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‘I think so.’
I open my eyes and widen my stance, my nose virtually in her hair. She smells of raspberries. Sweet, juicy, delicious raspberries.
I bring my face forward and rest my chin on her shoulder, and her head turns so we’re suddenly eye-to-eye. It’s tense, as if she knows of all the thoughts currently running rampant in my head. Is it crazy that I have an urge to kiss her? Now would be the perfect opportunity, and the way she’s looking at me tells me she wants me to. Our lips are an inch apart. I can taste her breath.
I scan her face, looking for the sign I need. She blinks slowly, her breath fluttering.
There it is.
I start to lower my mouth, unable to stop myself, desperate for the feel of her lips against mine.
But she quickly turns away, and I feel her suddenly shaking as she releases her hold of the axe and ducks under my arm, moving away stealthily. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurts, sounding panicked, refusing to look at me.
Shit. I swallow down my disappointment and pull myself together. What was I thinking? ‘It’s me who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘You didn’t.’ She shakes her head furiously, and I see immediately that she’s mad with herself. Why? ‘It’s just . . . just . . .’
‘Hannah, you don’t have to explain yourself.’ I positively hate that she’s apologizing to me. What the fuck is that all about? I set the axe down and approach her, completely caught off guard when she retreats speedily. I stop. Her eyes are wide.
She grasps her hands in front of her, her fingers twiddling wildly. ‘I’m not very good at’ – she flaps a nervous hand in front of me – ‘this.’
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Chopping wood?’
She gives me a tired look. ‘No, flirting.’
‘Flirting?’ I ask, trying so fucking hard to lighten the mood. ‘Is that what we’re doing, because I’m pretty sure we were about to chop some wood?’ There’s something deep and overwhelming inside me that’s determined to make her feel better about whatever it is that’s gotten her all nervous. There’s also an unstoppable appreciation flowing through me because she’s acknowledged the attraction between us. I’m not going mad. She likes me. Good, because I’ve just this moment admitted to myself that I like her, too. A lot.
‘Very funny.’ She reaches forward and smacks my biceps lightly. ‘It’s just . . . it’s been a long time since . . .’
‘You flirted?’
She sighs on a smile. ‘Since anyone kissed me.’
Oh my God, has there ever lived a sweeter woman? She’s like nothing I’ve met before, but I can’t shake off the notion that there are many layers to her, and I’m only just peeling back the top one. ‘Well, anyone clearly has better willpower than I do.’ Just when I think she couldn’t be any more gorgeous, her cheeks flush and lashes flutter as she glances away. I grab the handle of the axe. Let’s move things along. ‘Are we gonna chop this piece of wood or not?’
Her smile is out of this fucking world, and she doesn’t think twice about putting her body in front of mine again. Taking the handle and steadying her stance, she focuses on the wood. ‘Hannah?’ I say as I move slightly to the side and raise the axe with her.
‘Yeah?’
I put my mouth close to her ear, and she inhales slowly. ‘I’m a good guy,’ I whisper.
I can’t see her face, but I know her smile just widened. Good, because I like her smile. She brings the axe down with power and precision, and on a shout that is way too loud for her small frame. The wood splits perfectly, and she heaves in front of me, staring at it. ‘Oh my God, that felt so good.’
‘Sounded it, too.’ If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she just channeled a shitload of anger into that swing. And for the first time since I met this woman, I wonder what her story might be.
I step away from her body, but she’s not too willing to release the axe, forcing me to tug it gently but firmly until she shoots her eyes my way. ‘Easy, sweetheart.’
‘Sorry.’ She gives me an impish grin. More adorableness. ‘I should get going.’
I put the axe aside and motion to my truck, batting back my disappointment. ‘Do you want me to give you a ride into town? I’m going that way anyway.’
‘No, but thanks,’ she says, though I detect hesitance. ‘I could do with the fresh air.’
She could? Why? To clear her head? Again, why? Because of me? Fuck me, the questions. ‘It was nice to see you,’ I say, and hate myself the second I utter the pathetic words. Nice? Fucking nice?
‘Nice to see you, too.’
