A Family Under The Stars

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that I brought some dried seasonings with me in case we couldn’t find any.”

“It really is all about the staging and presentation, isn’t it?”

“Your tone is implying that I’m some sort of big faker.”

“Aren’t you?”

This guy must have some serious trust issues. Not that she didn’t. But she didn’t go around voicing them to strangers. She doubted he was trying to insult her directly, but she was getting the feeling he didn’t think too highly of her. “Not if I’m honest about the added ingredients,” she said, wishing she didn’t care about whether he liked her or not. But wanting to fit in and belong was an old habit that resurfaced in stressful moments like these. “I did find ginger, which I was expecting, as well as shortstyle onions and camas. I brought along the dried mustard, though, and the rosemary and parsley for the vegetables.”

He studied the small roundish-shaped bulbs she’d browned in the pan along with the fish. Charlotte had never eaten camas before, but her research said it had a potato-like flavor. He popped one into his mouth and chewed for a few seconds before swallowing. “I have to say, I’m pretty impressed.”

Her heart fluttered against her rib cage at the compliment. This was why she cooked. Because even if people didn’t appreciate her, they always appreciated her food.

She looked at the way the light sprinkling of hair covered his chest before tapering down into a narrow line over his stomach and almost admitted that she was pretty impressed herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for strength because being surrounded by all this nature was sure bringing out her most uninhibited instincts. Not only had she never eaten straight out of a pan, she’d also never shared a meal with a half-dressed man.

He sat beside her and she put the skillet between them, thankful they both were facing the zippered door and not each other. Their temporary shelter had been advertised as a three-man tent, but there was barely enough room for her overactive imagination in this small space, let alone another person.

He ate a bite. “Wow. This is good.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean really good.”

“Did you think it wouldn’t be?”

“I didn’t want to doubt you, but Com says to never trust a skinny chef.”

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment.”

He let his grayish-green eyes travel over her again and she felt her nipples tighten in response. “It’s definitely a compliment.”

“Which part?” she asked. “The not trusting me part or the too-skinny part?”

“I didn’t say too skinny. In fact, I’d say you were just right.”

Suddenly, this tent felt like a portable steam sauna. Tiny curls sprang to life around her hairline and she adjusted her elastic headband—which wasn’t as sturdy as her normal tortoiseshell one, but went better with this casual outfit—to keep the wayward things from tickling her face.

They needed to get back to a neutral topic.

“Speaking of your grandfather, Commodore gave me a little history of the waterfall and some of the local legends.” There, that was a safe enough subject.

“Are you sure you mean Com?”

“Yes. That was your grandfather who drove me up here to meet you, right?”

“Yeah, but the old guy barely says more than two sentences at a time if he doesn’t know you. And if he does know you, you’ll wish he only said two sentences.”

“Really? He talked quite a bit, actually, about how he and your grandmother moved to Idaho after he got out of the Army because they wanted to start a family away from the...what does he call the suburbs?”

“The land of maggots on a grizzly bear?” he suggested.

“Yes, something like that. Anyway, he said his bride fell in love with the falls the moment she set her eyes on it and told him she’d rather have a boat than a house.”

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