Scout obviously didn’t answer, but when Rachel heard the door from the garage squeal open on its hinges, she was grateful for the interruption. She must really be off her rocker if talking to a dog was her form of keeping calm.
Holden moved into the room, a piercing beam of light strapped to the middle of his forehead like a third eye. Rachel squinted against the glare.
“Sorry.” He bundled the logs under one arm and lifted a free hand to switch the headlamp off. “Didn’t mean to blind you.”
“You didn’t. It’s fine.”
“Come on over.” Large boots padded across the room. He crouched down in front of the fireplace, arranging the logs in a stacked triangle to the left of it. “I’m going to show you how to do this.”
“I told you—”
“Right, right. That you know how to start a fire. But this one doesn’t have a remote, so it works a little differently.”
She would have scowled had the shock of being found out not pulled her mouth into a straight line. “What makes you think I don’t have a wood fireplace?”
“At your apartment? In the city? Oh, I don’t know. You can’t get a tree up to your place. I’m assuming logs are in the same boat.”
Rachel didn’t answer. She sat back on her heels and waited for the tutorial.
“I’ll need those matches,” Holden instructed.
He probably couldn’t see her eye roll in the dark, but the accompanying huff that indicated her frustration needed no highlighting. Searching her way with her hands, she skirted the couch and gathered the matchbook Holden had placed onto the table earlier. On her way back, her foot caught a corner of the floor rug. She launched headfirst toward Holden like a stone from a slingshot.
Thankfully, she regained her footing mere moments before stumbling into his crouched form. That was close.
“You alright there, Mittens?” he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around to investigate the commotion.
“We’re not back on that again, are we?”
“I don’t know.” He tossed a single log into the fireplace. “You seemed to like me a lot better as Buddy. I was trying to see if I liked you better as Mittens.”
“Hilarious.” She passed him the matches, her cold fingers grazing over his large, warm hand. How were his hands so warm when he’d been outside collecting firewood? She shuddered.
“So, what you want to do is arrange two logs on the grate first, then stack the third so there is plenty of room for air to circulate around them. Then you stuff your tinder into place. I found some newspapers in the recycling bin in the garage that we can use.” He balled up a page. “And we’ll use the metal prod to stoke the fire when the flames fade.”
“We?”
“Or you will. Once I leave.” One look outside made the thought of venturing out in the elements about as appealing as eating stale fruitcake.
“You can warm up for a few minutes in front of the fire before you leave to check on the rest of the neighbors,” Rachel acquiesced. It wasn’t generous since Holden would be the one responsible for starting the fire, but it was the only olive branch she had on hand.
“You were the last cabin.”
She bristled. “I see. Saved the best for last, huh?” Why on earth did those words come out?
“I saved the one I was most scared of for last.” With a match between his thumb and index finger, Holden scraped along the rough strip and a bright orange flame sprung to life.
“You were scared to come over here?”
Holden moved the lit match over the crumpled pieces of newspaper, waiting for the flame to catch and grow. “You’re a little scary, Rachel. Not gonna lie.”
The fire spread quickly over the logs, and a golden glow swathed the room.
He sat back on the hardwood, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them like a hug. “You don’t think you’re scary?”
“No, I don’t think I’m scary.” She couldn’t understand this sudden assertion.
“Fine. Maybe scary isn’t the word.” Holden clasped one wrist and his ear met his shoulder as he contemplated. “Intimidating.”
