It’s hot in here. Between the roaring fire I’ve been feeding logs of wood to all day, the stew cooking on and the warmth of the booze spreading over my body, it’s starting to feel balmy.

I grab the canning pot and dump the hot water in the basin by the fire. “I’m going to grab some more snow,” I slip my boots on and look over at Ashley. She’s leafing through the worn pages of my book. My only book. When I left for the wilderness, I had enough stuff to take with me, bringing a library wasn’t an option. Instead, I brought the one book that meant the most to me. Since then, I’ve picked up tons more on every trip I’ve made into town, but Catcher in the Rye is still the one I go back to.

“Can I help?” She looks up at me from where she’s sitting on the floor. Her knees are propped up and she’s leaning back against the wood wall, the absolute picture of serenity. Since I’ve met her, she’s never looked more relaxed. More at home.

“No, it’s not going to take long. I’ll be right back,” I pull on my parka and my forehead prickles with sweat. I can’t believe how toasty we’ve made this place. If it gets much warmer, we’ll have to strip down. She can always wear her bikini again, that was a good look. Or even better, nothing at all.

I force myself to stop remembering the soft curves of her naked form. To stop thinking about how good her smooth, warm body felt next to mine. I grab my pot and go out into the bitter cold night.

Instantly, I go from overheating to freezing as a swirl of icy pellets sweeps up and whips into my face. I drop my head and step down from the porch, quickly filling my pot overflowing with packed snow. I work quickly, trying to turtle into my parka to protect myself from the plunging temperature.

Grabbing the full pot, I take the porch stairs two at a time and burst back into the house like an explosion just as another burst of icy air helps push me through the door.

“Oh my god, it looks so bad out there!” Ashley stands up and stares at the solid pellets of hail that the wind gusted onto the floor.

“It’s a lot nicer in here,” I agree and dump the snow in the basin. “I’ll be back,” I inform her.

“Don’t go back out there,” she pleads, “we have more than enough water.”

“One more pot,” I don’t wait for her response. It’s not a negotiation. I brave the punishing weather one more time, filling the pot quickly and go back inside. I throw this one on the propane stove and crank it up. My numb skin warms up and I drop my winter gear to the floor and step closer to the fire waiting for my fingers to have feeling again.

“There, no big deal. Now we can enjoy the evening,” I smile.

“It’s so terrible out there, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t found me.” She peers out the window and shudders. As if just by looking, she can feel the cold creeping over her.

“Well, I’ll put it this way. You wouldn’t be surprising the search and rescue team with your beautiful smile like you will once this passes.”

Ashley’s eyes slide from the window to me. Her full lips twist up and her cheeks flush. “You think I have a beautiful smile?” She looks down at the floor, hiding her bright blue eyes under her long lashes.

Why do girls do this? She knows she’s pretty, why does she need to hear me say it? “Isn’t that what your Instagram cult thinks?” I walk over to the stove and check on the stew, ignoring her attempt to fish for a compliment.

“That’s not really what I’m known for, I don’t think I have any pictures of me smiling, actually. Do I?” She wonders out loud.

“Well, why not?” I plunge the ladle into the pot and pour it into our mismatched bowls.

“I don’t think that’s what most of my followers want. They want to see my ass, mostly,” she shrugs.

Irritation rises up inside me like the tendrils of steam whirling up from our bowls. “Why would you want that? Why do you want a bunch of strangers staring at your body?”

“It’s hard to explain,” she mumbles. “Hey, that smells amazing. I can’t wait to try it,” she changes the subject.

I’m happy to let it go. I don’t want to think of a bunch of faceless internet dicks staring at Ashley’s perfect ass anyway. Not because I’m jealous, well, mostly not. But because she’s so much more than that. I hate that she can’t see that she has to offer.

“You’re gonna love it,” I bring our bowls to the small table on the other side of the counter. It reminds me of the bistro style patio tables we had set up on the patio in the summers at the restaurant.

My mind flickers over the memories of all the celebrations we had there. Holidays, anniversaries and my favorite was always the birthday parties. From the time I was just learning to walk up until the year I had to shut the doors for good, I had every single birthday at the restaurant.

I remember how the loyal patrons grew every year, making my Happy Birthday song fuller and louder every year. I never wanted anything else. No pin the tail on the donkey or elaborate themed parties. I loved the tradition of my mother making me my favorite manicotti and being surrounded by the love of family.

The memory fades, but the pain never seems to. I look down and realize that I’m clutching the whiskey bottle tight. Ashley is watching me, I can’t even remember what we were talking about.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” I clear my throat. “It’s time to celebrate,” I force a weak smile.

“How old are you?” She sits down at the table.

“Twenty-eight,” I crack open the bottle and pour us each some liquor. “How old are you?” I realize that I have no clue. She looks very young, but from her career and her mention of her failed engagement, I’ve always assumed she had more life experience than her youthful face lets on.

“Twenty-three.”

I pick up my spoon, “Ok, let’s eat!”

Ashley furrows her eyebrows together, but she takes a spoonful of stew and only pauses for a moment before trying it. Her eyes light up and the smile that I’m secretly glad I don’t have to share with the world spreads over her face.

“It’s so good. Wow, I can’t believe you made something so delicious out here,” she doesn’t wait for me to say anything, digging back in with enthusiasm. Pride fills my chest and I watch her take another bite and close her eyes like her senses are overwhelmed.

“I told you that you’d love it,” I smirk.

“Mmmm,” she agrees, her eyes still closed and her head tilted back.

It makes me happy to take care of her. To look out for her. For some reason, I get the feeling she’s not really used to that. “So, tell me about yourself,” I pry, eager to learn more about her.

The smile fades from her plump, pink lips and her spoon hovers mid-air. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”

She’s lying.

“Come on,” I push. “You’re trying to tell me all there is to your life is an ex-fiancé and an Instagram account? I’m not buying it,” I watch as she battles her emotions.

“No,” she barely breathes the word. “Unfortunately, there’s more.”

Normally I don’t pry. Normally, I’d tell someone to fuck off if they were digging into my past like this. However, I can’t shake the insatiable desire I have to know more about her. I want to hear it all. I want to feel like I’ve been with her for every detail of her life. There for the loves, the heartbreaks, the ups and downs. I need to know.

She sighs, “I don’t want to be a downer.”

“Please,” I reach across the table and grab her hand. “You can trust me.”