And waited.
Why are they not catching fire? The wood’s dry. That should be enough, right?Did I need…kindling? Fuck, did I even know what kindling was? Another match?
“It’ll catch. Just be patient.”
I spun around to see Marco sitting up in bed, rubbing his face. He squinted as he read the old-fashioned clock over the mantel.ThatI remembered. Every two weeks, or so, it needed tobe wound. So he would’ve had to do that when he arrived.How long ago was that? I dunno…maybe I should’ve asked him?
Too much to contemplate this early in the morning.
5:47.
Ugh. “I’m not tired.” Because we’d gone to bed almost ten hours ago, and I only ever slept this long when I was sleeping off a night of partying. Which, admittedly, I did way too often. “What can I eat for breakfast?”
“I have powdered milk. So you can have cold cereal or I can make oatmeal.”
I tried not to gag. “Uh, which were you going to have?”
“Oatmeal. Sticks to your ribs as my dad used to say. We’ll need our strength today. We have either prunes or raisins that we can add.”
Again, I tried not to gag. “Uh, maybe just brown sugar?”
“Yeah, we can do that.” He tossed off the covers and stretched. He scratched his exposed stomach.
With the most tantalizing six-pack.Who knew academic environmental guys could be so sexy?My mouth went dry. “I’ve peed. I’ll, uh, get dressed.”
With a shower of sparks and a crackle, one of the logs caught fire.
“Standing here where it’s warm.”
Marco smiled, his dark-brown eyes shining with amusement as the firelight danced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes and whip up breakfast. At first light, I have to head out and check my sensor readings.”
“Uh, yeah.” I tried not to wince.I suppose I could try to read that textbook he dropped on my lap last night. The one that resembled a brick.
“I tell you what—I need some numbers transcribed. Do you think you can do that? Do you have any numeracy issues?”
I scrunched my nose.
“Dyscalculia or something like that. I know dyslexia is more common, but I went to school with a guy who struggled with numbers. He opted to study nineteenth century Quebecois poetry in French.”
I blinked. “Uh. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“I didn’t either—especially when he started discussing his dissertation. I just kind of nodded and said that sounded fascinating. Which it did, in some weird way. Did I read the thing? Fuck, no.”
“Right. I can’t say I would have either. I don’t have a problem with numbers. Transcribing something is simple. You do graphs on paper?”
He nodded. “I like to get a sense for the data before I input everything into the computer—a way to double-check the numbers. I also like to use a predictive formula to see if my observations match my hypothesis.”
I blinked. “Right. Whatever you say.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right back. Get dressed quickly—I wouldn’t want you to get cold.” He grabbed a pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed and headed into the bathroom.Huh, that was smart. Keeping them in here where there might be a bit of residual heat from the fireplace as opposed to in the bedroom which would be more like a freezer.
I’d essentially done the same thing—but without conscious thought. After he’d caught me undressing last night, I hadn’t considered doing anything with my clothes except throwing them in a heap on the recliner. I made a beeline over there and changed as quickly as I could.
When Marco returned, he set me up at the kitchen table with a long list of numbers to be transcribed, a battery-powered lamp to allow me to see, and a juice box of apple juice. The entire set up felt a little incongruous. “Is the food in the fridge going to go bad?”
“I didn’t bring much fresh stuff up with me. I consumed most of it earlier in the month, and I plan to restock when I go to Vancouver for Christmas.” He gestured to the freezer with his foot. “Not much there either. I’ll put it outside soon. But only the stuff that won’t attract wildlife.”
“Better to let the food spoil?” I knew precisely nothing about feeding wildlife.
