“You need to warm your insides. The soup will help…and I made grilled cheese.” I sat next to him and took a bite of my sandwich, complete with a yummy sound. Christ, you’d think I was coaxing one of my kids to eat. “I used cheddar. It’s good.”
Silas reached for a sandwich square, shaky but determined, and took a bite. “Sss good.”
His bite was more of a nibble. Better than nothing, though this wasn’t doing much for his body temp.
“How about the soup? I can…feed it to you,” I suggested awkwardly.
“Fuck, this is weird.”
“I know. Trust me…I know. But you gotta get warm.” I picked up the bowl and brought a spoonful of tomato soup to his lips.
“If you make a choo-choo noise, I’m going to clock y-you.”
A grin split my face in half. “Chugga-chugga…”
“Fuck you.” He snorted without heat.
I snickered. “C’mon. Open up, tough guy.”
Silas rolled his eyes as he leaned and took a sip. “Still weird, but it’s good.”
I spooned another bite for him. “Years from now, you’ll forget about this. You won’t remember my name or if you were ever in Vermont in the first place. Unless you end up with a real case of hypothermia and wind up in the hospital.”
“Whoa. Is this coercion?”
“It might be,” I teased. “Another? Chugga-chugga…”
Silas glared but opened his mouth and within ten minutes or so, the soup was nearly gone.
He thanked me and returned to nibbling his grilled cheese, his eyes trained on the fire. “So…are you from here? Vermont?”
“Yeah. Born in Fallbrook. It’s one of the Four Forest towns—about twenty minutes to half an hour away, depending on a logging delivery. My family moved to Wood Hollow when I was a teenager, though. I went to junior high here and got a job at the mill…worked my way through the ranks, I ’spose.”
He slanted a curious sideways glance at me. “Really? You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
The incredulous tone probably wasn’t meant as an insult, but I had no doubt that Silas the football hero had judged this area—and most likely me—as provincial. Quaint, cute, not somewhere you’d want to be stuck for…well, a lifetime.
“I went to college in Upstate New York,” I replied, chowing on my sandwich. “Got a degree in forestry. Lived in Ithaca for a few years. I always missed home, though. I talked my wife into moving here before Ivy was born. We’re divorced, so that might not be a ringing endorsement, but I swear they all love it. My kids split their time in Fallbrook with their mom and Wood Hollow with me. That part sucks, but we make it work.”
“Hmm.” More nibbling. “What do you do at the mill? Did I ask that already? I forgot.”
“You did. That’s okay. I run the mill for the owner. Hank doesn’t know some of the more hands-on aspects of the job, so I’m his liaison.”
Silas twisted slightly, holding his grilled cheese in midair while his thorough once-over lingered at my chest. “You mean the job of being a lumberjack?”
“Technically, we’re loggers…not lumberjacks.”
“I like lumberjack better,” he said offhandedly. “Is there a difference?”
“Lumberjack is more of a cultural reference. You know…a guy with an axe, chopping down trees in his plaid flannel shirt. We don’t use axes to chop down trees.”
“But you still wear the shirts.” Silas gestured meaningfully.
“True.”
“The lack of axes is disappointing. Don’t tell me robots do all the work n-now.”
I fixated on his mouth as he bit into the crust. I wasn’t perving on the guy…I swear. I was more concerned that his jaw was clacking again and his lips were too pale. Not blue, but not quite right.
