Page 8 of Broken Mountain Man

I raise an eyebrow at her, "Appreciate the offer, but I don't really like people messing with my stuff."

Lyla smirks, "Your stuff? You mean like plates and pots and pans?"

"It doesn't matter what it is," I say with a slight scowl. “It's mine, and I like to keep things a certain way."

"In other words, you're just a territorial grouch," she teases.

I shoot her a look but don't rise to the bait, "Think whatever you want. You still ain't cooking, end of story."

Lyla relents with a dramatic eye roll.

"Alright, alright. Be that way, Mr. Possessive Caveman."

Ignoring her quip, I start rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out some canned goods and other non-perishables I have stocked. As I work on assembling something edible, Lyla hops up to sit on the small counter, swinging her legs idly.

"So..." She draws out the word. "If I'm sticking around to learn your crazy survivalist ways, does that mean I get to hear the deep, dark story of why a guy like you ends up all alone out here?"

I shoot her a withering look over my shoulder. "Don't count on it."

To my surprise, instead of pushing the subject, she just chuckles.

"Fair enough. Guess I'll have to earn that tale the hard way then."

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitch upwards at her easy confidence. This girl doesn't shy away from a challenge.

I continue prepping our simple meal, trying to ignore the bemused smirk Lyla keeps shooting me. What the hell am I doing, letting this girl get under my skin like this? I should've just sent her on her way at first light, not encouraged her to stick around.

But a frustratingly stubborn part of me can't deny how nice it feels to have some actual human company again after so much self-imposed isolation.

The easy banter, the playful back-and-forth—it's been so long since I've experienced anything like this that it's both exhilarating and deeply unsettling all at once.

I can't let myself get too comfortable, though. I can't afford to let my guard down, to let anyone get that close again after...

A stinging pain in my finger shakes me from my troubled thoughts with a sharp hiss. Looking down, I see a thin line of red welling up from where I've nicked my skin on the blade while mindlessly chopping vegetables.

"Shit," I grunt, quickly sticking the injured digit in my mouth on reflex.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Lyla is instantly on alert, sliding down from her perch on the counter. "Do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere?"

I mumble an affirmative around my finger, gesturing vaguely towards the bathroom. She rushes off without further prompting, returning seconds later with a dingy little med kit.

"Here, let me see," she says as she gently pries my hand away from my mouth. Frowning at the sluggishly bleeding cut, she orders, "Sit down and let me clean that up properly."

I obey without argument, feeling suddenly and unexpectedly cowed by her decisive, take-charge attitude. As I sink into one of the kitchen chairs, Lyla kneels on the floor in front of me, deftly preparing some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

"This might sting a little," she warns, holding my gaze for a beat before carefully taking my injured hand in her firm yet gentle grip.

The focused look of tender concern on her face as she cleans and dresses the minor wound makes something long dormant inside me twist achingly.

Maybe...maybe having her around for a little while won't be so bad after all.

Chapter 5 - Lyla

I move quickly on instinct when I see the blood, kneeling in front of Russell before I can second-guess the impulse. Now I'm hyper-aware of how close our bodies are, his large hand cradled in my smaller one as I tend to the minor cut.

My heart races, and I start tapping my foot rapidly against the floor.

"How the hell did you manage to do this?" I demand, nodding at the injury.

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