“How is she at baking?” he asks.
“Sucks like me,” I admit.
He gives me an amused smile as he cuts another piece of pork loin. I use this opportunity to go for it.
“So you said you lived in Wyoming,” I say as I work at cutting my food up into bite-sized pieces. “What all did you do there?”
I expect sullen silence, so I’m surprised when he says, “Worked various jobs here and there, but did a few years working in the oil fields. Eventually, I became a mechanic.”
“Wyoming has oil?” I ask curiously.
He nods. “Mostly in the western part of the state.”
“And what type of mechanic were you?” I ask as I punch my fork down into a piece of pork.
“Motorcycle,” he says, and I’m surprised when he elaborates without me being pushy or nosy. “Started out as a hobby. Bought an old Triumph and fixed it up myself, then realized I liked working with engines. Eventually moved over to the eastern part of the state and became a full-time motorcycle mechanic.”
“I can totally see that,” I observe thoughtfully.
“How’s that?” His expression is doubtfully curious.
“Well, I mean you’re handy,” I tell him. “Good with your hands. Knew exactly what to do when my water pipes broke. Some people are naturally gifted with stuff like that. I also saw you working on your truck’s engine a few weeks ago, so I figured you knew what you were doing.”
“Engines sort of make sense to me,” he mutters as his gaze goes back to his plate. “But as good as I am with mechanical stuff, I totally suck at electronics.”
“But aren’t most modern engines full of electronic components?” I ask, enjoying this simple and unstilted conversation where he’s not holding back.
“True,” he says. “Always learning something.”
I nod. “Pretty big change you’ve made, going from a motorcycle mechanic out west to a lighthouse keeper on the East Coast.”
“You could say that.”
He doesn’t offer more, and the silence becomes instantly oppressive. So I veer off the path a little and try for something a bit more personal.
“So what do you like to do for fun?” I ask as he continues to eat. “I mean, you came in the dead of winter. There’s not a lot to do around here unless you’re into winter sports like snowmobiling or skiing. You had a few months where you were holed up in here all by yourself.”
He raises his gaze from a piece of carrot on his fork to me and gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know… I read a lot.”
My eyes brighten. “Really? I love to read too. What type of books?”
“Crime stuff,” he says.
“Like real crime or fiction?”
“Both actually,” he says. “I like the classics too. The guy who lived here before me left a nice collection, and I’ve read through all of them already.”
You know, for all of Kyle’s gruff ways, I can totally see him reading the classics. I’ve learned enough about him to know he’s a smart guy.
“Did you go to college?” I ask curiously.
His gaze drops quickly to his plate, and I sense an immediate vibe of discomfort in the air. I wonder why that’s a sore subject, but then he looks right back up at me. “Yeah, I did. Worked my way through at night. Took me six years going part time.”
“Wow,” I say, completely impressed but not surprised. Kyle seems to be a goal-oriented type of man. “What’s your degree in?”
He hesitates only slightly, as if it might go against the rules to admit it to me, but then offers up. “Criminal justice.”
I smile in understanding. “Hence you liking crime books. So why didn’t you ever do anything with that degree?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?” he challenges me, and yes… his eyes flash with something I can’t quite describe.
“Did you?” I ask bluntly.
He holds my gaze steadily for a moment before he says quietly, “No. Found out I was more apt to commiserate with the criminals rather than catch them.”
My jaw drops. He sounds serious, and yet… there’s an untruth in that statement. I can hear it and it confuses me, because I also hear some elements of truth as well.
“I don’t believe that,” I say softly.
“Why would I lie?” he counters, his eyes continuing to bore into me.
“Are you a criminal?” I ask, not answering his last question.
He shakes his head without hesitation. “I have a spotless record. I’m sure you can look it up.”
“No, I trust you,” I say automatically, and I have to wonder why that popped out so easily. I don’t know him at all, but, for some reason, I believe what he just told me, despite the fact he’s clearly a secretive man.
Kyle merely grunts at me, and I’ll have to assume that means he takes me at face value. But he doesn’t offer me anything else, and I’m suddenly feeling off kilter. I feel like he was telling me something important about himself, but I can’t figure out the deeper message.