“Two: I have a fear of heights, stemming from a childhood incident where I fell from a tree and broke my arm.
“And three: I have a collection of antique pocket watches that belonged to my grandfather, each with its own unique story.”
She exhales. “I thought you’d say something easier. This isn’t fair. You’re too mysterious.”
“No, I want to win.” I laugh, and she smacks my chest. My laughter only grows louder.
“Okay, you served in Iraq, so the first one makes sense, and I don’t think you have a collection of your grandfather’s watches. From what I’ve seen in the cabin, you’re not the type to collect objects, so that must be a lie.”
I nod. “Correct. Detective Cora is on the case.”
“And I don’t think you’re afraid of anything. You’re the bravest person I know. So I’m going with the first one. You speak fluent Arabic.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Wrong. I know a few words in Arabic, but that’s it.”
She props herself up on her elbows, gaping at me. “Wait, so that means you have a fear of heights? You fell from a tree?”
I nod. “Yes. But I went through extensive hypnotherapy so the fear wouldn’t interfere with my service. I still have it, but it doesn’t limit me.”
“Wow,” she breathes, her eyes wide. “I never would have guessed. When you saved me on the mountain, you seemed so... fearless.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “That’s the point. The therapy helped me push past the fear when it matters most.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, almost wistful. “I wish I could overcome my fears like that. I’m afraid of everything. I’m hiding here because I’m so scared.”
I cup her face gently, making her look at me. “You’re here with me because it’s the smart thing to do,” I reassure her, pulling her closer. “And you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
“You always know what to say to make me feel better.” She exhales, then kisses me. Her eyes sparkle with a mix of admiration and desire as she pulls back. “Want to do another round?”
“Sure.”
Cora fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest.
“Okay, here goes,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “One: I once attended a masquerade ball in Venice where I danced the night away with a mysterious stranger who vanished before dawn.
“Two: I’ve read every book by Jane Austen.
“And three: I have a secret recipe for the perfect chocolate chip cookies, passed down from my grandmother.”
“You’re making this too easy for me, Little Trouble. Try harder,” I tease.
She pouts. “I was trying. You can’t possibly know already.”
“I do.”
“Okay, if you’re so smart, which one is true?”
I pretend to think hard, tapping my chin. “You have a secret chocolate chip cookie recipe from your grandmother.”
“Fuck!” she exclaims, burying her face in my chest. “How do you know that? I was sure you’d fall for the Jane Austen story.”
I chuckle, running my hand down her back. “The way you said it was too simple. Like you just made it up on the spot. Plus, I’ve seen how your eyes light up when you talk about cookies.”
She lifts her head, fixing me with a mock glare. “It’s not fair. You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you. You’re like a closed book.”
I cup her face, meeting her gaze. “No, Little Trouble. You’re the only one who knows me.”
Something shifts in her eyes, a mix of surprise and something deeper. She climbs on top of me, straddling my waist. The sheet falls away, revealing her naked form in the soft light.
