Chapter 5 Civilian Hero
CIVILIAN HERO
ELAINE
The sun had set completely by the time we finished eating, leaving the cabin lit only by the woodstove's glow and a single lamp Jack had switched on in the kitchen.
It should have felt too intimate. Too much, too fast.
It didn't.
I was curled up on one end of the couch now, my feet tucked under me, watching Jack move around the small space with the kind of efficiency that came from knowing exactly where everything was. He'd washed our dishes by hand, no dishwasher, and was now adding another log to the fire.
The flames caught immediately, throwing warm light across his profile.
He had a good face. Lived-in. The kind of face that didn't try to hide what it had seen, but didn't advertise it either.
"So," I said, because the quiet was starting to feel too comfortable and I wasn't sure what to do with that. "Where'd you learn to tie rescue knots?"
He glanced over, adjusting the log with a poker. "Took a course. Long time ago."
"What kind of course?"
"Wilderness first aid. Rope systems." He set the poker down and closed the stove door. "Basic stuff."
"That wasn't basic. You had me out of the water in under two minutes."
"You made it easy. You didn't panic."
"I was definitely panicking."
"Not where it counted." He moved back to his chair, settling into it with the kind of ease that made it clear this was his spot. "You held on. You followed instructions. That's what mattered."
I studied him for a moment, trying to reconcile the man who said he delivered firewood and liked quiet with the man who'd moved with absolute certainty when I was drowning.
He was quiet for a beat too long. "I've had training. That's all."
"What kind of training?"
"The kind that keeps you calm when things go wrong." He met my eyes. "But I'm not SAR. Not a firefighter. Just a civilian who knows how to tie a knot."
I didn't believe him.
Not the civilian part, I believed that.
There was nothing "just" about the way he'd assessed the situation, tied off that rope, pulled me up without hesitation.
"You're understating it," I said.
"I'm being accurate."
"You're being modest."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Maybe."
"Definitely." I shifted on the couch, pulling the flannel shirt tighter around me. It smelled like him, wood smoke and something clean and cedar-ish. "So what do you do when you're not being a humble civilian hero?"
"I told you. Chop wood. Build things."
"And read."
"And read."
"What are you reading right now?"
He nodded toward the side table, where a paperback sat spine-up. I leaned over to look at the cover.
Structural engineering.
I blinked. "Light reading?"
"It's interesting."
"It's a textbook."
"Still interesting."
I laughed, couldn't help it. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. More…" I gestured vaguely. "Lumberjack-y?"
"I am a lumberjack."
"You know what I mean."
"I don't actually."
“Flannel and axes and, grunting instead of talking?”
“I own flannel,” he said.
“You’re wearing flannel.”
“Exactly.”
I grinned. "Do you own an axe?"
"Three."
"Of course you do."
"They're tools," he said. "You own a hammer?"
"Technically the resort owns it."
"Same principle."
"Except I don't split wood with my hammer."
"You could. It'd just be inefficient."
I laughed again, and he looked pleased, like making me laugh was a thing he'd been aiming for and was satisfied to hit.
The fire crackled. Outside, I could hear the wind picking up, rattling the windows slightly.
"Are you warm enough?" Jack asked.
"I'm good. Your stove is very efficient."
"Built it myself."
"Of course you did."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe me?"
"I believe you. I just think you're one of those people who can do everything and doesn't think it's a big deal."
"It's not."
"See?" I gestured at him. "That's what I mean."
He shook his head, but he was still almost-smiling, and I realized I liked that look on him. Liked the way his eyes warmed when he wasn't being so serious.
"You're easy to talk to," I said, before I could stop myself.
"So are you."
"I'm usually not. I'm very…" I searched for the word. "Self-contained."
"Me too."
"But this doesn't feel hard."
"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't."
The air between us shifted. Not awkward, just aware. Like we'd both noticed the same thing at the same time and didn't know what to do about it.
"Jack," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You've been asking me things all night."
"This one's different."
He waited.
"Do you want me to stop talking?" I asked. "Because I can. I know I've been chattering at you, and if you'd rather just sit in silence..."
"No," he said. Immediate. Certain. "Don't stop."
Oh.
Something fluttered in my chest.
"Okay," I said.
He stood, sudden enough that I startled slightly, and moved to the couch. Not next to me. But closer. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him again, like he was his own heat source.
"I like listening to you," he said.
My heart kicked.
"Even when I'm asking nosy questions about your rescue skills?"
"Especially then."
I smiled. Couldn't help it. "You're very calm."
"You said that already."
"I mean it as a compliment."
"I know." He was looking at me now, really looking, and I felt the weight of it all the way through the layers of borrowed clothes. "You're very competent."
"Is that your version of a compliment?"
"It's the highest one I've got."
I laughed, soft and surprised, and then his hand was on my face, warm, rough-palmed, careful, and I stopped breathing entirely.
"Tell me if this is a bad idea," he said.
"It's probably a terrible idea," I whispered.
"That's not a no."
"It's not."
He kissed me.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he'd been thinking about it for hours and had finally decided to stop thinking.
His mouth was warm and sure, and I made a sound I'd be embarrassed about later but couldn't bring myself to care about now.
I kissed him back, hands finding his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, and felt him make a low noise in his chest that did something devastating to my nervous system.
He pulled back just enough to breathe. "Elaine."
"Yeah?"
"Are you sure?"
I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. Fast. Steady.
"I'm sure," I said.
"The road's out until tomorrow. If we do this..."
"I know."
"I don't want you to feel..."
I kissed him again, harder this time, and felt him give in with a kind of relieved surrender that made my stomach flip.
His hands found my waist, my hips, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, crawling into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it was.
"Bed?" he murmured against my mouth.
"Yes."
He stood, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and thought yes, this, exactly this.
He carried me toward the ladder.
I didn't look back.