Page 72 of Beastly Mountain Man

I sat up.

“Cake.”

Lucky laughed. “There she is.”

“We have neglected that cake for almost twenty-four hours.”

“I put it in the refrigerator.”

“I know, and I appreciate your intervention. But there are limits to how long I’m willing to let chocolate wait for me.”

Bear’s tail thumped again.

I pointed at him. “Not you. Chocolate is not part of your journey.”

Lucky pushed himself out of bed. “Cocoa first?”

“With what?”

“Apple. Cheese. Nuts.”

I considered the proposed snack with the seriousness it deserved.

“That seems responsible enough to protect dinner without becoming depressing.”

“I’m glad it passed.”

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

The sweatpants immediately tried to continue without me.

I caught the waistband.

Lucky turned just in time to see me retie the drawstring.

“You need help?”

“No. This is between me and the structural integrity of your laundry.”

“I told you I shrank them.”

“You did not shrink them into my size. You shrank them out of yours and into a philosophical middle ground.”

His laugh followed me out of the bedroom.

The rest of the house had changed with the light too. The windows over the living area were blue now instead of white, the snow outside reflecting what remained of the afternoon while the woodstove sent a quiet, steady warmth through the room. My wet gear still hung in the mudroom where we had left it, and my sweater and leggings had dried enough that they no longer resembled evidence from an outdoor accident.

Lucky made cocoa while I sliced an apple with the small table knife he handed me after apparently deciding the utensil met my acceptable-risk threshold.

“I saw that assessment,” I said.

“What assessment?”

“You looked at the knife, looked at me, and selected the one least likely to require stitches.”

“It’s an apple. A table knife seemed reasonable.”

“That was not a denial.”