Between by Cyndi Tefft Page B

belly of that metal bird in the sky.” He’d seen a lot of crazy things yesterday but I could tell he thought I was pulling his leg.
    “ Yep, I do. Maybe sometime I’ll cast the memory of flying from Seattle to Portland so you can see it for yourself. But for right now, I promised you some potatoes.” I opened the cover on the firebox of the stove and layered in the kindling and newspaper like my dad taught me.
    “ Would you like to use my flint?” he offered, reaching into his sporran.
    “ No, thanks. I’ve got a lighter.” I pulled out the adjustable butane lighter and pressed the button, a flame instantly leaping to life at the tip.
    “ That’s a right handy wee contraption you have there!” he said, visibly impressed. “Mind if I have a look around?”
    “ Sure, go ahead. I’m going to be here a while. Breakfast probably won’t be ready for another fifteen or twenty minutes. Be sure to go upstairs,” I pointed over my shoulder with the peeler in my hand, “to see the loft. There are several beds up there, since the cabin sleeps about eight people. So you won’t have to sleep on the floor. Your feet won’t even hang off the edge on some of them.” I winked at him and he grinned before wandering off to explore.
    The centerpiece of the living room was a large rock fireplace built by hand with rocks drug from the lake. A couple of armchairs sat on either side with homemade footstools that looked like mushrooms. I smiled as I remembered making those with my dad when I was about eight, stretching the red naugahyde leather over the foam caps and stapling it to the squatty wood logs with Dad’s staple gun. He’d been very careful to show me how to do it so I wouldn’t get hurt and I was so proud of myself for having made the little rustic cushions.
    “ Made from genuine naugha cows,” he used to boast and it wasn’t until I was much older that I learned there’s no such thing as a naugha cow. I shook my head at his goofy sense of humor. Two old mismatched couches faced the center of the room, behind them a heavy pine dining table where we often sat to play games. A painted wooden toilet seat cover attached to the wall held a small table lamp made to look like a woman’s leg in a fishnet stocking. The room was corny and welcoming, comfortable and rustic, and I absolutely loved it.
    The butter started to sizzle in the skillet and I breathed in the delicious scent. Aiden appeared, his hand on my waist, and peered into the pan. “Mmmm, smells good.” He kissed me on the cheek and gave me a squeeze, then headed up the stairs like I’d told him to. The loft was one big bedroom with a pointed ceiling and a picture window looking out over the water. A king sized bed sat under the window, flanked on either side by a double bed and two twin beds tucked under the eaves.
    I added sausage and potatoes to the skillet and grated the cheese, humming to myself. I barely heard Aiden come up behind me, his footsteps were so light coming down the stairs. He wrapped his arms around my stomach and pressed his face into my hair.
    “ Breakfast is not the only thing that smells delicious,” he purred softly in my ear. I smiled dreamily and pressed my bottom against him, wiggling it against his sporran. “Hey now, careful. That’ll get you into trouble,” he warned, his voice a deep rumble.
    I grinned up at him, my eyes daring him to prove it. “Don’t be making threats you aren’t willing to carry out,” I countered. I squeaked in surprise as he whipped me around and kissed me hard, his body pressed tight against me. His hand slid down my back and grabbed my butt, and I caught my breath in surprise at his aggressiveness. I wiggled my eyebrows at him suggestively, checking to see if he was really serious this time. His face told me that he might just be. My heart leapt in my chest as I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with everything I had. The smell of the scorching butter reached my nose and I