He stared at me for a long beat. Then he turned, disappeared into his cabin, and reappeared seconds later with a toolbox.
“Let’s go,” he said. His voice was low and rough, like he didn’t use it often.
“Right. Okay.”
I led him back to my cabin, acutely aware of how silent he was behind me. I couldn’t even hear his footsteps on the grass.
Inside, I gestured toward the utility closet. “I tried everything in Eunice’s instructions. The pilot light’s on, the thermostat’s set correctly, and the pressure valve seems fine. But the water’s still freezing.”
He walked past me without responding and crouched in front of the heater. I hovered nearby, watching his hands as he worked—large, steady hands, callused palms, a faint scar across one knuckle.
The silence stretched. I wasn’t good with silence.
“So,” I said, “have you lived here long? In Iron Peak, I mean. Eunice mentioned you’ve been neighbors for a while. It’s really quiet out here. That’s why I came—I needed somewhere peacefulto study. I’m in law school, and my apartment back home is kind of a disaster. Three roommates, thin walls…”
He grunted.
“I really appreciate your help,” I added quickly. “I’d be lost without hot water. I skipped my shower this morning, and?—”
Another grunt.
I stopped talking.
He opened an access panel at the base of the unit and leaned closer, studying something I couldn’t see. Then he sat back.
“The burner’s clogged,” he said. “Sediment buildup. Happens with these older units.”
He pulled out a small wire brush and began cleaning the burner assembly. Dirt and residue fell away as he worked, his movements efficient and sure. I felt mildly foolish for not thinking to check that—though I wouldn’t have known what I was looking at.
A few minutes later, he closed the panel and stood. “Should fire up now,” he said. “Give it twenty minutes to heat.”
“Oh my gosh, thank you.” I clasped my hands. “Can I make you dinner? As a thank-you? I was planning pasta, and there’s plenty?—”
“No.”
Flat. Final. He was already heading for the door.
“Okay,” I said to his retreating back. “Thank you. Seriously.”
He paused with one hand on the frame, like he might say something else. His shoulders were taut, his expression unreadable.
Then he left.
I stood in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the closed door. He was rude. Borderline hostile. Clearly someone who didn’t want to be bothered.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me?
I shook it off and went back to my laptop. I had studying to do. I didn’t have time to fixate on some gruff mountain man who barely spoke.
But later that evening, sitting on the back porch with a glass of wine and my textbooks, my gaze kept drifting to his cabin. The lights were on now. Shadows moved behind the curtains. I wondered what his story was. Why he lived alone out here. Why he kept everyone at arm’s length.
And whether he was wondering about me.
2
KAI
The sound of a motor grinding and failing to catch drifted through my kitchen window.
