"This isincredible."
"It's just stew."
"It's heaven in a bowl." I take another bite, watching him eat. He's got this way of existing—like he's saving energy for something that never comes. "Do you cook a lot?"
"I have to eat."
"That's not what I asked."
He looks up, spoon halfway to his mouth. "I cook. Yeah."
"Well," I say, "if you ever want to teach me to cook this, I'm an excellent student."
His eyes crinkle in the corners. "I'll keep that in mind."
We eat in comfortable silence, and I realize this is the first time today we haven't been actively avoiding each other. Bear'shead appears in my lap, angling for scraps. The fire crackles, and outside, the storm rages, but in here, it feels almost…
Nice.
Until the lights snap out.
Total darkness swallows us whole. My chair screeches as I jolt up, heart hammering against my ribs. “Red?!”
"Easy." Red's voice cuts through the dark, all steady and calm. "It's just the power lines. It happens during storms all the time."
"Aren't you a little calm about this?" I’mnotokay. I don’t like the dark at the best of times. My heart thuds.
"I’ve been through worse." I hear movement, the scratch of a match. Light blooms as he touches the flame to an oil lantern. "It'll be fine."
The lantern sends shadows across his face, softening his expression. He moves around the cabin checking windows, securing the door, building up the fire. Every movement speaks of someone who's prepared for exactly this, who is used to the unexpected.
"How long does it usually last?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It could be an hour; it could be tomorrow." He sets the lantern on the table between us. "We've got enough wood, food, and water. We're fine."
He says 'we' like it's natural. Like we're together in this. Which I suppose we are. The thought soothes me somewhat.
I sink back into my chair, watching firelight play across the cabin walls. The darkness presses close, intimate in a way electric light never is. Red settles across from me, and in the flickering glow, his eyes are a bright blue.
"So," I begin, because silence in the dark feels too charged. "What do mountain men do for entertainment when the power's out?"
"Sleep."
"Boring. What else?"
His mouth curves. "What do you suggest?"
Holy Christmas baubles!
My brain immediately supplies several options, none of which I can say out loud. "Cards? Stories? Dancing?"
"I don't have cards, and I can't dance."
"Stories, then."
"I don't have many of those either."
"Everyone has stories." I lean forward, elbows on the table. "Come on. Tell me something. Anything. What’s the worst job you ever had? Favorite food? First concert?"
