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“Yeah?” I paused with my hand on the latch to the door.
“Your last name, it…”
Here we go.
“Is it really Lumber?”
I nodded.
“So your name is Jack Lumber. Lumber comma Jack.” She sat on the rumpled bed with an amused look on her face. Her brow knit and she squinted her eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”
“You’ll have to find out.” Shit. That sounded so stupid. “Is your last name really Page?” That wasn’t much better. I needed some sleep.
“You’ll have to find out.” She stretched her hands over her head and her shirt lifted just above the waistband of her black jeans revealing a hint of skin.
I was flirting with the mysterious house guest. Someone who was just passing through. I was long past my one-night stand days, but there was something about Henri that made me want to go back in time to when I would’ve pulled that black tight shirt over her head and slipped into the flannel sheets with her, to see how many times I could make her come in the light of the full moon.
My cock twitched and I knew that was my sign to leave. “Good night, Henri Scissorhands.”
“What?”
“Until I ascertain the truth about your last name, that’s what I’m going to call you.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked like she was holding in a laugh. “I like it.” She yawned again. “Good night Lumberjack.”
I took a deep breath and headed to the main house and slipped into the bedroom I’d shared with my brother, the twin bedspring creaking with my weight. I’d only just met her, but Henrietta Scissorhands seemed different from any woman I’d ever met. She was witty and our banter came easily, and it didn’t hurt that she was hot, in an edgy kind of way.
But, I’d come home to Chance Rapids to rebuild my life, and I wanted a partner. A piece of apple pie girl that liked to chop wood, and go fly-fishing, not a cream filled delicacy, one that would taste incredible, but leave me full of regret the next day.
THREE
HENRI
I hadn’t drawnthe curtains as Jack suggested, and had fallen asleep in the light of the moon, only to be awoken by the pink of the sun rising over the mountain peaks. Falling asleep had been tricky, the stress of the evening, mixed with the sensation of being so isolated and dependent upon absolute strangers, but most of all, the flutter of my heart kept me awake. Jack’s dimples and his smile ran through my mind on a loop until sleep came for me, then I slept like one of the logs piled beside the woodstove.
In the early morning light, I added another log to the glowing embers and the wood crackled as the fire came to life.
The cabin had a tiny bathroom with a little shower, that exclusively supplied the iciest water I’d ever felt. Each stream of water felt like it was stabbing me, and after the fastest shower I’d ever taken in my life, I got dressed and warmed my hands over the stove.
After Jack had left, I’d crawled into the bed, forgetting that Muriel had provided me with fresh sheets. I was so exhausted I didn’t care, and when my face hit the pillow all I could smell was Jack – and a twinge of desire, hell, not just a twinge, the sawdust and musky smell that I’d caught a whiff of when we stepped into the cabin, wrapped itself around me as I slept.
Now, slightly embarrassed, I quickly changed the sheets – it was a pointless exercise, but didn’t want Muriel, or Jack, to know that I’d slept with his scent. Satisfied with the freshly made bed, I opened my backpack and opened my laptop – thankfully it was still fully charged. My first observations of Chance Rapids hadn’t been great for my story – the damn town looked perfect. I wanted to crack open the small-town holiday stereotypes, but so far, it was like I’d stepped into my own perfect holiday movie – complete with a handsome lumberjack and a Mrs. Claus like figure who kept a flask of whiskey in her apron.
I sighed and tapped out some of the names and details of the people I’d met so far. Then I put on my warmest clothes and stepped outside. Jack was right. In the cold and crisp clear dawn light, I could see the top floor of the farmhouse peeking over the hill – and the lights were on.
“Good.” I gathered my things. As much as it would’ve been nice to curl up in the warmth of the manly smelling sheets and write by the crackling fire, I needed to get the assignment done – and the faster I worked, the sooner I’d be able to get back to the city. My flight was booked for the next night and I had some serious work to do in the next two days.
Chickens clucked from inside their coop, and some other barnyard animal made weird noises as I slipped and slid up the snowy pathway to the main house. By the time I reached the back porch, I was breathing steamy puffs of air. I could see movement inside the house and tapped on the single pane glass with my knuckle.
A man I didn’t recognize opened the door. “You must be Henri.” His voice was gruff, but his eyes had the same warmth as Muriel, and his smile was the exact same as Jack’s, but hidden behind a huge snowy beard. “I’m Bob. Come in.” He opened the door and gestured for me to come inside. I was met with the most delicious sweet baking smell and my stomach growled in response.
“Hi, Bob. Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”
The man nodded. “Thank my wife for that.” He pointed to the stove where a vintage glass coffee pot was percolating. “Help yourself to some coffee and the muffins are cooling on the counter.”
Muffins. Could this family get anymore idealistic? Had the mountain pass doubled as a time warp and had I driven into the 1960s? “I will. Thank you, Bob.” I unhooked one of the mugs that hung from the upper cupboards and the coffee steamed as I poured it full.
While I was busy pouring my coffee, Bob had put on his boots and was headed out the front door. I had assumed that he was taking me to the garage and rushed the back door to get my boots. “I’ll be just a second.” I slurped the black coffee.
