Page 15 of Santa's Girl
I glanced around the spartan kitchen. “That remains to be seen.”
Bear raised a brow, clearly hearing me, then poured a second mug of coffee and set it down in front of me without a word.
I blinked at the cup, then up at him. “You always this friendly?”
“Only on non-holidays,” he said.
My stomach growled so loud it practically echoed off the log walls.
Bear didn’t react. He just sipped his coffee, unbothered, like he hadn’t heard my insides staging a revolt.
“So…” I started, forcing a smile. “About dinner. Or lunch. Or any food that involves chewing.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Check the cupboard.”
I did. And immediately regretted it.
“Protein powder,” I said flatly, holding up the giant tub like it was evidence in a crime. “Chocolate… whey. That’s it?”
He glanced over, deadpan. “It’s got nutrients.”
“I was thinking something solid. With texture. Maybe a vegetable?”
Another shrug. “Don’t cook much.”
“Clearly,” I muttered. “Your fridge looks like the inside of a frat house right before finals.”
He gave no indication he’d heard me. I was pretty sure this man could tune out nuclear war.
I wandered further into the family room, coffee mug in hand, trying to take stock of my surroundings.
No TV mounted on the wall. Just an old, boxy one in the corner with a set of rabbit ears sticking out of the top.
No laptop. No tablet. No Wi-Fi router. Not even a power strip.
A battered bookshelf held a radio, a stack of VHS tapes, and — I squinted —Timemagazines dated 1993.
Beside them,Sports Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition 1999.
“Wow,” I said under my breath. “Vintage smut and Cold War news. How… current.”
I turned back to him, arms crossed. “Do you seriously live like this? No internet? No Netflix? Not even a smart speaker to yell at when you’re bored?”
He didn’t look up from where he was rinsing his coffee mug in the sink. “Don’t need that crap. I have a regular TV in my room. Satellite internet and cable… I’m living large up here.” His eyes twinkled a bit before they turned flat again. If I blinked I would’ve missed it.
“Do you at least have a lightning charger?”
He tipped his head toward the ancient rotary model. “Right there.”
I stared at it. “Ha. Hilarious.”
Finally, he looked over his shoulder — just long enough to let a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. It was quick, gone in a heartbeat, but I saw it.
Oh, he wasenjoying this.
My eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, but there was a spark of amusement in his voice. The first sign of actual life I’d seen from him since he’d pulled me out of the snowbank.
