Page 41 of Abdominal Snowman

Soren snapped his fingers, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “I’ve got it! Your favorite thing, of course. Questions. Why don’t we answer a question every time it’s our turn, and we can pull a block and answer or lose an article of clothing?”

Her mouth went dry. “And what happens if one of us makes the tower fall?”

“Take something off,” he answered with a shrug.

Completely unbothered.

And for some reason, that made her hot and bothered.

Maybe it wasn’t the exact way she’d planned it, but at least she could learn more about Soren.

Yeah, ‘cause this is so scientific.

Sage ignored her inner thoughts and leaned down to pick up her beer.

“Oldest first,” she said, figuring she could innocently steal a free fact from Soren. She knew to step back already, but she wondered how old he actually was. Soren’s muscles were formed from years of hard work and just… living. In the mountains. Alone.

As expected, Soren stepped forward to inspect the tower of oak blocks. “Ask away,” he said.

Sage tore her gaze away from the lean, strong line of his body angled toward the table. “Fine. How old are you?”

Soren winced before tapping his finger lightly against a block then pulling it away. He mumbled something and then chose one. Right as he went to pull it away, she cleared her throat. “What was that? Why are you mumbling?”

The tower wobbled as he pulled the block out sloppily, and she squeaked in anticipation, but it settled. “Before you freak out, we just age slower, okay?”

Sage nodded, gaze snapping back to Soren.

“I’m seventy-one,” he admitted as he leaned down to drop the block back into the box.

Her mind went blank and filled with even more questions all at once. He looked thirty at most. Thirty-five if she stretched it.

“How?” she asked first, but Soren just grinned.

“Your turn. Pull a block and pick truth or…” He waggled his eyebrows for dramatic effect, and she chuckled. She wasn’t giving in that easily.

They had all night. “Truth, big guy.”

“You said you’ve never seen snow before now. Why is that? You never traveled?”

Sage cocked her head to the side and began studying the pile of oak blocks. They were precariously stacked, and this was when it was supposed to be the easiest. “It just wasn’t on my list of priorities, and the opportunity never came up. My best friend Gabi moved across the country, but I didn’t follow her.”

“Why not?” Soren inquired.

Proud of herself for not teasing him for the two-for-one, she finally selected her block and answered, “It just seemed like another beach to me at the time. I had just started at the paper with Dick too, and when she told me she was moving, I thought it was going to open a lot of doors for me, so I stayed.”

Instead, they’d been slammed in her face more often than not. Even now, just picturing his face made her cheeks heat with annoyance.

Soren accepted that answer and sipped his beer before tipping the neck of the bottle at her.

She asked, “Truth or…”

With a wink, Soren sat his beer bottle down and sized up the shiny blocks. “Ask away.”

“How?” she finally questioned. The inquiry exploded out of her. “How does the age thing work?”

Soren flicked his eyes to hers and grinned. “We age much slower than humans. Our metabolisms are sluggish because of the whole ice thing. I never learned the science behind it, something about the cold and our metabolisms and hibernation.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I haven’t heard of abominables living much past one hundred and fifty, give or take ten years. I’ll be seventy-two next month.” His lips quirked at her expression, and he leaned in to boop her nose with a finger to break her shock.

“So what are you in human years?” Sage finally caught her breath back, reeling from the news. Soren was old! But he didn’t look it. Not in the dark gray cable sweater hugging his defined arms, and definitely not in those jeans. Not one bit.