“Sorry, Evie. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just not sure what exactly you’re looking for in terms of an answer.”
“How about just an explanation. S, you’re this hot mountain man who lives all by himself, but why? What do you do all day? Do you ever get bored? And where do get your groceries?”
“So you’re saying you want to know the whole damn story?”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, I know about your you know what.” I circle around his cock --which is pretty epic in terms of proportions. “But besides being amazing in bed, who is Everett? What’s the story?”
“Got tired of the bullshit so I moved out here. Five years ago.”
“You just quit your life?”
“Sometimes things don’t go as you expect, and it kinda changes the way you see the world.”
“And what changed your world?”
Everett dishes up the bowls of chili and brings the cornbread to the table. He turns and grabs a few beers from the refrigerator and uses his hand to take off the caps.
“Well, my parents died, my sister too. A car crash on the way to see me in my big ass job in the city. And after they all died, all I wanted was to have had more time with them.
“Life felt sacred suddenly... with no guarantees. I spent a lot of years wearing three-piece suits, working for the man. Not saying there’s no value in that, I mean we’ve all got jobs to make the world go around, but I just realized that wasn’t what I wanted.”
“So you cashed out and bought this place?”
“Pretty much. I write books now, about...” Everett’s cheeks redden, and I swear he’s blushing.
“Oh, my gosh what are you writing about? Are you writing some smutty erotica? Tell me everything.”
“No.” Everett shakes his head, grinning. “Though after today, I think I’d have plenty of good material.” Everett’s twinkling eyes meet mine , both of us seeming to remember the way our bodies felt inside of one another, his hands on my breasts, my hand on his cock, his come on my face.
“Okay then, what are you writing about, mountain man?”
“I just write about my life. You know how you write a blog? I guess it’s kinda like that, only e-books. I journal my whole year out here on the mountain and then publish it. People seem to like the day in the life sort of thing.”
My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God. What are you going to write about today?” Now it’s my turn to have a reddened face.
Everett laughs, dipping his spoon into his bowl and takes a bite before answering.
“Well, as much as I’d like to detail our time together for my rabid fans, I can easily gloss over it by saying I got nostalgic this morning missing my family, being as it’s Christmas time, and grabbed my ax, headed into the woods to chop down a Christmas tree. It’s up to you if you want me to add that I found a present when I was up on Mistletoe Mountain.”
“That’s what the mountain is called?”
Everett nods. “Sure is. Didn’t you see all those boughs of mistletoe up there? The mistletoe grafted on all sorts of pine trees up there. It’s a real special place.”
I consider Everett, I swear he knows everything. Cooking and hunting and making homemade soap. He is the modern Renaissance man.
I feel very honored to be here with him at all.
“You can tell your readers you met me. In fact, you can tell them I trimmed your tree.”
“I don’t think you’ve finished the tree quite yet, Evie. Gotta put a star on top, don’t you?” He grins, then takes a swig of his beer, and I do too. “Tell me, what would you have done tonight if you hadn’t ever gotten lost?”
I set down my beer thinking about how to answer. I have the distinct feeling that Everett is going to judge the way I spend my days and nights harshly... and I’m not quite sure that I want to ruin what we have found.
“I don’t know if I want to tell you.”
“Oh, you’re gonna tell me all right,” he says. “Honest, how bad is it?”
I groan, “Well I’d have worked all afternoon, making the wreaths for my neighbors. Yes, I may be a party girl, but I’m a nice one. Besides, these wreaths need to be made so I can write a blog post about them. Then around ten or so, I was going to go to an ugly Christmas sweater party. The plan was to go to this party, get sloppy drunk on cheap shots. Probably annoy my friends by wanting to stay longer than everyone else.”
“And tomorrow?”
I smirk. “Tomorrow I’d wake up totally hungover and then meet some other friends for brunch, where we would drink Bloody Marys until late afternoon at which point I’d need to find decent clothing to wear so I could go to my sister’s for Christmas Eve dinner.”
I talk fast, thinking if I just put it out there, told Everett exactly what kind of woman I am, he could take it or leave it. No use tiptoeing around the truth. Hell, I have a distinct advantage here. I’ve seen his home, been in his bedroom and bathroom and have seen how he lives.
He doesn’t know much about me. Besides the fact he likes my breasts and my ass ... and my pussy. Besides the fact I make him laugh and he knows I can make a mean paper snowflake.
“Do you ever sleep?” he asks.
“That’s it? You’re asking about my sleep patterns?” I shrug. “Yes, Everett. I sleep. Probably too much actually. My working at home gig means pajamas and naps. And lots of them.”
“I work from home too.”
I twist my lips, realizing our work at home habits are very different.
“Okay, tell me, what does a day in the life of Everett look like? I’m guessing you don’t wear pajamas until dinner time.”
“Uh, no. At five a.m. I’m out most mornings feeding the goats, pigs, and chickens. Then I’ve gotta muck out their stalls. Check the traps I’ve laid in the woods. After I do that I have some morning coffee, maybe pull out my laptop, because even though I don’t have Wi-Fi and cell service, I do write on a computer.
“I make a few notes about the morning before heading out for a long walk. Most of the year there is a lot of work to be done outside. Working in the garden, mostly, and that gives me enough exercise. But in the winter things are quieter. Slower. So, I make sure to go on a long walk every day.”
I must be looking at him funny because he asks me why my eyes are raised. “No reason. I’m just listening. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met another person like you.”
“Likewise.”
Not knowing if that’s a compliment or not, I take his chili bowl and mine to the sink and rinse them out. Our beer bottles are drained, and I reach for two more in the refrigerator.
“So what do you do after you take that long walk?” I ask, handing him a beer.
“I read. Work on anything that needs to be done in the kitchen. Check the solar panels, make sure they’re in working order. I work on house projects, like that soap and shampoo. That’s the sort of thing I do in the winter.”
“Your life seems really slow. Really quiet.”
“Quiet for sure, but it’s busy. I can’t take anything for granted when I have to do everything on my own.”
“Is it ever lonely, Everett?” He looks away then, as if not wanting our eyes to me. And I realize I’ve struck a nerve.