I hear his truck, the rattle-thrum of the diesel engine coming to an idle and then silencing. Door opening, closing. I hear his boots clomp slowly up my steps, across the porch, stopping outside the door.

No, no, no. I can’t deal with you, Nathan. It’s too much. You’re too much.

“Nadia.”

He’s on the other side of the door. I feel him. I can almost see him, hands braced high and wide, gripping the frame with his huge rough hands. Forehead to the wood, eyes closed.

“Nadia?”

“I can’t.”

“Can you let me in, Nadia?”

“I can’t do this with you, Nathan.”

“I can’t not do this.” His voice is so rough, a ragged rumble. Vulnerable.

“Nathan, god, please. Just leave me alone.”

“I can’t.” I hear him inhale deeply, hold his breath, let it out in a rush. “You tried, remember?”

I don’t know what to say.

I hear him humming something. A song. I don’t recognize it, at first. And then the hum becomes singing: “…I knew you were trouble when you walked in…”

He’s singing Taylor Swift. Starts with the chorus, his voice like stones tumbling in a well, and he sings it through, I don’t know why. He knows the whole song, start to finish.

I could sing it with him, but I don’t have a voice.

Once he’s sung the song, there’s silence, and it feels deafening. Hearing it sang a cappella, I realize despite the peppy melody, it’s a sad, depressing song and I wonder why he sang that one. Stuck in his head, maybe. How does he even know that song?

He’s right on the other side. I can hear him breathing.

“I can’t walk away from this, Nadia. And I don’t think you can either.”

“Just…please, just give me tonight. I need to…to think.”

“I’ll bring coffee.”

“Okay.”

He’s still there.

“Nathan?”

“Hmmm.”

“I just don’t know how to do this with you.”

“I know.”

“Just…just give me tonight to figure myself out, okay?”

“I’ll be at your door in the morning. Six thirty.”

“Thank you, Nathan.”

Still silence.

Then I hear a scuff of a boot on wood. Hesitant, reluctant. The porch creaks, and I hear his heavy sigh. Slow tread, as if still hoping I’ll change my mind at the last minute and open the door for him.

After a while, I hear his cabin door thunk closed.

I turn my back to the door, slide down to sit against it.

It was just too much. The candle, the flower on the table. My favorite color, lavender. The sunset on the lake, loons swimming, fluting to each other. My favorite food.

How did he know?

Something isn’t adding up.

Or it’s adding up too well. My favorite wine, my favorite flower, my favorite dinner.

The champagne thing.

So many things.