Page 44 of Breaking the Ice
The air in the room is suddenly so thick with tension that if I don’t get some fresh air, I’m going to pull Ellie into my arms and kiss her the way I’ve been thinking about since we first met. “I’m going to grease the potatoes and then put them in the oven. Should we go for a walk while they cook?”
She looks so relieved by my suggestion, I wonder if she’s been having similar thoughts about me. “That sounds like a great idea!”
Four minutes later, I put on a sweater and lead the way onto the front porch. “Have you always rented this place out?”
She shakes her head. “My dad built it for his mom. She lived here for ten years before she died.”
My fingers twitch with the desire to reach over and take her hand in mine, but I don’t. “You must have nice memories of that time.”
“I really do,” she says. “My mom’s parents both died when I was little, so Nana Butler was all I had in the way of grandparents. She was a cool lady.”
I walk toward the woods, thinking a brisk hike might be exactly what I need to push away the romantic thoughts I’m having about my landlady.
Ellie has other ideas. As soon as we near the hammock, she runs over and jumps onto it like a pro. “I like to come down here and stare up into the treetops like they hold all the answers to my problems.”
She scoots over to make room for me, so I hesitantly sit down. “What are your problems?” Ellie doesn’t answer, so I guess, “You’re worried about your mom.”
“All the time,” she confesses. “Her arthritis has progressed so quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to have to put her into a facility. And that would kill her.”
It would also cost a fortune, which I’m guessing is another of her concerns. “Try your mom on the turmeric when she gets home. It’s amazing how many natural anti-inflammatories there are and how well they work.”
“You’d think her doctors would have mentioned them.”
Gravity is pulling both of us toward the center of the hammock and before you know it, Ellie is nearly on my lap. Valiantly trying to keep my mind off wrapping my arms around her, I announce, “Western medicine isn’t known for being very open-minded about natural cures.”
Ellie’s body relaxes against mine. “My grandmother used to soak golden raisins in gin. She ate eight of them a day to help reduce the pain in her hands.”
“Interesting.” Her head is so close to mine that I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo. “Does your mom do that?”
“I’m not sure she even knew about it. But now that I’ve remembered, I’ll pick up some raisins and gin so she can try it.” She squirms like she’s trying to get more comfortably situated, but with both of us on the hammock the only way to do that would be to lie down. And I’m not going to suggest that.
“If we’re going to keep sitting on this thing,” I tell her, “I’m going to need to put my arm around you.” She tips her chin up to look me in the eye, which causes me to add, “Or I could just go sit on the ground.”
Her response is so quiet I barely hear it. “You can put your arm around me.” She leans forward which easily allows me to do so. Neither one of us says anything for the longest time. We just sit there, snuggled up together.
I can’t remember the last time I felt so comfortable with a woman. Neither Ellie nor I seem to require conversation. We’re just enjoying the peace, both lost in our thoughts.
Several minutes later, Ellie breaks the silence. “Tell me about your life in Los Angeles.”
“It’s very different from Maple Falls,” I tell her. “It’s go, go, go, all the time.”
“That sounds awful,” she says. “Do you have any place where you can just get away from it all?”
“I split my time between my condo in Beverly Hills and my beach house in Malibu. I’m most relaxed when I’m at the beach, but I still have a lot of neighbors.”
“I love spending time at the coast,” she says. “But I’d rather camp in the middle of nowhere than have other people right on top of me.”
I want to tell Ellie she should come stay at my beach house sometime, but I don’t want to scare her off. I don’t want her to think I’m proposing something untoward. “How about if I lend you my house sometime when I’m not there? Maybe you and your mom could have a nice vacation together.”
“Why when you’re not there?” Is it me or does she sound hurt?
“I could be there, too,” I say quickly.
“My mom doesn’t like to travel anymore,” Ellie announces, which effectively pops the balloon of excitement that had started to build at the thought of having her in my home. “It’s too hard on her.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind once she gets used to her wheelchair.”
“Do you have wheelchair ramps?” she wants to know.