The gravel crunched beneath Dean's feet as he walked beside the perimeter road that ran along the lakefront, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked to his left, seeing the water glisten in the late afternoon sun. It would be sundown before he knew it, he thought, remembering how early the pine trees snuffed out light and warmth in the wintertime. He took a deep breath in through his nose, feeling the freshness of the air percolate through him.
Looking ahead, he saw the cabin, its small front windows aglow. He felt relieved; part of him had worried that he might find the place deserted. Though that theory was baseless, it was hard for his mind not to go there, considering his line of work. Seeing the cabin inhabited raised a different set of questions, along with new suspicions and his ever-growing anxiety. He wondered, for the millionth time, if he was doing the right thing.
A dog's bark startled him, his body jolting slightly at the unexpected noise as his hand clutched at the gun in his waistband. He looked ahead as a tan and black mastiff came bounding toward him. He dropped his bag and bent at the knees, grinning as he received the dog with open arms. "Moose, you beauty," he cooed, rubbing her head affectionately as she gave him the sniff-down. Looking up, his brow knit together, having expected a second onslaught.
The sound of the screen door springing shut met Dean's ears. "Moose?" a voice called.
And there she was, wrapped in a bulky gray turtleneck and jeans, her auburn hair swinging in a single braid that hung just below her collarbone, looking caught off guard.
"Moose!" she called more commandingly.
Dean rose to stand, emerging from behind Moose's hulking shape. "Surprise," he offered weakly, his confidence sapped away as she stood there looking at him, mouth slightly agape.
"Dean?" she questioned needlessly, confirming not that he was him, but that he was there at all.
"In the flesh," he answered, a faltering smile on his face. He swallowed hard and shifted on his feet. "It's good to see ya, Mer. I-I'm sorry I didn't call, I just—"
"Oh my God." She walked toward him, as if in a dream, her bare feet covering the ground between them quickly until she had him encapsulated in her arms.
Dean exhaled out his apprehensions as he hugged her back, arms wrapping around her midsection and chin hooking over her shoulder. He breathed in slowly, taking in the scent of her shampoo and the delicate aroma of lavender and pine that always seemed to surround her.
She pulled back, beaming at him in disbelief. She carefully took his face between her hands, her eyes dancing across his face as if inspecting him. "I can't believe it," she uttered as she released him totally, arms dropping to her sides.
Always shy under her gaze, Dean dropped his eyes to his boots, letting out a soft laugh. "Well, believe it," he responded.
"I'm really glad you're here, Dean," Mer said softly.
There was an almost indiscernible edge to her voice that made Dean uneasy. He swallowed the feeling and glanced over her shoulder. "No Tiny?" he asked. "I thought that bastard would be on me like white on rice."
"Oh…" Mer murmured, looking to where Moose was rolling around on the grass. "We lost Tiny." She fiddled with the end of her braid.
"What?" Dean questioned, sounding apologetic. "What happened?"
Mer swallowed hard and turned back around to look at Dean. "Some kids," she replied, shaking her head. "Renting the lake house a couple properties over. They came flying down the road one night late—we're not used to traffic out here, you know. I guess Tiny was out doing the rounds and…"
"Goddamn kids," Dean scoffed angrily. Then, more softly. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," Mer admitted. "He was a good dog. Moose has only just got over missing him. He was her brother, you know. She didn't quite know what to do with herself at first."
Dean nodded, swallowing hard.
"So, you caught me at your favorite time—happy hour," Mer teased faintly. "I was just about to take my book and a glass of wine down to the dock." She smiled up at him. "Looks like I'm switching to whiskey."
Dean grinned at her, happy to see some of her humor returning. "Make mine a double," he told her. "I've been on a Greyhound all damn day."
"Oh, I was planning on bringing the bottle," Mer replied, cocking an eyebrow. "It's been, what? A year? We have a lot of catching up to do." With that, she turned and strode up the steps of the cabin.
Dean waited outside for her to return, lifting his duffle from the ground and depositing it on the porch steps. Mer came out moments later, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in another, her bare feet now shoved into fur-lined boots.
They picked their way down toward the lake together in the waning light, Dean following Mer's confident steps. When they reached the dock, Mer paused to open the doors of a small shed, reaching in and clicking on a set of string lights. They illuminated, and Dean could see the two parallel threads secured to the metal poles that lined the dock.
