Page 19 of Snowed in with the Grump

“It's so fulfilling to help adults gain skills that open up new opportunities for them,” she explains. “Some are immigrants, and others missed out on education when they were younger. It's incredibly rewarding to see their confidence grow week after week.”

I nod, captivated by her passion. She's always been so compassionate.

“I wish I could do it full time, but the pay isn't enough to live on,” she continues. “So I piece together part-time jobs—tutoring, waiting tables, you name it. That's why I'm always broke.”

She chuckles self-consciously.

“Hey, there's nothing wrong with that,” I reassure her. “Not everyone is motivated by money.”

She smiles gratefully. “Yeah, experiences are more important to me. Although I could do without the old, beat-up car,” she jokes.

I chuckle. “I'm surprised it's still running.”

“Barely!” She laughs. “I need to give the duct tape holding it together a name.”

Her good humor is contagious. The moment lingers, our eyes locked. But the spell is broken as she looks away shyly.

“Anyway, enough about me,” she says, fiddling with her napkin. “I want to hear more about you. What will you do for work if you live in the mountains?”

“After a decade of working as a combat engineer, I want to try something new. I enjoy working with my hands.”

She giggles. “You’re certainly good with your hands.”

I give her a mischievous look. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Ava bites her lip. I love her playful tease. “So you build stuff now?”

I reach for my glass. “I’m a carpenter. I do everything from making bookshelves to remodeling homes.”

“No more dangerous work?”

“For sure.” I nod. “I’m out of the service for good.”

Her eyes flicker to my hand and back to my face. “It’s inspiring you found a new passion.”

I tense slightly, exposed by her perceptiveness.

Instinctively, my fingertips graze the scars through my shirt sleeve. I force a tight smile, debating how much to reveal. After a measured pause, I decide on a version of the truth.

Ava must’ve known I’d lost feeling in part of my hand when she had to dig out a splinter the size of baby Groot.

“Shrapnel wounds in my shoulder injured some of the nerves in my arm. Now, one hand isn’t as strong as it used to be.”

The lights flicker off and on again, interrupting our conversation. A look of unease flashes across Ava's face as the room dims. Her brows knit and her shoulders tense. She turns her worried gaze to meet mine.

I’d do anything to take away her fears and bring a smile to her face. Keeping her spirits high is my priority.

I cast about for a distraction and remember her struggling with the heavy oak wardrobe in my room. “Did you finish unpacking?”

Color rises on her cheeks, and she looks away. “I did, but thanks for checking.”

“And if you need help moving furniture, just ask. I’d be happy to help.”

Ava toys with the edge of the tablecloth. “Do you think I was snooping?”

I smile, hoping to put her at ease. “I don’t mind if you were looking around. Treat the place like it’s yours. Mi casa es su casa.”

“And the mouse?”

---