Chapter 26
Perhaps he should leave.
“He’s staying. What if he gets worse? Hypothermia is serious business.” Otho didn’t look at them, but his voice was determined, and Mason relaxed. He didn’t want to go back to the resort…ever. It reminded him of his life back home, or the life he no longer had back home.
Joslyn rolled her eyes but kept quiet. Mason watched as Otho moved around the kitchen with a confidence that made his chest warm. Strong hands peeling, chopping, mixing. Muscles playing under his skin as he lifted sheets and ovenware. Who’d known cooking could be hot?
“So, are you expecting more guests?” Mason watched as the counter filled up with plates and bowls. Both Joslyn and Otho turned to him.
“Cooking is therapy for Otho.”
“It’s not.” Otho grabbed three plates out of the cupboard and put them on the small kitchen island. “It’s Christmas, there should be a lot of food…and I enjoy cooking, okay? It’s not a crime, is it?”
The scents had Mason’s mouth watering. “You can cook for me any day.” He blushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
“Don’t say that!” Joslyn slapped his arm. “Now he’ll feed you to death.”
“There are worse ways to go.” Mason shivered, remembering the cold water, the sound of the ice breaking.
Otho grinned and handed Mason a platter of smoked salmon canapés. “Dig in.”
* * * *
The next day, Mason woke to the sound of Otho humming along with the Christmas carols on the radio in the kitchen. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner and hadn’t stirred once during the night, not that he could remember at least.
He bit back a groan as he sat. His muscles were aching and, despite Otho having lit a fire, he was freezing.
“Oh, you’re up.” Otho grinned at him from the kitchen door. “You want your eggs hard-boiled or gooey?”
“Gooey?”
“Oh, better get them then.” He started to turn.
“No! No, I don’t want anything gooey, I just…My brain hasn’t woken up yet.” Otho was making breakfast and here he was snoring away on his sofa.
“It’s okay. Take a shower if you want, it’ll be a few minutes before this is done.” The humming began again, and Mason slumped back on the sofa—he could get used to this. But that wouldn’t make him any better than Joel.
Flinging off the cover, he stumbled to the shower. He’d have to repay Otho for putting up with him. He might like to cook, but food costs money and, right now, Mason couldn’t pay his part.
Allowing himself a few moments of simply standing in the warm spray of the shower, he tried to come up with a plan. Getting drunk had been so stupid. He needed to sort things out, not make them worse.
Grabbing a clean towel from a corner shelf that had to have been custom made, he dried off and put on the same clothes he’d worn before. As he entered the kitchen, Otho nodded toward the chair Mason had been sitting on the night before. “Coffee?”
“Could kill for a cup, do you think it’s allowed?”
“Killing is never allowed.” Otho smiled and poured him a cup of coffee. The table was filled with plates with cold cuts, eggs, bread, cheese, and three different jams. Mason had a feeling the breakfast here was better than at the resort.
“Do you always have this much food?”
Otho grinned. “I like food.” He patted his stomach. “You can probably tell.”
Mason shook his head. He’d seen Otho without a shirt and he was fitter than Mason…much fitter.
Mason had never been fast, had never been strong. He’d been one of those geeky guys in school who sucked at sports and it wasn’t something he’d grown out of.
“So…what do you do, Otho?” He began filling his plate with food.
“I work at the resort.”
“Ah, you’re a chef. That explains the luxurious meals.” Mason grinned at him and took a bite of toast, but Otho didn’t grin back.
“No, I’m the maintenance man, one of the maintenance men.” Was that bitterness? Otho wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he’d stiffened as if he waited for a cutting remark.
The bite of toast almost stuck in Mason’s throat and he had to take a sip of coffee before he could speak. “You never wanted to work in a kitchen?”
Otho shrugged. “I didn’t do well in school.” The smile was tense.
“You don’t have to go to school to cook.” Though Mason knew he probably would have to go to some form of school before any restaurant would hire him.