Holiday Hideout (Polar Bear, Alaska)

“That’s more of a reason you need some holiday cheer. I am not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, but I think this can help make you happy for the holidays.”

He steps closer. “What if I don’t want to be happy?”

“Everyone wants to be happy,” I tell him, breathlessly.

“Are you happy?”

I wink. “I will be if I get to decorate your place.”

He waves his arms. “Well, by all means, deck my halls.”

I giggle. “Do you want to help?”

“Sure.”

We spend the next hour or so transforming his cabin into holiday heaven. The only thing missing is a tree. As I’m placing the last gnome in the snow on the mantle, Fender steps outside to chop firewood.

After I light the pumpkin pie scented candles on the coffee table, I hustle to my car to grab my cleaning supplies. Since I’m already here, might as well make the place sparkle.

“Fuck you, wood. And fuck you too, axe. And fuck these gloves most of all,” Fender curses from the side of the house.

I make my way to where he stands chopping wood… unsuccessfully.

Sometimes in the movies you see a man with strapping muscles chopping wood, and you suck in a lusty breath at the sweat trickling down his six-pack abs.

While I know Fender has the body to fulfill that fantasy, it’s not what I’m seeing right now.

First, he’s wearing his gloves and a thick winter coat. A gray beanie masks his dark hair, and as he tries to chop the log, he’s having the hardest time.

“Need some help?” I ask, stepping closer.

He stops and looks over at me, and it nearly knocks me off my feet. I mean, he’s good-looking, but I forgot how good-looking.

“My damn hands froze solid, and I can’t aim this axe with this heavy coat.” He tries again and misses the block of wood completely.

I laugh a little.

“Great, and now you’re laughing at me.”

“Here, let me show you a little trick.”

“Oh, that’s right. You know how to chop wood too.” He drops the axe in the snow and the look in his eyes says he doesn’t believe me.

“It’s all about placement. Doesn’t matter how many muscles you have.”

“This I gotta see.” He steps back, folding his arms across his chest.

I grab the axe handle. “So, you want to hit the block of wood dead center and bring the force behind it.”

“You’ve got the force?”

I raise a brow. “Maybe not in my guns, but I do in my legs.”

He laughs, and it’s cute and playful. “Guns?”

“I’ve got guns.” I hold up my free arm and flex my bicep. Even though he can’t see it behind my coat. Actually, my gun is more of a small kitchen knife.

“Mhm. Sure. Ok, Miss Rachel, show me how it’s done.”

“It’s all body movement.”

“If you chop this wood, I’ll do anything you ask.”

I laugh. “Well, get ready then.”

Dad taught Joanie and me how to chop wood at a young age. It really is all about placement and bringing the right force behind it. Which I can do.

“Watch closely.”

“Oh, I’m watching.”

At his words, butterflies swarm into a frenzy as his eyes stay on me.

I lift on tiptoes, bringing the axe behind me. I lower my body to build up momentum and swing the axe over my head as I drop into a squat, hitting the wood squarely in the middle so it splits in two.

“Wow.”

“You have to build up momentum and put your whole body behind it.”

“I see that.” he steps closer. “I’m impressed.”

My whole body warms. “Do you want to try?”

He takes the axe from me. “Sure. I can’t let you show me up.” He laughs.

“Now get your whole body behind it and drop at the same time as the axe.”

He does as I instructed and splits the next piece of wood in two. “Wow, cool.”

“You’re becoming a real mountain man,” I say with a laugh.

“I could definitely get used to this.”

Seven

Fender

* * *

I’ve been looking forward to Rachel coming by again since the moment she left my place a few days ago. It’s sad to say, but not only do I miss the human interaction, I missed her.

Now that she’s here, I kind of don’t want her to leave.

However, I had a stern talk with myself about all the reasons I can’t feel an attraction to her, no matter how irresistible she is right now. The need to hold her in my arms causes me to cross them to fend off the urge to scoop her up and whisk her away to my bedroom as she chops more wood, showing me the proper technique.

You would never catch girls in LA chopping wood, at least the women I’ve dated. They’d rather hire out for things like manual labor.

Rachel’s definitely different.

And I like it.

I chop another piece of wood with ease and Rachel laughs.

“Now you’ll have enough firewood to keep you warm.” The way she gazes up at me makes my chest fill with warmth.