The description of their mountain view is repeated along with another plea before the line goes dead.
“Bit someone?” Nora frowns.
“Sounds weird as hell, but now we’ve got some hint on why the plane went down. The pilot was sick.”
“Sick enough to bite people after surviving the crash. What would cause that? Now they’re out there stuck like we were before we found this place.”
He slides her a wary glance. “You’re not thinking of going to help, are you?”
“No. We don’t even know where they are. That mountain they see could be the one we climbed, or it could be something else entirely. Too risky.”
“Good, because I don’t like the sound of any of that. We have enough to deal with without putting ourselves in a situation where people are biting each other. Help’s coming for them just like it is for us.”
“Is it, though?” she wonders out loud, rolling her head against the door to face him. “Why hasn’t anyone answered their calls? If we got into this room and used the radio, would they be ignoring us, too?”
He sighs. “Bad signal?”
That’s a shitty explanation since they got the signal for this transmission just fine, but she lets it slide. “Maybe. Probably.”
She’s worried and he can’t blame her when he’s just as shaken. “You good?”
“Fine. Hungry. Let’s make those pancakes?”
It’s a decent way to distract themselves from whatever the fuck is going on. It’s not like they can do much about it anyway, so he agrees, holding out his hand for her after he’s risen to tug her up to her feet. “Pancakes. Show me how?”
“One cooking lesson coming right up.”
* * *
They’re making pancakes.
Well, he’s making pancakes and Nora’s watching from atop the stainless steel counter in this tiny kitchen. Her legs swing as she gives him the occasional instruction on what to add to the bowl and how much. It’s domestic, which feels strange considering they’ve been fighting for their lives for days. That’s not exactly the proper setting for brunch food.
He said he wanted to learn, and she’s eager to teach. She’s just about the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, too. Relaxed and smiling, a tease on her lips every few words, and those wavy strands of hair he wants to touch framing her face. He’s having a hard time paying attention to the food when he can hardly take his eyes off her.
She catches him staring instead of stirring, spoon stuttering in the bowl when she looks up. “Eyes on the batter.”
“Right. Sorry.” His spoon starts up again, but he slides her another sideways glance he can’t hold in.
“Dump those in the pan, in circles about the size of a silver dollar, and then come here.”
Fuck. Thatcome herewas all kinds of sexy. Deeper and sweeter at the same time, spoken along with batting lashes, and he can’t finish fast enough before following instructions. He moves to stand between her parted legs and flounders for a place to put his hands, one newly clear of its sling, while she waits him out.
“Is this part of the cooking lesson?” he teases, finally landing them both on her thighs right above the knee.
“The best part.”
“Hey, what’s your favorite food?” he questions.
She raises a brow. “Really? That’s what you want to say right now?”
“Yeah. Really. Let’s ask all the stupid questions. We’ve been talking about heavy stuff this whole time and skipped all the clichéd shit, so let’s do that now. Why not? Do you have other plans?”
He’d stand on his head if that’s what it takes for her to keep smiling, so when she agrees with a shake of her head like he’s being silly, he takes it as a win.
“Baked ziti. That’s my favorite food,” she replies. “I like Italian.”
She called him over here for a reason. Maybe in hopes he might make good on that kiss they both chickened out of, but he is so far from brave that any hope of it is in a different hemisphere. The best he can do is trace a light touch across the skin of her upper arms with both hands, feeling the goosebumps rise to meet his fingertips. “I’ve never met a pasta I didn’t like.”
