Page 4 of Defiant Mountain Man

"You always watch people work, or is that a special service you're offering me?" he asks, hanging his coat by the door.

"I was looking at the trees."

"There aren't any trees where you were looking."

"There's a lot of trees in Colorado, Randall. Statistically some of them were probably in my line of sight."

He huffs something that isn't quite a laugh, and it does something unfair to my chest anyway.

"You need anything cut up smaller for the fireplace?" he asks. "Or are we just gonna stand here lying to each other?"

"I don't need help."

"Didn't ask if you needed it. Asked if you wanted anything cut."

"I'm capable of managing a fire, thank you."

He raises an eyebrow at the sad, lopsided little stack of kindling I'd attempted earlier, which looks less like firewood and more like the aftermath of a small crime scene.

"It's a disaster."

"It's an artisanal disaster." I cross my arms, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting he's right. "I'm workshopping my technique."

"You've got about forty minutes before that fire dies out completely and this cabin drops ten degrees."

"I'm aware."

"You gonna do something about it, or just stand there defending your artisanal disaster?"

"I'm going to solve it myself, since apparently I'm not allowed to have a single skill deficiency without you turning it into a whole thing."

"You're the one getting defensive about kindling."

"I’m not defensive."

"You're gripping that mug like you’re about to hurl it at my head."

I look down. I am, in fact, gripping the mug hard enough that my knuckles have gone pale. I set it down on the counter with more force than necessary, which doesn't help my case even a little.

"Fine," I say. "Fine. Maybe I don't know how to build a fire that doesn't look like it was assembled by a raccoon. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

He's already crossing the room toward the hearth, crouching down to survey the wreckage of my attempt with something that might be amusement if his face weren't so committed to permanent scowl mode.

"You stacked it wrong. It needs air, or it just smothers itself."

"I know how fire works."

"Clearly."

"I have a doctorate level understanding of combustion, actually."

"Sure you do."

He starts rebuilding it, quick and efficient, hands moving with the same easy competence I watched through the window twenty minutes ago, and I hate how much I like watching him do this too. There's something deeply unfair about a man who looks that good doing something as mundane as rebuilding a fire.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" I ask, mostly to have something to say that isn't please keep kneeling in front of the fireplace looking like that.