Page 41 of Off the Trail

I grab two waters and a beer for Blaze. We help ourselves to the food, and I don’t know why I expected anything less, but it’s the best chowder I’ve ever had. “Is there anything this guy can’t make?”

“Gorp,” Davy says promptly. “I asked him once, and he said mixing nuts and raisins together wasn’t worth his time.”

“I guess that’s more won’t make than can’t,” Blaze says. “Nolan’s a little prickly. But we put up with it.”

“I can see why. This is killer.” I dip the bread in hot, creamy chowder and feel warmed inside and out. There’s a fire in the big fireplace across the way and a lively buzz of conversation coming from the folks at the other tables.

It feels good to be around people again. The group in the woodworking class was small but dedicated, and very forgiving of my endless questions. I left with more energy than I arrived with.

It feels good to be around Blaze, too, even if something’s up with him.

Not that he’s visibly upset, but he seems off. A little distant. I wonder if it’s something I did.

“Your truck is safe and sound.” I fish the keys out of my pocket and push them across the table. “I’ll grab my stuff from you later.”

Davy’s mouth drops open. “You let him borrow your truck?”

Blaze mumbles something incoherent and stuffs a piece of bread in his mouth.

“I was really careful,” I assure Davy, thinking they must know about my recent car issues.

Blaze swallows and chuckles lightly. “I’m sure you were.”

Davy glances between us. “Okay,” they say slowly, as if making sense of something unspoken.

We talk between bites. I tell them how energizing the woodworking class was and how there’s another one in a couple of weeks. I hadn’t counted on still being here in a couple of weeks, but it’s hard not to want to stick around when every day I’m here I feel more like myself—or the self I didn’t know was me until I took the time to figure out who that person was.

In fact, every day I’m finding out something new about me and, miracle of miracles, each new thing I discover actually makes me like myself more, not less.

One of those things is that I’m the kind of person who really, really wants to kiss Blaze Hardy.

I have no idea how he would feel about that. But maybe it’s enough to know I want to. I don’t have to do it. We can still be friends, and I can still spend time with him while I’m here. No actual kissing needs to be involved. And when I go back home, maybe I’ll find someone else I want to kiss.

“I’m scooting out of here before Nolan tempts me with dessert,” Davy says. “See you later.”

Now it’s just Blaze and me sitting across the table from each other, every morsel of our meals gone.

“I might be too full for dessert,” I say. That’s when Nolan brings out a spiced gingerbread cake with stiff, sweet, whipped cream. I manage to find room for a pitcher’s mound of a serving.

I glance at the chef, who’s joined Marika at her table. He’s tasting a small portion of his own cake, and I can hear the moans of appreciation from the other guests as they partake. He’s got a small smile on his face.

“The guy gets off on this, doesn’t he?” I ask.

Blaze nods. “He feeds on it—like a narcissistic vampire.”

“But he feeds us in return,” I say. “With gingerbread and salted caramel.”

“Win-win? I guess when you’re exceptional at something, you might as well get recognized for it.”

“That can feel pretty good. But I’m beginning to understand you have to be satisfied with yourself without external praise. Otherwise, you’ll always be hungry for validation and never filled up.”

“You’re probably right,” Blaze says, hazel eyes warming. “You’re pretty smart, you know?”

I blink. “I am?”

“Yeah.” He frowns.

Again, something seems off with him. “Did something happen? You seem down.”