Page 9 of S'more Mountain Man

He looked up, those pale green eyes meeting mine. "You've got the talking covered for both of us."

I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. Maybe both. "Fair point. My students say I can talk through a fire drill, earthquake, and alien invasion simultaneously."

"Wouldn't surprise me."

He moved to the small refrigerator and pulled out eggs, a chunk of cheese, and what looked like homemade salsa.

"Hope you like scrambled," he said, cracking eggs into a bowl with efficient movements.

"I eat anything that doesn't eat me first," I assured him, watching as he worked. His hands were large but surprisingly deft as he seasoned the eggs. "So, your plan is to grow peppers, build knives, and stay hot in the forest? That's the master plan?"

He shot me a look that I couldn't quite decipher. "Not how I'd put it."

"How would you put it?"

"Living. Just living."

"Away from people."

"Yes."

"Because..."

"Because people are complicated."

I snorted. "That's one word for it."

"You disagree?"

"No, it's just—" I gestured at the cabin, the forest beyond, him. "Most people solve that by getting a therapist and a Netflix subscription, not by going full caveman."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Not everyone wants the same things."

"Obviously," I said, eyeing his bare torso again before I could catch myself. "I mean, I can barely handle a flat tire. You're out here building cabins and forging weapons like some Viking time traveler."

"And you think that's weird."

"I didn't say weird. More like... impressive. And maybe a little intimidating."

He paused in his cooking to look at me directly. "You're not intimidated."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "No, I guess I'm not. Curious, maybe. Slightly envious that you know exactly what you want."

Something shifted in his eyes then, a darkening that made my pulse quicken. "Do I?"

The air between us suddenly felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. I became acutely aware of several things simultaneously: the thin flannel barely covering my thighs, hisproximity, the fact that we were completely alone in this cabin, and the way his gaze had dropped to my mouth.

I cleared my throat. "The, um, eggs are burning."

He cursed and turned back to the stove, scraping the slightly blackened eggs onto two plates. Crisis averted. Sort of.

We ate in silence that wasn't quite comfortable but wasn't entirely awkward either. I tried not to watch how his muscles flexed with every movement or how his throat worked when he swallowed. I failed spectacularly.

"You always this fascinated by people eating, or am I special?" he asked, not looking up from his plate.

I choked on my coffee. "I—I wasn't—"

"You were."

---