He stood, feeling as though the muscles in his legs would snap in half. He longed to take a couple of Motrin and go back to bed, but the only way the muscles were going to limber up would be through use. He gingerly walked to the kitchen and started the coffee pot. As it hissed and dripped, he looked out the kitchen window. The solitude felt wonderful, but now that his head had cleared from the booze—which surprisingly, he did not miss—his mind held him hostage with thoughts of Gabby. The sun finally peeked through the clouds. A few birds chirped, breaking the silence. He once again thought of how much Gabby would love the cabin. She would thrive on the peace and solitude, and he could picture her curled up on the couch, cuddled under a blanket, reading a book while sipping a glass of Merlot or some of her favorite chamomile and vanilla tea. He imagined walking over to her and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. She would smile at him, his heart would warm, and she’d push her feet in his direction.
