“Thanks.” Finally he managed to straighten up. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t mention it. As I was saying, since we’re sort of family, why don’t we call a truce? It’s like this—if the weather keeps up, we’re going to be trapped here together for several days.”
“Now who’s trying to intimidate whom?”
She laughed then and decided to be friendly. “Just laying my cards on the table. If we keep throwing punches at each other, we’re only going to get bruised. I figure it’s not worth it.”
He had to think about that, and think hard. “I wouldn’t mind going for two out of three.”
“You’re a tough nut, J.T.”
Since he didn’t know what to make of that description, he kept silent.
“I still vote for the truce, at least until the snow stops. I don’t hit you anymore and you don’t try to kiss me again. Deal?”
He liked the part about her not hitting him anymore. And he’d already decided he wouldn’ttryto kiss her again. He would damn welldoit, whenever he chose to. He nodded. “Deal.”
“Excellent. We’ll celebrate the truce with another beer and some popcorn. We’ve got an old popper in the kitchen. We can make it over the fire.”
“Sunny.” She paused, candle in hand, in the doorway. He couldn’t help but resent the way the flickering light flattered her. “I’m still not sure I like you.”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. “I’m not sure I like you, either.”
Chapter 5
She might have called it rustic. He might have called it primitive. But there was something soothing, peaceful and calming about popping corn over an open fire.
She seemed to have the hang of it, he thought, as she shook the long-handled box over the flames. The scent was enough to make his mouth water as the kernels began to pop and batter the screened metal lid. Though he could have explained scientifically how the hard seeds exploded into fluffy white pieces, it was more fun just to watch.
“We’d always make popcorn this way here,” she murmured, watching the flames. “Even in the summer, when we were sweltering, Mom or Dad would build a fire and we’d fight over who got to hold the popper.” Her lips curved at the memory.
“You were happy here.”
“Sure. I probably would have gone on being happy here, but I discovered the world. What do you think of the world, J.T.?”
“Which one?”
With a laugh, she gave the popper an extra shake. “I should have known better than to ask an astro-whatever. Your mind’s probably in space half the time.”
“At least.”
She sat cross-legged on the floor, the firelight glowing on her face and hair. That face, he thought, with its exquisite bones and angles, was perfectly relaxed. She was obviously taking the truce seriously, rambling on, as friendly as a longtime friend, about whatever came to mind.
He sipped his beer and listened, though he knew next to nothing about the movies and music she spoke of. Or the books. Some of the titles were vaguely familiar, but he had spent very little of his time reading fiction.
He’d touched on some twentieth-century entertainment in his research, but not enough to make him an expert in the areas Sunny seemed so well versed in.
“You don’t like movies?” she asked at length.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You haven’t seen any of the flicks I’ve mentioned that have been popular in the last eighteen months.”
He wondered what she’d say if he told her that the last video he’d seen had been produced in 2250. “It’s just that I’ve been busy in the lab for quite a while.”
She felt a tug of sympathy for him. Sunny didn’t mind working, and working hard, but she expected plenty of time for fun. “Don’t they ever give you a break?”
“Who?”