Marren raised her eyebrows, as if his statement had collided with what she had expected him to say, and it definitely left a small dent. She had nothing to say in return, and settled to just move the conversation on if only to keep from laughing at him. “I guess you cook, too?”
“I ain’t no galloping gourmet, but I make do.”
“Poet. Fisherman. Carpenter. Philosopher. Cook. What else do you do?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he smiled, getting up and making his way over to the canopy.
He grabbed five pieces of wood and chucked them over to the fire pit. He arranged them with his foot, then walked off in the direction of the shed. He grabbed some kindling and came back out, placing them down as well. He felt the chest pocket of his untucked and open flannel shirt, only to find th
