Page 9 of Beastly Mountain Man

“The sequence matters more than the terminology,” I told her. “This handle opens the airflow so the smoke can travel up the chimney. Open it completely before you start, and leave it open as long as there’s a fire burning.”

“That is exactly the level of fireplace education I was hoping for. Useful, memorable, and unlikely to require note cards.”

“You can take notes if you want. I’m not grading them.”

“I appreciate that. My evening already had enough performance reviews.”

Something about the last sentence made me look at her, but she was watching the fireplace rather than me. I knew she worked in television, and I knew she was doing some of that work from this dining table. Whatever else sat behind the comment belonged to her unless she decided to tell me.

I arranged the kindling and two smaller pieces of wood with enough space for air to move between them, then showed her the starter control.

“The gas only gets the wood going. Once the kindling and these smaller splits are burning well enough to keep themselves lit, you shut the starter off.”

“So I’m not supposed to turn it on, admire the flames, and wander away to answer email.”

“I’d strongly recommend against that.”

“Good. Because I can absolutely imagine someone doing it.”

I turned on the starter. A low blue flame appeared beneath the kindling, and Caprice leaned slightly closer as the first dry pieces began to catch. Within another minute, orange flame climbed into the smaller splits. I let it establish itself, then shut the gas off.

The wood kept burning.

Caprice watched it for several seconds before looking at the control again. “And if I want another log later?”

“Wait until you have a solid bed of flame and embers, open the screen slowly, and add one piece instead of filling the firebox. If anything starts smoking into the room, smells wrong, or behaves differently from what I just showed you, stop and call. You’re not required to diagnose it.”

Her expression softened into a smile. “You really don’t believe in making people prove themselves outside their area of expertise, do you?”

The question caught me off guard.

“No. I’ve never seen much point in it.”

“Neither have I.”

She said it simply. She had watched me do a job she didn’t know how to do, asked sensible questions, and expected me to know what I was talking about.

That should have been ordinary.

It wasn’t always.

I put the screen back into place and stood. Caprice was closer than I’d realized, and at six-four, I was used to women having to tip their heads back to meet my eyes. With her, the difference was enough that I felt it every time.

The fire had started throwing real warmth into the room. A faint flush had risen along her cheeks, although whether it came from the hearth or something else wasn’t mine to decide. Her attention moved down over my shoulders and the sleeves of my henley before returning to my face.

My breath deepened.

I liked being looked at by Caprice Calloway.

That was going to make a straightforward service call considerably less straightforward if I let it.

“You make it look easy,” she said.

“It’s familiar. That’s different.”

“Yes, it is.” She glanced toward the burning wood. “I think people forget how much knowledge gets hidden inside something that looks simple when someone competent is doing it.”

I looked at her for a moment.