Page 6 of Beauty and the Beard

Stifling a laugh, I hold up the plate.

“Well, bears won’t knock on the door. And I brought you dinner. You missed the evening meal.”

He blinks at the plate and back at me and I’m not sure what I see in his eyes. It’s not distrust. There’s something else.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How do I… uh… is there a microwave here?” He runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t even look around once Pete left. I just laid down and instantly crashed.”

“Can I come in? I’ll show you around the place and what to do.”

He opens the door for me to step through and I reach for the light switch. The kitchen light flickers and comes to life. Sasha’s luggage still stands by the door and I step around them.

“Travelling is always tiring, isn’t it? Where are you from?”

Pushing back the nerves of making conversation with an attractive man, I toe off my shoes and walk to the kitchen.

“Uh, I came here from a town called Rosevale, but I’m originally from a small town in Northern Ontario where there are more mosquitos than people. I moved away when I was just a child, though, so I barely remember it.”

Nodding, I smile as I open the cupboard for a frying pan. At least he knows about mosquitoes. That’s a good thing.

“There’s no microwave here. But you have a full set of cookware and the stove is propane. You just have to turn the knob here for it to light. It’s like an indoor bbq.”

Setting the pan on the element, I locate the cooking spray in the cupboard with the staples we provide and coat the pan before dumping the plate of food in.

“I’ve never had a BBQ.”

Sasha creeps closer now and watches as I stir around the food and his belly grumbles loud enough for me to hear. When I laugh, his cheeks flush pink.

“Sorry. I really am starving. Thank you for doing this for me. But…” He trails off and I wait with a ball of dread. I never asked if he had a food allergy. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but part ofthe reason I came here was to learn to be more self-sufficient. I want to do things for myself.”

There’s no malice in his words. He’s simply being upfront and telling me why he’s here. There’s definitely no reason for me to bristle over it. And yet I still do.

Stepping away from the stove, I motion for him to take over and, after hesitating, he picks up the wooden spoon and gingerly stirs the food around.

“It smells wonderful. What kind of fish is this?”

He inhales deeply over the pan and, for a moment, I lose myself to the memory of serving Connor fish for the first time. But Connor is gone and this pretty waif of a thing now waits expectantly for my answer. None the wiser of my inner reflection.

“It’s pickerel. Caught in the lake on the weekend. I only serve it when there aren’t a lot of guests here.” He raises a well-manicured eyebrow in question. “You can only catch so many at once,” I explain. “Since I’m only one person, I catch my limit for a few days, then feed it when there’s a smaller group.”

“That makes sense.” He chews his lip before darting a glance my way. “How do I know when it’s ready?”

Instinctively, I reach for the spoon but draw back, remembering his earlier words.

“You can use the spoon and take a piece of potato out of the pan to the countertop. Test it with a bite. If it’s warm enough, the rest should be as well.”

Nodding and eager, he plops a piece of potato on the counter. He opens the drawer, locating the cutlery on the first try, and nabs a fork. Once he brings the piece to his mouth, his eyes twinkle with a joy I’ve only seen once before, and after touching it to his lips with a small laugh, he puts it in his mouth and chews.

“Ohmygod! It’s so good.”

“If it’s warm enough, take down a plate and just dump it all on there. You’re ready to eat.”

He does just that and sets the pan back down on the element. As he turns to take the food to the table, I grab his arm.

“You need to turn the element off first. If you leave it on with a pan like that, you might burn the place down.”

A small gasp exits his lips and he turns to study the stove knobs. Brow furrowed, my heart goes out to him because he’s unsure. Has he really never used a stove top?

“The little diagrams next to the dial tell you what element it’s for.” Reaching in front of him, I click the button to off and the tiny poof of the flame extinguishing sounds.

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