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“No, it’s fine,” he says, moving around the table to a coat hanger just opposite the pink poison plant… say that five times fast. “I like to research the things found in the woods,” he nods toward the open book I’d admired a few minutes ago. “I document what I find. Not many people venture into these woods, and it gives me something to do.”
His voice sounds almost sad at the end, but I bite my tongue to hold back from asking him why or the other hundred questions flying around in my mind right now. Instead, I focus on the book.
“Wow, that’s…” I search for a good way to explain it without sounding cheesy, but nothing comes to me.
“Lame?”
“Amazing.”
We both say at the same time, and I pull a face at his response.
“Why would that be lame? I can’t even keep the easiest plants alive for more than a few days. Meanwhile, you have all kinds of them that you not only tend to, but learn about and make notes of. Nothing about that is lame. It’s actually pretty impressive if you ask me,” I say, only to realize I’m rambling. “Not that you did ask me.” I quickly add before pressing my lips together to stop myself from saying anything else.
He chuckles as he pulls off his cloak, hanging it on the rack, and I almost choke on my damn tongue. His back is to me, but what a back it is. I knew he was huge, anyone with eyes could see that, but without the cloak, I can see each and every muscle in his arms, and fuck me. There are a lot of them.
I thought the guys were ripped, but he puts them to shame. Even Blair isn’t as big as he is. Clearly, documenting the plant life isn’t the only thing he does when bored.
He turns to face me, and I realize I’m ogling him a beat too late.
Shit, why do you have to make everything weird, Rena?
I mentally scold myself, feeling the heat on my cheeks.
“You’re… odd,” he says, and it sounds almost like a question. There’s no bite to his tone, though, so I don’t think he meant it as an insult.
“Um, thank you?”
He chuckles again, and I wonder how bad it would really be to take my chances in the forest. Someone as big and mean-looking as him shouldn’t be able to sound like that. If I stay here, I’m only going to continue to keep putting my foot in my mouth. It’s like some sick form of cosmic joke or something.
“Come on, let’s see what we can find for dinner.” He nods toward the other side of the cabin before he turns and walks away, leaving me to follow.
With him gone, I take a moment to try and get a grip. My cheeks are still warm but no longer feel like they could fry an egg, so that’s progress. I take a deep breath to try and soothe my racing heart, and I’m once again hit with the smell of the forest, this time mixed with the old leather of books.
I look around but find nothing other than the one on the table.
Strange.
The room to my left is less full of stuff. The walls are bare, letting me see the stones that make them from the inside. None of them match, much like the path outside, looking as though they were thrown together, but something about it is still beautiful. They do the job just fine.
A fireplace sits to my right, with two oversized chairs a couple of feet in front of it and a small table between them, but that’s about all there is in terms of furniture. The floor in both rooms is wood, but not like the fake finished stuff we have back home. No, this is natural wood. I feel the rough texture and the way my feet stick to it, damp from the forest floor.
A large pelt of some kind is in the middle of the room. I can’t tell exactly what it was when it was alive, but it looks soft. I feel bad walking on it with my feet dirty from the forest, but there’s no way around it. The room is too small, and the pelt reaches almost every edge. If I had my beast, I would hop over it. As it is, I would probably bust my face.
Definitely don’t need to add that to my list of things accomplished tonight. Dusting my feet off the best I can, I send a silent thanks that the fur is dark and not white. The second my feet touch it, I have to resist the urge to lay out on it and roll around.
It’s so soft!
I force myself forward to the far side of the room. The back side of the house opens into a kitchen where I find Mr. Built and Creepy stirring things into a literal cauldron.
Shit, he needs a better nickname.
“So you ever going to tell me your name? I gave you mine,” I say and have to choke back a laugh when he jumps at my words.
“Sorry,” I say when he glances at me over his shoulder. “I’m small and quiet. It’s kind of my thing.”
“No kidding,” he says with a huff before dropping down onto a low wooden chair to stir his witch’s brew. Alright, it’s probably dinner, but it’s in a cauldron. What else is a girl to think?
“So, no name?” I press when he doesn’t answer, stepping into the kitchen and looking around. Candles litter the counter, and just like in the dining room, there are bottles and plants all over the place, though I get the feeling these are more for cooking than cataloging.
