Dreaming Ivy. Rhonda Lee Carver

be the first to concede that I am older than you and have lived more life. If I had to guess, I’d say I’m older by at least ten years. So, I figure, since you’re expecting me to tolerate your non-stop chatter and candor, you should be willing to accept my solitude. If you’d like to rationalize it’s a matter of an age difference, I’m fine with that.”

      Silence fell between them as he finished his work. She bit her bottom lip, controlling her words, but she hated the quiet. And the cold. The temperature was dropping and the room was growing bitter. “Wow, this place is really cold.”

      He responded by clearing his throat.

      “Alrighty, then.” She got up and went to the fireplace, busying herself cleaning out the cobwebs. The alcove looked to be in reasonably good working condition. It was obvious the place wasn’t insulated. She wanted to start a fire, but there was a problem. She’d never used a real fireplace before. At home, they had a gas fireplace and the flames came alive with a flip of a switch.

      Grabbing a look at Max, she saw that he was still putting away the equipment. She supposed he was capable of starting a fire but she wasn’t about to ask him to lend a hand.

      There was a stack of wood in a large wicker basket sitting next to the fireplace. She didn’t remember seeing it there before and wondered if Max had gathered it while she was upstairs. So, he did have some sense of responsibility and gentlemanly deeds.

      She remembered watching a documentary on survival on a cable channel. There was a military man who demonstrated the best way to start a fire. Although she had no flint or dry grass or any other means that he’d used, she knew it couldn’t be that hard. All that she needed was a box of matches or a lighter. She had a lighter in her purse.

      Retrieving the lighter, she strategically placed wood in the bay.