Page 4 of Spooking the Mountain Man
Kelly rolls her eyes. "Of course you're not. You probably survive on protein bars and black coffee."
She's not wrong, which is embarrassing. "I can cook."
"Can you? What's your specialty?"
"Grilled cheese. Scrambled eggs. Things that don't require following directions."
For the first time since I walked into her bedroom, Kelly smiles – a real smile that transforms her entire face and makes her look like the girl I remember from years ago, before life got complicated.
"How do you feel about spaghetti?" she asks.
"I feel fine about spaghetti."
"Good. Come help me in the kitchen when you're done unpacking. You can be my sous chef."
She disappears before I can tell her I don't know what a sous chef is, leaving me alone with the scent of her perfume and theuncomfortable realization that this arrangement is going to be even harder than I thought.
I finish unpacking quickly and head downstairs to the kitchen. Kelly's already got music playing from her phone, something soft and folky that matches her mood. She's tied her hair back in a messy bun and changed into leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of creamy skin.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, and she looks up from where she's pulling ingredients out of the pantry.
"Perfect timing. Can you start boiling water for the pasta? Big pot, lots of salt."
I can manage that. We work in comfortable silence for a while, Kelly humming along to her music while she browns ground beef and I try not to watch the way she moves around the kitchen like she belongs here. Which she does, obviously. This is her family's house, her childhood home. I'm the intruder.
"So," Kelly says as she adds garlic to the pan, filling the kitchen with the smell of cooking food. "Tyler said you've been living like a hermit lately."
"Tyler talks too much."
"He's worried about you." She glances at me over her shoulder. "He said you've been different since you got back from the oil sands."
The oil sands job. Three months of clearing trees around extraction sites, working eighteen-hour days in the middle of nowhere with a crew of guys who thought conversation was a sign of weakness. It was exactly the kind of work I used to love – hard, physical, no complications. But somewhere in the middle of those three months, I realized I was running away from something I couldn't escape.
"Just needed a change of scenery," I say, which isn't exactly a lie.
Kelly makes a noncommittal sound and adds crushed tomatoes to the pan. "You know, you don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"Are you?"
The question comes out harsher than I intended, and Kelly stiffens. "Excuse me?"
"You came home with one suitcase and bruises under your eyes from crying," I say, immediately regretting my bluntness. "Your brother's worried sick about you, and you're jumping at shadows. So forgive me if I question whether you should be alone right now."
Kelly turns to face me fully, and I can see the hurt in her expression. "Tyler told you about Derek."
"He told me you were in a bad relationship. He didn't give me details."
"Good." Kelly's voice is sharp now, defensive. "Because it's none of your business."
She's right, of course. But the need to protect her, to make sure no one ever hurts her again, is so strong it's making my body ache.
"You're right," I say. "I'm sorry."
Kelly blinks, clearly surprised by the apology. "Oh. I... okay."
We go back to cooking in silence, but the comfortable atmosphere from before is gone. Kelly's shoulders are tense, and she's avoiding eye contact. I've messed this up already, and I've been here less than two hours.
"I like rules," Kelly says suddenly, so quietly I almost miss it over the sound of simmering sauce.
