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HOLLY
“I can’t believe we’re cooking over a real fire. It’s like The Oregon Trail!” I bounce on the springy couch cushions. “We’d better not die of dysentery.”
Ben laughs while stirring the soup, his face flushed from being so close to the flames.
When we got back from our hike, I was surprised to find the return trip had taken longer than our way out. Then, my skin tightened with guilt, realizing Ben had to be exhausted. He’d probably pushed himself just to give me an adventure this weekend.
Of course, he doesn’t know that every minute I spend with him is an emotional, wild ride.
But, before I could suggest a nap, Ben grabbed an armful of wood and told me we needed to get the fire going for dinner. Apparently, cooking over an open flame isn’t as efficient as a stovetop.
Much cooler though.
“If you want the real Oregon Trail experience, we’d get this fire going outside. Sleep in makeshift shelters built out of whatever we found in the woods.”
As background noise to his description, the wind blows through the trees just outside the cabin, knocking branches against the roof. The thought of sleeping on the icy ground and dealing with those chilly gusts all night sends a visible shiver quaking down my spine.
Ben chuckles at my reaction.
“No, thanks. Not now at least. Maybe when summer comes around.”
Sleeping under the stars on a warm night sounds much more appealing.
When I glance Ben’s way, I find him staring at me with a curious expression. I don’t have time to interpret it before he turns back to the fire.
There’s a metal arm with a hook that stretches out over the flames, and from it hangs a pot he dumped a load of ingredients into earlier.
“What’s on the menu?” My stomach finished digesting our simple lunch a while ago and is starting to complain.
“Chicken and vegetable soup. Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”
As I sit on the couch and watch him stir the mixture, a sense of contentment flows over me. Every Sunday, I prep my meals for the week just to take some of the pressure off my busy schedule. Even with all my planning, it’s still a lot of work and time-consuming. But, tonight, Ben is cooking for me. And in a ruggedly attractive way.
“You’re a certified mountain man.”
“You impressed?”
He grins back at me, and I realize he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. Suddenly, I get the urge to run my knuckles over his cheeks just to feel the coarseness against my skin.
I have to clear my throat before I can answer, “Maybe. What other secret talents are you hiding?”
Ben runs his eyes over me, slow and searching.
Now, I’m the one with flushed skin, but I don’t have the fire as an excuse.
What’s he looking for? Do I want to know?
In the spring. We’ll talk about his hot gazes in the spring.
“Maybe I should show you some of them.” One of his eyebrows rises, just cresting over the rim of his glasses.
Holy goodness gracious.
I think my panties just caught on fire. I don’t know if he meant that to sound so dirty, but I’m on the verge of jumping off this couch to straddle him and beg for a detailed demonstration.
Instead, I struggle to find a witty response, ending up with a weird, strangled, “Mmhmm?”
His grin is back, making him appear wicked. But, when he talks, it’s so casual that I question my entire interpretation of the situation.
