Breathing heavily, I surveyed the remaining logs and felt a small surge of satisfaction despite my aching muscles.With renewed resolve, I continued chopping until every piece was split and stacked neatly against the inn's wall.
I stood back for a moment, catching my breath and wiping sweat from my brow with a gloved hand.The stack of firewood was modest but sufficient for now.
"Not bad," a familiar, gruff voice said behind me.
I jumped and spun around, heart pounding.
He raised his hands, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips."Didn't mean to startle you."
It was Christian.His rugged features stood out against the winter backdrop.He had that look about him—sharp eyes, a firm jawline covered in a light scruff, and a physique that spoke of strength and endurance.He reminded me of those soldiers you see in movies—resilient and unyielding.
A blush crept up my cheeks, the warmth contrasting sharply with the cold air."I didn’t hear you coming," I said, my voice catching slightly.
He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the neatly stacked woodpile."You've been busy."
I nodded, trying to compose myself."Had to get it done before nightfall.The inn’s guests won't appreciate a cold fireless night."
He stepped closer, examining my handiwork.His presence was intimidating yet oddly comforting."Need any help with the rest?"
The offer surprised me, but I quickly shook my head."I’ve got it under control.Thanks though."
"Stubborn."
"You already helped with the lights."
"I could help with this."
I stared at him, considering his offer.His expression was calm but resolute, and I could tell he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"If you're sure," I said, handing him the ax.
He took it with a nod and began unbuttoning his winter coat.He shrugged it off and handed it to me.As I took it, I couldn't help but catch a whiff of his scent—earthy, with a hint of pine and something else, something rugged yet inviting.It was intoxicating in its simplicity.I hoped my reaction wasn't too obvious as I clung to it, hoping to hide my fingers trembling from the cold.
Christian rolled up his sleeves and approached the chopping block.His muscles flexed as he positioned the first log, and I couldn't help but admire the way he moved—effortlessly powerful.He raised the ax and brought it down with precision, splitting the log cleanly in two.
"Nice swing," I commented, trying to sound casual.
He gave a small nod, not breaking his focus."It's all about finding the right angle."
I watched him work, each swing of the ax methodical and efficient.The woodpile grew steadily as he chopped through the logs with practiced ease.Despite the cold air, a light sheen of sweat began to form on his brow, testament to the effort he put into each strike.
There was something mesmerizing about watching him work—an art to his movements that belied the raw strength behind them.A certain grace to it.He made it look easy, even though I knew from experience just how challenging chopping wood could be.
I busied myself tidying up the area, trying to keep my thoughts from wandering too far.The rhythmic sound of wood splitting filled the clearing, accompanied by the occasional grunt of exertion from Christian.
"How long have you been doing this?"I asked, genuinely curious.
He paused for a moment to wipe his brow with the back of his hand before answering."Since I was a kid.I did it for my gran."
His words hung in the air, hinting at a past he rarely spoke about.It made me wonder what else lay beneath that stoic exterior.
"You’re good at it," I said simply.
He glanced at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes."Thanks."
As he continued chopping, I marveled at how effortlessly he fit into this place—this life—even if just for a moment.The stack of firewood grew taller by the minute, promising warmth for the inn's guests tonight.
When he finished, Christian stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow with a satisfied look on his face."I may have overdone it," he said, surveying the sizable stack of chopped wood.
