Page 13 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Jake felt a flush not of shyness, this time, but of pleasure at the praise. Photography had started as a practical skill, learnt when he’d been in the army, but had become something more over the years, a way to process what he saw, to capture moments of beauty in a world that often seemed harsh and unforgiving.
“It’s just a hobby.”
Ru leant forward. “A hobby you’re very good at. Trust me—” The timer in the kitchen buzzed, slicing through the moment. “That’s the stew done.” Ru unwound himself, and rose smoothly to his feet. “Ready to eat?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jake closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation. When was the last time he’d eaten something this good?
Ru’s quiet chuckle brought him back from the edge of chicken stew induced ecstasy. “Bet now you’re glad I insisted on cooking.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. Was Ru looking… smug? “It’s hot and there’s chicken. What more can I say?”
Ru’s eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise, before he tutted. “Faint praise, but I’ll take it.”
They carried on eating, the silence not awkward for a change but easy and companionable.
“I, erm, couldn’t help but take a look at your bookcase, and photos.” Ru looked up at Jake through the hair that was forever falling across his eyes. Jake said nothing, knowing what was coming. “You’re ex-army. Suppose I should have guessed.”
“Why’s that?” Jake put down his spoon, his head quirking to the side. He was putting Ru on the spot. It was a bit mean, but watching Ru getting flustered was more than a little enjoyable. As was seeing the deep flush on his cheeks.
“Well, you know?—”
“Do I? What should I know?” Jake leant back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Erm, the general air of competence. With the storm. And wood chopping. That kind of stuff.”
“Stuff?” Jake arched his brow. Should he really be enjoying watching Ru tie himself into knots so much?
Ru peered at him, and huffed. Jake had been rumbled.
“Stop being an arse.”
Jake laughed. “Guilty as charged. On both counts. I served for fifteen years, ten of which were spent in the SAS. And before you ask, I’m not at liberty to talk about my experiences in the service.” Which was mainly true.
Too many of those who tried to pump him for details had overdosed on trashy all-action hero novels, or had consumed one too many of the so-called ‘true accounts’ which, from Jake’s reading, rarely rang true at all and which he doubted had been written by those who’d served other than in their imagination.
“Then tell me about Whitby Survival. Your courses look pretty intense.”
Jake just about stopped himself from letting out a long sigh of relief. His business, which he’d built from scratch. They were on safe and solid ground, which didn’t threaten to shift beneath his feet.
“They are. I started it when I returned to civi street. They’re not your typical glamping with a side of wilderness skills that most offer. I focus on real survival techniques, the kind that might actually save your life someday.”
He found himself warming to the topic, his usual reticence fading as he described the various courses he offered. Ru listened attentively, asking intelligent questions and showing genuine rather than polite interest.
“Most of my clients are involved in search and rescue teams, or are expedition leaders. People who can’t afford to makemistakes. But lately, I’ve been getting quite a few corporate enquiries, who think it’s all about team building. Which it is to an extent, but not how they understand it. They think a weekend of roughing it will somehow transform a bunch of accountants’ bean counting skills.” Jake couldn’t quite keep the disdain from his voice.
Ru grinned. “Let me guess. City boys show up expecting to dab on some war paint then run around for a bit before a session in a hot tub followed by a gourmet dinner where they brag about their heroics?”
“Got it in one,” Jake confirmed, surprised by Ru’s insight. “But a night in a tent, experiencing a proper storm, usually sorts them out.”
“I can imagine. This kind of weather must be quite the wake-up call for the unprepared. I’ve got to say, I’m glad I’m not sleeping in a barn, or trying to put up a tent in howling winds in the middle of Dartmoor. Plus, I’ve got an expert looking after me.” Ru’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Not that I’m expecting you to look after me. I just meant you know what you’re doing. With the generator and everything.”
“And chopping wood, and stuff?”
Ru tutted. “And that, too.”
They carried on eating, the only sound an occasional howl of wind against the windows. Outside, darkness had fallen completely, intensifying the sense of isolation, just the two of them in the warm kitchen while the storm raged beyond the walls.
