He really wasn't joking about taking direction well. We have the fire started and the food cooking in no time, huddling near each other in the kitchen for warmth while it does.

"What makes you so unwilling to take life-saving advice from me earlier and so willing to take wood-finding advice from me now?"

A glimmer flashes in his eye. Yes, I heard it too.

"I've decided I don't hate you," he says. "I take direction well when I want to take it."

I shake my head. "I still can't believe you are telling me you did not want to listen to me when I was responsible for keeping you alive but now that it hurts your man-pride to let an injured lady do something physical. . . well, now you can help out."

"I resent that implication."

"You should maybe not be the kind of person who warrants it, then." My shoulder hurts. Blame the sass on my shoulder and the fact that I'm keeping this man alive off the clock.

"Absolutely nothing about me says 'big manly man need protect woman'." He adds an awkward half-assed growl at the end for effect.

"Well, that definitely sold it." I can't keep myself from laughing. "You are definitely not ... what was that, a caveman?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "I just hate that I come off that way."

I can't hold in my smirk and I try to cover a laugh with a cough but it pulls at my shoulder and results in a small squeak. "Oww."

"Were you going to say if I don't want to come off that way I should stop acting that way?"

"I might have been thinking something along those lines," I admit. "Plus I'm a little intrigued about this meeting you're being all grumpy gus over. You are a mystery, Damien."

"I'm not that mysterious. Promise. Real life me is quite dull."

"No way." I shake my head. "You're here making a trek I've only ever dreamed of. Not dull."

"I can't believe I agreed to it, honestly. My brother just finished telling me about a trip he and his family took and he joked I have enough money to do it myself but none of the gumption."

"Well, he was right about the first part. I guess he was wrong about the gumption. What is gumption?" I muse, mostly to myself.

"Spunky initiative or resourcefulness, usually done with enthusiasm and determination," he answers, staring at the stove. "Anyway, that's why I got ahold of your boss there at Cliffside Lodge and he set me up with your grandest excursion. The man I am going to meet is my father. We were going to spend Christmas together."

"Wait. Hold on back up. Are you trying to tell me Mr. Business Man is going up a whole mountain to impress his brother and spend Christmas with his father? That's what you want to tell me?"

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No. I'm just. They told me it was a client. You told me he was exacting."

"I didn't say it was a client. I said it was a guest. I guess they assumed."

"Wow. We are jerks."

"You know what they say about assuming."

"I do. Sorry for accidentally being a dick."

"I think I was far more of a dick than you," he sighs. "I just really wanted to prove I wasn't boring."

"If it's any consolation, this has been anything but boring. Most adventurous day of my whole career."

He laughs. "At least I have that to fall back on, then."

"We could probably write a whole book about it. Soft marshmallow center with a hard candy shell meets Christmas hating rugged terrain guide. It's going to be a movie. My role will be played by Zendaya. It's a musical now. It's fine."

"Did you just call me a marshmallow center with a hard candy shell?"

"Do you dislike my film adaptation of our story? We can get someone cool to play you. Who do you want?"

"Kevin Costner?"

"Oh my God, Old Man, how old are you? Is he even still alive?"

"I guess some of the stereotypes have to hold, don't they?" He reaches out and stirs the bean and ham mixture we've concocted to stop it burning to the bottom.

I'm finally feeling warm enough to take off my coat and he follows, revealing a skin tight forest green sweater and, when the snow pants come off, delicious dark wash jeans. Which are terrible hiking wear, but I'm not about to bring it up now, halfway through the hike. I'm too busy keeping my eyes above his belly button.

It's really hard.

No. I didn't mean it like that.

Really, I didn't.

But I blush at the thought, anyway.

He breathes out a gasp and his eyes rake down my open coat to my much more practical exercise outfit. It's form fitting and the most comfortable thing I own. I could live in it forever if clothes didn't need to be washed.

"I think I might be stuck," I admit. Trying to shrug off my coat would be easy if I weren't injured and my coat weren't strapped on in three places to stop the wind from getting in.

"I got it," he says, gently pulling the fabric away from my body and undoing the snaps one by one. Each part that breaks free sends a little bubble of warmth through my chest.

No. Go away. Bad. Bad idea.

Finally, he pulls the coat at my shoulders and guides my good arm out of the sleeve before carefully walking around my back and delicately rolling the coat off my injured arm without so much as a small jostle.

