Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I’m shaking my head now too. “No ma’am, I do not.”
“Wanna give me your phone so I can give it to you?”
Give it to you. “I’d love for you to give it to me.”
Her face scrunches up. “Don’t be a pervert—it’s too early.”
“Sorry.” It’s a habit. After pulling my phone out of my pocket, I set it in her palm. “But fair warning, it’s almost dead. No signal out here.”
She snorts. “That happens in the mountains sometimes. And let me guess—you don’t have a charger either?”
“Left it in my other flannel,” I admit. “The one that matches my suspenders.”
She doesn’t respond. Rather, she focuses on punching her friend Annabelle’s number into my cell. Her fingers move quickly over the screen, and I take the moment to study her—messy bun, slightly crooked smile. It’s an easy kind of energy, making it hard not to smile back.
Or want to bone her.
“There.” She hands my phone back. “All set. Now you have no excuses.” Her eyes roam up and down my body. “You’d better not let her down, Lumberjack.”
Let her down?
I’m a football player, not a goddamn lumberjack. The fact that she believes me has done wonders for my ego.
“Don’t worry,” I say, flashing her the teeth that cost me $60,000 out of pocket. “When I show up, I’ll be the best goddamn emergency lumberjack this town has seen.”
Her laughter follows her as she begins walking toward the counter. “We’ll see about that.”
“What’s your name?”
She studies me a few seconds. “Lucy.”
Lucy.
I play the name on a loop through my brain as I watch her order breakfast, chatting up the barista, and I find myself grinning like an idiot as I replay the last few minutes in my head. She orders a muffin—blueberry—and a steaming cup of tea. No coffee for her, apparently.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say, straightening up and attempting to look less like a guy who’s been caught staring at her ass. “Only making sure you’ve got enough fuel for yoga.”
She smirks, biting into the muffin. “Yoga’s harder than chopping wood, I’ll have you know. You might want to try it sometime.”
Pass.
Hard. Pass.
“Just so you know, I can already touch my toes,” I boast. “I choose not to.”
She giggles softly, tossing the muffin wrapper into the trash as she clutches the tea. “Flexibility is the key to a long and healthy life.”
“Flexibility is overrated,” I counter, resisting the urge to flex my muscles. “Strength gets the job done.”
Lucy sighs. “Good luck with that. I’ll be sure to cheer you on at the Fall Fest if I see you.”
Not gonna happen, but I nod anyway.
“I’ll make it look easy,” I shoot back with a grin. “The other dudes won’t know what hit them.”
“Well. I’ll look forward to it.” She steps toward the door, pausing to glance back over her shoulder. “See you around, Mr. Lumberjack.”
Mr. Lumberjack.
I like the sound of that.
The little bell above the door tinkles, jingling softly, and before I can say another word, Lucy is gone.
Through the window, I watch her disappear down the sidewalk. It takes me a second to realize my grin has faded, replaced by a single nagging thought: She didn’t give me her number.
It’s not like I didn’t give her the chance.
I mean, I handed her my phone—she had it in her palm! And she didn’t use the opportunity! Granted, it was to type in Annabelle’s number, but still. Most women I’ve met wouldn’t need an invitation. Usually, they’re slipping me their digits before I can even ask, batting their lashes, dropping not-so-subtle hints.
Not her.
She . . . walked away.
My ego stings a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. I’m used to women being all over me, and now I’m left here wondering why she didn’t even offer.
No way was she not into me.
I could see it in her smile, the way she teased me. She’s playing hard to get.
Yeah, that’s it.
She wants me to chase her.
Maybe I will. After all, I’ve got her name now. And Annabelle’s number.
More than enough to work with . . .
Chapter 4
Lucy
“I ran into one of your lumberjacks.”
“Which one? Bill, Wally or Kyle?”
“Neither.” I shake my head, hiding a smirk. “Harris. The new guy.”
That gets her attention. Annabelle stops mid-keystroke and looks up, her forehead furrowing in confusion. “What new guy?”
“You know, tall, broad shoulders, coffee-stained sweatshirt? Kind of a Travis Kelce vibe but way better looking,” I say, casually sipping my tea. “Apparently, he’s your emergency fill-in lumberjack.”
For a moment, she stares at me blankly. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face. “Wait—are you serious? I have four lumberjacks now?”
“Looks like it,” I say, setting my cup down on her counter. “Though he didn’t exactly come with an axe or flannel. Or tools. Seemed pretty unprepared, if you ask me.”
Annabelle lets out a laugh, slumping back in her chair. “I don’t care. I’ll take whatever I can get! This is great news. Do you know how much easier this makes things? With three, we were barely scraping by. But with four, I have hope the others will show up too.”