Chapter 31
He turned onto the driveway leading to his cabin, whistling as he walked, and enjoyed the sound of the snow squeaking against his shoes. He looked forward to getting back and warming up the homemade chicken soup Emma had given him. It would taste amazing after the walk back from their house
A hooting from somewhere halted his steps. He looked around to try and catch a glimpse of whoever had greeted him, but he couldn’t see anything. A second hooting made it easier to localize the sound, and he studied the trees to his right. A rustling branch betrayed its location, and Elliot drew in a quick breath when he finally caught sight of the owl.
It was almost completely white, its feathers sprinkled with tiny black spots. The black beak was mostly hidden behind the downy feathers on its face. It hooted again, sounding almost like it was hoarse.
“Hello to you, too.” The owl blinked at his greeting, and Elliot snickered at the surprised look on its face. “You’re a beautiful one, aren’t you?”
Hoot.
“Are you talking to me?”
Hoot, hoot.
Laughter burst out of him, disturbing the quietness in the forest, scaring the owl, who spread its majestic wings and took off.
“Bye, Hedwig,” he yelled as it disappeared over the tree tops.
“Awesome.” He sighed and resumed his walk. After a few steps, he started jogging, unable to contain the happiness bubbling up in him after the encounter.
A few minutes later, back in the cabin, he poured the soup in a pot and put it on the stove to warm. He stirred the fire and added a couple logs, and then he went to check on his phone, eager to see if he’d gotten a reply from Mick. But when he opened the message app, he noticed an exclamation mark next to the text, indicating it hadn’t been sent.
He took a couple steps back and sank down on the couch, staring at his phone like he was willing it to send the message. Then he noticed he didn’t have any service, and he groaned.
“Shit!”
The cell reception this far out in the woods wasn’t great, but he usually had one bar or two at least.
“It’s gotta be the damn snow,” he muttered with a sigh. His fingers found their way to his beard, tugging so hard, he winced.
He was disillusioned with himself for how he’d acted after the knife incident, wishing he’d stood his ground and insisted on disciplining the student. That he’d refused the damn money that sat in his bank account, filling him with anxiety.
But most of all, he was afraid Mick would look at him one day and despise him for his choices. That even his practical and realistic partner would think Elliot made the wrong decision.
Maybe this was the universe’s way of saying he shouldn’t text his boyfriend. He sighed again and deleted the unsent message, stabbing the touch screen a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he threw the phone on the sofa and stomped out to the kitchen area to stir the soup. 4: March
After spending most of the last two months alone in the forest, enjoying the outdoors or staying in listening to the scratchy old vinyl records in front of the fire, Elliot woke up feeling antsy. It didn’t matter that the sun shone and water dripped from the trees. He didn’t feel like spending the day talking to Hedwig the Owl or going for a walk in the woods, trying to avoid stepping in elk poo. He needed a change of scenery, to see people, to make sure he wasn’t alone in the world.
So he threw on his clothes, jumped into the rental car, and drove down the mountainside into civilization. Or as much civilization as a town of fewer than ten thousand people could offer.
He spent some time people watching and window shopping in the town center until he found the bookstore that had been his favorite place growing up. He was amazed it was still there and hadn’t been swallowed up by one of the chain giants. When he stepped inside, he was delighted to see the same old man behind the counter. He had to be ancient by now
Elliot browsed the store for at least an hour before paying for a big stack of books, including yet another edition of Much Ado About Nothingtoo pretty to leave on the shelf.
Granted, there were books in the cabin, but ninety-five percent of them were cheesy, old romance novels from the eighties, which wasn’t really his thing. He’d tried a few after finishing every other available book, but reading about pulsing rods thrusting in velvety love caves didn’t do anything for him. And not only because he himself had never seen a velvety love caveup close. He couldn’t handle the ridiculous descriptions without bursting out laughing.