Page 11 of Heart of the Mountain
Fifteen minutes later, I’m digging into the most delicious, savory, perfectly seasoned omelette with fresh veggies and eggs. A girl could get used to this princess treatment.
“Oh my god, Cutter, this is amazing,” I say around a forkful of eggs.
He’s sitting on the edge of the couch closest to my feet, though he’s extra cautious about not bumping my sore ankle. The man nods once in acknowledgment. He’s about as good at taking compliments as I am, I see.
We eat in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. For once, I don’t have the need to fill the quiet space with an onslaught of random facts or intrusive questions. Cutter’s presence soothes me in a way I’m not used to. Being together is enough.
When I’m done, I start to get up so I can rinse off my dirty dishes, but Cutter stops me. He takes my empty plate and returns moments later with a glass of water.
“You’re spoiling me,” I tell him when he hands me the water.
His brow furrows, and he tilts his head to one side. “It’s not spoiling. I’m simply taking care of you.”
I blink up at him a few times, not sure how to process the wave of emotion swelling in my chest. Am I about to cry? Before the first tear falls, I take a breath and clear the confusing thoughts in my brain. “Well, either way, it’s nice,” I finally reply, hoping to end the conversation with my megawatt smile. Cutter’s eyes never leave mine, those blue irises searching for… something.
He tears his eyes away from me and busies himself by wiping off the crumbs on the coffee table from breakfast. I look aroundthe living room, surprised to see a few shelves of DVDs next to the small TV.
“Do you really use a DVD player instead of streaming services?” I ask.
“I have plenty of streams on my property,” he replies in all seriousness.
“No, streaming services like Netflix and… wait, was that a joke?”
Cutter tries to hide his smirk, but I see it all the same. God, this man. He’s stupidly handsome all on his own, but coupled with that smirk… he’s devastatingly sexy.
Upon further inspection, I realize the DVDs are all kung-fu movies, which has me geeking out.
“No way! You haveSnake in the Eagle’s Shadow? It was Jackie Chan’s first kung-fu movie, you know. God, I haven’t watched it in ages. When I was seven or eight, one of my foster brothers brought home a portable DVD player and snuck into the room us kids were sharing. All five of us crowded around that small screen, not sure what movie we were about to watch since the whole thing was technically stolen from a friend of a friend. As soon as the opening sequence played, I was hooked. I mean, how can you not love the action, campy-ness, and comedy all wrapped up in some sweet ninja maneuvers? I used to practice the moves in case I needed them someday. Unfortunately, my training didn’t help much.”
My rambling comes to an end, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from spilling more about my past and my upbringing. I shouldn’t be sharing all of this, not only to protect myself, but because it’s not fair to dump everything on Cutter.
He stares at me, the intensity too much for me to take. What is he thinking? That I’m pathetic? A burden? A ranting lunatic who needs to get out of his space? Probably all three.
“My dad and I watched all of Jackie Chan’s movies,” he finally says, though it sounds like the words physically hurt him to speak out loud.
“Could we watchSnake in the Eagle’s Shadow? Then I’ll leave, I promise.”
Cutter’s entire countenance changes. His spine stiffens, his lips press into a thin line, and he clenches his fists so tightly I can see the veins bulging in his forearms. I’m not sure what’s happening or what’s going through his mind, but Cutter walks over to the shelf and hovers his hand over the movie in question. He hesitates, his hand shaking slightly as if the DVD case is going to jump out and bite him.
Finally, Cutter grabs the movie and pops it into the player attached to the TV. I notice the spot it left behind on the shelf, meaning it’s been there long enough to collect a considerable amount of dust. I wonder why he kept this collection of movies if he never watches them. Cutter doesn’t strike me as a sentimental person, and he’s definitely a minimalist. So why does he have dozens of DVDs taking up space in his home?
I adjust myself to make room for Cutter, but he sits on the floor in front of me, leaning back against the couch. His muscles are tense, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard he might break a damn tooth. What is going on with him?
The familiar opening song begins, and the title fills the screen in large, blocky yellow letters. A wistful smile takes over my face, nostalgia mixing with some of the more painful memories of my childhood. These movies were a bright spot, an escape for me when I had nothing else. I’m not sure what they mean to Cutter, but he’s clearly having some kind of emotional reaction, whether he realizes it or not.
“We don’t have to watch this,” I tell him softly. “It was just an idea.”
I shouldn’t be surprised when he answers me with a grunt.
We watch the first few minutes, but my eyes never leave Cutter. I lean over and grab the remote off the coffee table, pausing the movie.
“Why are you so grumpy?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
“I’m always grumpy,” he replies.
I smile and nudge his shoulder. “This is different. You seem sad. Kung-fu shouldn’t make you sad.”
“This was my father’s favorite movie,” Cutter says, though I can barely hear him. “He’s gone now.”
