The rage didn’t vanish, but it dripped down his spine as he crumpled a fist to his cutting stump and tried to not fall to the ground. He glared at his breath spurting into the air like a vengeful bull. “Oh, god.” In his worthless body, it was more like a mad tea kettle.
He managed to slam a fist to his back and wrenched his torso up. Another crack told him he could either stand up again, or he’d broken a rib. Breathing didn’t hurt, so it was probably the former.
The light at the back door rose, but he ignored it. Kicking away the obstinate log, Nick grabbed a smaller one.
“You gonna stay out here all night?” Skylar asked.
“We need firewood,” was his response before he swung and split the log right down the middle. Nick bent over, but a seizing of his muscles told him to crouch down instead. After dumping the logs in the pile, he dusted off his hands.
“So your plan is to stay out here and pout until, what, your nose falls off?”
“I’m not pouting,” he grunted, swinging the ax. It clipped the side, hurling the firewood until it smashed into the grill. “Fu…” Nick bit his tongue hard to keep the curse down. “I’m fine.”
“You spent all of dinner glaring at your mashed potatoes. That’s not fine.”
“Since when do you look up from your phone to see what I do at dinner?” Nick turned all his venom on the girl because the one he wanted to yell at was long gone. He knew he was being a bear at dinner, and on the drive home, and while cleaning up the cafe. Didn’t mean he could stop feeling like he wanted to maul some campers.
“I don’t even know why you kept her shit,” Skylar less than helpfully chimed in.
“You think it’s smart to use that word around me?”
She picked up one of the logs and cocked her head. “I’m not made out of wood.”
Nick wrenched it out of her hands and placed it on the stump. “I forget it was there. It was all…a long time ago.”
He thought he’d moved on. He did. Five years was way too long to carry a torch for anyone, much lessher.But the mistletoe latte, Christmas music, and that damn custom apron sent him on a spiral to murdering-logs town. Nick swung the ax, not caring what it hit.
The door opened and a soft voice called out, “Do you need any help?”
Guilt socked him in the gut. He stared at the stars while Skylar shouted to Emma, “We’re good. He’s just chopping helpless trees for fun.”
“Don’t…” Nick tried to silence her, but he got a knowing look instead. His niece didn’t know as much as she thought she did, but it was enough to make her incredibly annoying.
Though, that was probably true of all teenagers.
“It’s getting late, so I was going to turn in,” Emma said.
She wanted him to come in. He should talk to her. Sit on the couch and try to awkwardly explain away that stupid kiss that gave him butterflies stomach, floating feet, and every other cliché feeling Hallmark sold to people. Nick swung the ax instead.
After a time, Emma said, “Goodnight,” and closed the door.
“You can’t keep ignoring her. She’s sleeping in your bed.”
God, he did not need that reminder. That morning he’d caught Emma slipping out of the bathroom. Not an unusual thing, except she’d been in the shirt he’d given her. The way it swam on her body, how her bare legs were exposed under the low hemline messed with his head all day. That had to be why he acted like an idiot.
One week. Not even that. Her car’d be fixed in five days, and he’d never see her again. Only a damn fool would fall for that…again.
“I’m not ignoring her,” Nick said, a bald-faced lie Skylar laughed at. “What do you care anyway?”
She shrugged. “I like her.”
Me too.
Nick eyed her up, certain that wasn’t the real reason. “Don’t you start up your matchmaker phase again.” There wasn’t a single woman in town who didn’t have his business card slipped to them by an entrepreneurial eleven-year-old. They’d ranged in age from eighteen to eighty. That was the hardest Nick had ever put his foot down. Skylar needed to stay out of his love life, for both their sakes.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and he knew he’d hit the mark.
“Emma is…yes, she’s very nice. And sweet.”