"Nice," Dean commented as he looked up at them fondly.
"Got to have some way to combat this darkness," Mer responded. "I hate when we start losing the light like this. Makes winter feel that much longer."
Dean hummed in agreement. "How's the water?" he asked curiously, eyeing the incoming ripples, which were bathed in the metallic silver-blue sheen of sundown.
"It's…refreshing," Mer answered, the hint of a smile in her voice.
"Care for a dip?" Dean wondered, feeling like he needed something to revive him after his long haul on the bus.
Mer shook her head. "No way in hell," she snorted. "I take my swims in the morning so I have all day to get the heat back in my bones."
"Suit yourself," Dean said, bending down to unlace his boots.
Mer stepped past him and planted herself on the two-person lounger near the end of the dock, setting the glasses down on a side table and unstacking them. She carefully uncorked the whiskey bottle, pouring a finger for herself.
"Oh, I see," Dean said, striding past her, completely naked. "You just wanna sit back and watch the show."
Raising her glass in a mock-toast, Mer smiled lazily at him. "And look at you, always the exhibitionist." She took a sip. "Are you going to dance for me?"
"You wish," Dean snorted, throwing his hands skyward and taking a dive. He came up moments later, gasping at the sudden chill. He let out a whoop. "You weren't kidding."
Mer chuckled, taking another nip of her whiskey.
"Do you still keep that three-in-one down here?" Dean asked, looking up at her hopefully as he treaded water.
"Of course I do," Mer replied, rising from the lounger and walking back toward the shed. She reached in, procuring a bottle of Suave.
Dean grinned up at her as she made her way back toward him, lobbing the bottle his way. He caught it with a slight splash and flipped the cap open to squeeze soap into his palm, kicking his way toward the dock to set down the bottle. Then, he proceeded to sud up his hair, chest and armpits.
As he washed himself, Meredith drifted back toward the shed to pull out a towel and an old quilt.
"You take such good care of me," Dean complimented as she reapproached.
"You're telling me?" Mer responded jokingly as she lowered herself back down to her seat, laying her legs out long in front of her.
"Mer, I'm serious," Dean told her. "I-I know me showing up here unannounced isn't exactly the coolest move. I know you've got your friends and a life and your job—"
"I'm taking some time off, actually," Mer informed him, looking down into her whiskey to pull out a gnat that had gotten too curious.
"What do you mean, time off? Everything okay with the practice?" Dean pulled himself up the ladder and out of the water, grabbing the towel from the foot of the lounger. He quickly toweled off his hair and body, then walked over to pull his jeans back on.
"Yeah, everything's fine," Mer replied easily. "It's just a few days, really. Brendan's more than capable."
"Right," Dean said, sitting down on the lounger beside her.
"Besides, you usually give a few days' notice, at most. The whole blowing in and out of town thing is sort of your signature. I'm used to it." Mer offered him the glass she had poured for him.
"Hang on," Dean told her, picking up the quilt. He gave it a few shakes to unfurl it, finding the musty smell it gave off oddly comforting. He laid it across their laps as Mer handed him his drink.
She moved closer, touching her shoulder to his. "Are you cold?" she asked. "Your skin's like ice."
"And yours is toasty," he said in response, feeling the warmth radiating off of her. He took a quiet sip of his whiskey, feeling it as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach.
"I've got some stew on the stove," Mer told him.
"You just read my mind," Dean said, snorting softly.
"I've known you long enough to know you're always wondering about your next meal," Mer joked.
Dean's laugh tapered off into a sigh. "It's been too long, Mer," he said.
His words hung there between them, an unspoken conversation in the balance.
"How long are you staying this time?" Mer wondered, declining response to his statement.
Dean shrugged, taking another pull of his whiskey. "I was thinking a week," he answered. "Something like that."
Mer craned her head to look at him in bewilderment. "A week?" she questioned. "We're usually lucky to get forty-eight hours."
Again, he shrugged. "Making up for lost time, I guess," he told her.
"Well then," Mer said, sounding almost impressed. "You know you're always welcome to stay as long as you like."
Author's prompt: What's the story here? Comment with your best & wildest. x