Then suddenly, he was right behind her, heavy and silent. His voice came out flat and amused: "You trying to cook me dinner or kill me?"
She clenched the spoon. "It's fine," she muttered, turning around, flushed, and trying to block the mess with her body. "I—It's not what it looks like."
"Is it?" he said dryly, giving her a skeptical look. "Smells like charcoal pudding. I figured that out when you tried to bandage yourself like you were wrapping a watermelon."
Her face heated up. "It's just rice!"
"That's what makes this tragic," he said, getting up and walking over. He took one look in the pot and sighed like she'd just insulted his family.
"You're so full of yourself," she shot back.
He looked between the burnt mess and her. "You said you knew how to cook."
"I never said I could cook!" she replied defensively. "You assumed."
With a slow, mocking nod, he said, "Ah, my mistake. Should've guessed by how you were attacking that poor pot."
"Move," he said.
"I can fix it—" she demanded.
"You can't. You're cooking soup, glue, and ashes all at once. NOW MOVE!"
She stepped aside, feeling defeated. "Fine. Go ahead, Mr. Forest Gordon Ramsay. Show me what you got."
He dumped the entire pot into the sink, rinsed it without saying a word, and started over. Clean water, the correct rice ratio, and a proper lid. Within minutes, the rice was quietly simmering as if it had a mind of its own.
He moved as if everything in his life was calculated. Even in the kitchen, he was precise, focused, and quiet. She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.
"I was going to do it right next time," she mumbled.
"I won't risk my stomach on your 'next time,'" he muttered back at her. She glared.
"You live alone in the woods, and you cook like that every day?" she asked.
"Survival," he replied without looking up. "Unlike you, I don't rely on luck and strangers."
That stung more than she wanted to admit, but she didn't respond. Instead, she just watched him—the way his hands moved, the way his jaw tensed when he concentrated. The silence surrounding him wasn't empty; it was layered.
For the first time since their unexpected encounter in the wild, she realized there was more to this arrogant, mysterious stranger than she had initially thought. And now, she wasn't sure whether that terrified her or intrigued her.
The rice was done cooking, so he grabbed the pot and headed outside. He set it down on the table with her right behind him. Then, he ducked under a slanted tin roof, grabbed a stick, tied the meat to it, and started turning it slowly over the fire.
She hugged herself tighter, watching the flames flicker in the dark. After a few awkward minutes, he spoke again, this time softer. "You're gonna eat this, right?"
She paused. She hadn't eaten it before.
Before she could say anything, he added, "It's either this… or starve."
"I'll eat," she mumbled. "But don't expect me to say thank you."
"Good," he replied, sounding indifferent. "I can't stand talking during dinner."
About ten minutes later, he flipped the meat again and glanced at her. "You gonna eat it, or just look at me like I stabbed your pet?"
She frowned. "You took down a deer, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."
"You want to stay alive out here or just freeze like a statue?"
She stayed quiet.
He didn't mind her being quiet. He picked up a piece of grilled meat and placed it on a plate, then walked over and handed it to her without saying much.
She paused for a moment.
"Go ahead," he said softly. "It's not poisoned. I'd save that for someone more entertaining."
She shot him a glare but accepted the plate. The aroma was better than she had anticipated—smoky, rich, and strangely comforting.
He crouched down across from her by the fire, eating in silence as if sharing food with someone he barely knew was completely normal. It was as if the dark forest and the fact that she had nearly lost her life earlier in the day didn't feel strange at all.
She took a small bite, and despite her stubbornness, despite everything—
It was really good.
She hated that she was taken by surprise.
So, she chose not to say anything.
And neither did he.
For a while, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the quiet munching of food. There was also that awkward truth hanging out between them: she was still alive. Because of him.
But for the first time since they met, she thought maybe… just maybe… she could make it here. Not because he was nice. But because he was tough enough to survive, and quiet enough to let her figure things out.
They ate in silence near the fire, under the open sky. The meat was perfectly seasoned, smoky, tender, with a nice kick. And the rice... it was actually cooked. Not burned or sticky.
Just right. Of course.
He didn't say a word. No bragging, just eating, calm and quiet, his eyes on the fire, shadows flickering across his face. She chewed slowly, still a bit embarrassed but way too hungry to care anymore.
After they finished eating, he stood up and took her plate without saying anything, quickly starting to clean the table. He even put out the fire quietly.
As he was about to move toward the darker part of the cabin, he stopped and looked at her. In the soft light, it was hard to read his face.
Then he said in a low and playful voice, "Please don't cook again."
With that, he walked away, leaving her surprised and momentarily speechless. She opened her mouth to reply, but he had already slipped into the shadows like a playful spirit from the woods.
What she didn't notice, a detail lost in the dim light, was the tiny smirk at one corner of his mouth as he left. It was quick and subtle, showing that he enjoyed teasing her this time. It was as if he rarely allowed himself to playfully tease anyone.
But this time… he did.
And she didn't realize. She had no clue that behind his serious tone, there was a playful side waiting to show itself.