Page 12 of Grumpy Lumberjack’s Secret

“Wait.”

The word came out of me before I could stop it. Rough and low, catching in my throat.

She paused. Looked at me over her shoulder.

“Give me the cookies,” I said.

Something shifted in her face. The surprise softened into something else, something warm and knowing that I wasn’t prepared for. She turned fully, walked back to me, and held out the bag.

I took it.

Her smile came back, but different this time. Gentler. Less like a weapon and more like a lamp in a window. “Enjoy.”

She turned and walked toward where Dollie and Josh were sitting on the stack of lumber near the break area. She was limping, just slightly, favoring her right leg, and the guilt hit me so hard I could taste it.

I stood there for a moment, holding a bag of cookies I’d said I didn’t want, watching her walk away. Then I set the bag on the nearest flat surface, went into the office, and grabbed the first aid kit from the shelf above the desk.

They were sitting together when I got there. Josh and Dollie side by side, and Chloe a few feet away, perched on a lower stack of lumber with her legs stretched out in front of her. She was examining her knee with the same detached curiosity she probably used when one of her students showed her a bug.

I stopped in front of her and dropped to one knee.

She blinked down at me. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t answer. I opened the first aid kit, pulled out an antiseptic wipe, and tore the packet open. Then I looked at her knee, at the torn denim and the raw skin underneath, and something in my jaw tightened so hard my teeth ached.

“This might sting,” I said, because it was the only thing I could think of to say that wasn’t an apology. An apology would require acknowledging what I’d done and why I’d reacted the way I had, and that door was staying shut.

I pressed the wipe to her knee. She sucked in a breath through her teeth but didn’t pull away. I cleaned the scrape with careful, precise movements, the same focus I used on machinery, every motion deliberate, controlled, designed to do the job without causing more damage.

“Stop smiling,” I said without looking up. I could feel her eyes on me, and I could feel the smile, radiating off her like heat.

“Then you smile for me,” she said.

My hand paused on her knee. “There’s no reason to smile.”

She leaned forward. I could feel the shift in the air between us, the distance shrinking, and then her face was close to mine, close enough that I could see the exact shade of her eyes, lighter at the center, darker at the edges, like the sky reflected in a lake.

“Shouldn’t I be enough reason?” she asked.

The question hung there, suspended between us like smoke. My heart did something it hadn’t done in years. It kicked.

Then she laughed, breaking the moment like a stone through glass, and leaned back. “Your ears are red,” she said, delighted.

I pressed the bandage onto her knee with more force than necessary. She winced but kept grinning.

“Don’t come back here tomorrow,” I said, packing the first aid kit with sharp, efficient movements.

“You’re gonna miss me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

She tilted her head. Those blue eyes sparkled with something that was either mischief or madness, and at this point I wasn’t sure there was a difference.

“Do you want to know me more?” she asked.

The question was light, playful, tossed out like a ball she expected me to catch. But underneath the lightness, underneath the teasing, there was something real. An actual question. An actual offer.

I stood up, first aid kit in hand, and walked away without answering.