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I’m startled and act on instinct. Being mugged twice in Washington D.C., my dad worked hard on my self-defense skills, and they all come flooding back to me now.
I scream, stomp on his foot, elbow him in the ribs, and turn quickly before kicking him in the back of the knees. He drops the axe, and I hear him thud to the ground and groan, but not before his grip around my waist tightens and he takes me with him, and I land, chest to chest on top of funeral guy.
With my hands on his chest, I push up slightly and look at him.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” I gasp, my eyes wide in horrified embarrassment.
His hands grip either side around my waist, under my t-shirt, and they are so big, he cups my waist with ease. His hands are rough on my skin but hold me firmly, and I do not want him to let go.
He starts to chuckle, and it is contagious. I let out a small laugh too, even though I am once again totally mortified.
“Never creep up on you, I learned my lesson,” he says as his hand comes up to my face, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ears that has fallen from my ponytail. It is such a simple gesture, but the energy around us changes, and it is crackling with sexual tension.
“Let me cut the wood for you, baby girl,” he says as he sits up, lifting me with him. Holding onto my waist with one hand, he stands, and I am at his mercy, in his arms, clinging to his chest. He lowers me gently to my feet, and leans over me, his lips mere inches from mine.
“I will cut you enough for a few days, and I will come and do more tomorrow, okay?” he whispers, his eyes not leaving mine, and I am locked into his orbit. I nod slowly, and he reluctantly pulls back, releasing his hold on me. I take a few steps back, creating some distance between us.
I lean against the cabin and watch as he chops the wood with precision. What the hell just happened? Is he like Thor or something? He just happens to know when a damsel is in distress, turns up, then chops my wood, making my panties wet at the same time? Talk about multi-talented.
I watch as his muscles bulge and contract with each throw of the axe and the wood slices with 100% accuracy, like a hot knife through butter. He is freshly showered and is wearing a fresh pair of jeans and boots, a crisp white t-shirt, and a baseball cap, and I am craving for his touch again from the sight.
It takes him less than five minutes to chop enough wood for me for a few days. As he starts collecting it up, I go inside and grab the lemonade, pouring two glasses. I bring them outside just as he finishes stacking a small pile and lean on the railing, handing one over to him.
He nods. “You make lemonade too?” he asks me with a smirk before taking a big mouthful.
“I enjoy being in the kitchen, it relaxes me.” I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he drinks more of the lemonade, and I need to look away before I mount this man right here on my porch.
“Thank you for helping me with the wood, I appreciate it,” I say, because I do. I am not sure what I would have done if he didn’t come over, because I certainly wouldn’t have been able to produce the same amount of wood needed to get me through even one night here.
He nods again. I look up at him, and his eyes are already firmly piercing mine. I tilt my head in curiosity.
“How did you know my dad?” I ask, because now that I have had the time to think, he is younger than most of dad’s Beret buddies, so I am not sure how he fits into dad's circle.
He smiles a megawatt smile, his teeth straight and white, and I feel warmth generate inside my body. He has a nice smile, and I have to force myself to blink. I slowly sit on the steps of the cabin, and he walks over, sitting next to me.
“I met your dad when I was a new recruit when I was eighteen and served with him for the remainder of his active duty. We have been lifelong friends ever since. He was a father figure to me, taught me everything, and always had my back. I am sure going to miss him,” he says as he looks out into the distance.
His honesty and his kind words about my father stab at my heart. I take a deep breath, trying to contain my tears as my memory is flooded with thoughts of my father. A silent tear escapes and falls down my cheek. He turns and looks at me, then reaches out and cups my head in his hands before rubbing the tear with his thumb.
“It will be all right, baby girl,” he whispers.
“Sorry, sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks,” I say, with a small smile as I look into his eyes.
Staring at each other, we are deep in thought, and I then realize that I don’t even know his name.
“What is your name?” I ask, breathlessly, because this man makes my heart race and the air leave my lungs.
“Jake.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “You’re Jake?” I say in surprise and jump up from where I was sitting.
He nods, confusion in his face.
“Oh my God. You’re Jake,” I say again softly, my hands clenching my chest where my heart is. He tilts his head inquisitively at my reaction. “Jake, I have something for you, from my dad.” I hear him take a breath in, surprised by my words.
Grabbing his hand, I encourage him to stand and follow me into the cabin. Hand in hand, we walk through the door, and I go to grab the note.
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