The mountain man asleep awkwardly on the bench, one booted foot resting on the floor because his legs were too long.
He had given her the bed.
She watched him.
Without the heavy coat, he looked less like the monster from town stories.
Still enormous.
Still scarred.
But human.
His left sleeve had ridden up.
A pale line crossed his forearm.
Then another.
Old injuries.
His beard had flattened strangely against one side of his face.
She almost smiled.
Then he opened his eyes.
She immediately looked away.
“You sleep?”
he asked.
“Yes.”
He sat up, grimacing from the bench.
She noticed.
“Your back hurts.”
“No.”
“That is a lie.”
He rubbed his lower spine.
“Possibly.”
“You could have taken the floor.”
“Floor’s colder.”
“And you let me have the bed.”
“You’re better looking than I am.”
Her face flushed.
The mountain man froze.
“Sorry.”
She stared.
He looked genuinely alarmed.
“That was…”
He struggled.
“A joke?”
“Yes.”
“A poor one.”
She waited.
Then:
“You think I’m pretty?”
His face became even more uncomfortable.
She had never imagined seeing a man his size frightened by a simple question.
“Yes.”
“Even though…”
She stopped.
His expression changed.
“Even though what?”
She hated herself for almost saying it.
Even though I am large.
Even though my hips are too wide.
Even though my waist requires torture to resemble the shape men praise.
The mountain man seemed to understand.
His jaw tightened.
“Your aunt has spent too much time talking.”
The bride’s eyes sharpened.
“She only says what everybody thinks.”
“No.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’m everybody too.”
She stared.
He realized the unintended intimacy.
His ears turned slightly red beneath dark hair.
She looked away before he could see her smile.
Breakfast was eggs, potatoes and thick slices of bread.
The bride ate cautiously.
Years of habit.
One egg.
Half a slice.
The mountain man looked at her plate.
She stiffened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking.”
“You’ve eaten nothing.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.
The mountain man raised an eyebrow.
She glared.
He returned to his own plate.
After a minute he said:
“There’s more.”
“I know.”
“Eat it.”
Her back stiffened.
He immediately corrected himself.
“Sorry.”
She stared.
“Would you like more?”
No one had ever made permission sound so complicated.
She almost laughed.
“Yes.”
He gave her two more potatoes.
Then went back to eating.
No comment.
No warning.
No suggestion that bread would show on her hips.
She finished everything.
When she realized, shame flooded in.
The mountain man was clearing his plate.