"Thank you," I whisper, voice hoarse for no reason.

Or maybe the reason is that I'm panicking about how I'm going to get my pants off. There's a snap and a huge hook and eye. I have to try.

His eyes burn into my side and I can practically feel him watching as I pull at the hook and eye with my good hand, releasing the top portion of the pants from my body. Peeling them open, I reach the snaps.

They are on there really good, too. It's nearly impossible to undo them when I have both hands available. I don't even have to struggle with them to know I'm never getting it with one hand.

If I try, he'll know I'm struggling, so I just move to sit down.

"You don't need to be shy about asking for help, Amelia. Let me be your hands."

But how he says it this time is so, so different from last time.

"I'm okay," I squeak out.

"If you are, I'll leave you alone." Is he closer than he was before? The room is so warm.

"But if you want help, I promise to keep it professional. Strictly helping so you don't injure your shoulder further. You aren't going to last out here without my help."

"And you aren't going to last without my help."

"So you see it's really just self-preservation and selfishness," he quips.

"Very you," I quip back. And then I nod. "I do need help."

"May I?"

I nod, dropping my hand out of the way and letting him gently lift the snaps away from my abdomen, knuckles brushing me as he does, until the snaps are set loose and the pants fall to the floor.

"Thanks." I gulp down the lump in my throat.

"Any time." His tongue wets his bottom lip, and it glistens in the low light of the lamp.

I step in closer, and he does too. I don't care that it's a bad idea and I don't care that my shoulder is throbbing. I just want to know what his lips feel like against mine. I press up on my toes, but am still far too short to achieve anything on my own.

So it feels like heaven when he bends down and pulls me into a short, sweet kiss.

Only problem is his hand finds my injured shoulder and I let out a wince, causing him to jump back immediately.

"Shit. Sorry. I forgot. I shouldn't have..."

"I started it," I remind him. "And I'm glad you did." When he doesn't say anything I add, "Well, until the shoulder bit. I could have done without that."

"I'm so sorry," he mutters again. But his eyes betray him, straying to my lips.

"We could try again," I whisper.

"If you still want to when you're feeling better, I will be the first in line."

"You think there's a line?" I laugh.

"I know there is," he says, stepping closer again.

The pot clatters on the stove as the beans begin to boil, throwing it around slightly over the heat.

"I think they're done," I say, not wanting to break the moment but also excessively hungry. Plus, burning down the house isn't very effective for kissing, anyway.

He takes the pot off the heat and sets it on a coaster atop the wooden countertop before pulling the biscuits out as well.

"Dinner is served," I laugh. "Bon apetit."

"Wait! Did you say before that you were a Christmas hater?" He turns to face me. "Did I hear that right?"

"That's what you want to talk about?" I cannot figure out what he wants right now.

"It seemed like a good distraction from... everything else."

"Fine. I'll share if you do."

"Dealer's choice?"

"Sure." I pat the cushion on the couch beside me. "I wouldn't really say I'm a Christmas hater," I begin. "It's just that I'm not exactly a Christmas lover. I find the whole thing overly commercialized and just so much forced cheer. I used to work in malls and it pretty much sucked all the life out of me for two months every year. I don't think I've fully recovered from the whole thing."

"So what do you usually do, then?" he asks, popping a homemade biscuit into his mouth and moaning. "This is delicious."

"Thank you." I can't help but smile. "I don't really usually do anything. Sometimes I work. Sometimes I hang out with my friends. Usually I sit at home and watch cheesy movies and go out to grab something to eat."

"No family?" he asks quietly. "Or just too far away?"

"None." I shake my head and pop a little bite of beans into my mouth to buy me time.

He doesn't change the subject, just nodding and holding eye contact as he lifts a spoonful of beans from his plate to his mouth.

This silent stare-down is how he got all that money, isn't it? It makes me want to give him whatever he wants.

When I'm finally done eating, I set my plate down on the log that serves as a coffee table. "My parents both died when I was young. My grandmother raised me until I moved out to come up here to Canada. We didn't see each other often, but she's also gone now. I do miss her, but we never really had any traditions to miss or pass on. So I guess I just don't see the value. What am I missing?"

He finishes chewing, eying me up and down, trying to assess me, probably. "That makes sense," he says finally. "I can see it."

"That's it? You aren't going to try to get me to see the error of my ways?"

"Do you want me to?"

I don't know. Do I?

I shouldn't, right?