Total Failure,’ and in getting a look at it, I learn that EOD is shorthand for Explosive Ordnance Disposal.

Yes, that’s right, turns out my darling best friend decided to voluntarily go down one of
the
most dangerous career paths available by becoming a member of what is essentially the military bomb squad, and subsequently, he got himself blown up.

Really, about the only response I have to the whole of that is, “So basically you’re telling me you chose to play with bombs for a living. Actual, real life bombs. Voluntarily.” He nods and tries to not chuckle or laugh in any visible way. “You’re an asshole. No wonder they booted you out.”
 

His rebuttal is an arrogant laugh and contemplating his crystal wine glass as he plainly says, “Yeah, they might’ve sent me packing, but now I’m a twenty-seven-year-old medically retired veteran who gets paid just for waking up in the morning because my career as being an
exceptional
asshole was cut short through no fault of my own, so…”
 

I have no comeback for that.

By the time we’re pretty well caught up and are acting more like the people we used to know one another as, the second bottle of wine is long gone, we’ve drained the only other one that was in the wine refrigerator—an appliance that Cole complained Payton talked him into buying—and we’ve just moved onto our first round of mixed drinks. Even knowing better, I still decide a dip in the hot tub is a good idea.

“I think a couple of the guys’ wives left their suits here after something called a Pampered Chef party? I don’t remember what it was called, but they pestered and cajoled me into hosting one here a few weeks ago in lieu of a house warming party, which I wasn’t planning on having either,” he stops to sigh and shake his head in resignation, “I swear to God, Erica, those women…there wasn’t even a stick of furniture in this house and I had to work double time to get the gas turned on and the oven installed for what was supposedly my own party, although I really think it was just an excuse for them to get out of their houses for the night. I guess I shouldn’t complain too much, though…the food was good and now my kitchen has every gadget a middle-aged woman or mid-twenties gay man could ever wish for. Anyway, getting back on track, want me to go check if I have a suit you can wear?” Cole offers as I kick my shoes off and simultaneously use my index finger to stir the drinks I just made for us.