Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
There’s a clearing in the distance. I’m getting awfully close to the mountains that partially make Evergreen Valley, well, a valley.
Is that music?
I raise an eyebrow. And I’m not talking about bird music either. This is stuff from a big speaker. People music. It’s some classic rock, I think. I’m too young to really put a name to the band, but it’s something from the late ’70s, early ’80s, if I had to make a guess. Who would be living out this deep in the woods, I wonder?
I try to stay stealthy, hoping there aren’t any particularly loud twigs waiting to announce my presence.
A thick, thudding sound is underneath the music, which switches to a sort of country song. It’s a bit on the heavier side, and the singer doesn’t immediately start crooning about how much he misses his tractor. I can’t say I hate it, which is more than I can say about most country music.
I peer out from behind a tree, and gasp at who I see.
Hawk.
He’s standing there, shirtless, wearing nothing but some shorts. He brings down his big wood-cutting axe on a log, splitting it neatly in two. Another log, another perfect split. He’s an expert with the thing, and it’s kind of beautiful watching him work. Seeing every little muscle flex with his movements is quite the sight, and for a time, I just sit there, watching the serenity that is him going to work.
I never doubted how rustic he was. He lives in a well-built little cabin. There are piles of firewood stacked up nearby, and with so much, I wonder if he sells them for extra money? I would think commercial firewood was done by a machine at this point, but maybe there’s a market for manually axe-cut wood up here in Evergreen Valley?
God, I feel like such a space alien at times. Everyone around is so sweet in this town, and they’re so welcoming, but I hate when I screw up and show how out of touch I really am.
How am I supposed to know five dollars is too much for a loaf of bread here? That’s how much it is in the fancy organic store I always went to!
Anyway, I keep watching Hawk. I’m silent and still, and don’t want to brin ing attention to myself. Would it be weird if I walked up and said hello to him?
Just some rich girl walking out of the forest to greet him. Yeah, that wouldn’t be weird at all.
It wouldn’t make me appear as some weirdo stalker or anything like that. Absolutely wouldn’t.
I just look at this gorgeous sight for a while longer. Then, I’ll sneak away, and forget all about this.
God, he’s so fucking hot too. I’d been thinking about him a lot in my fantasies since our choice encounter during Tabitha’s wedding. All those muscles, earned through hard work and wood cutting. Not a single one of them for glamor: all form, no fashion.
If I wasn’t wearing so much heavy hiking gear, I’d be tempted to, uh. explore a bit. Like a more forestry-version of some cheesy porno setup.
Instead, I do the exact thing I was trying my damndest to not do.
And step on a very, very loud twig.
Hawk ceases chopping firewood. He lifts his head and looks right at me.
And I freeze like a deer in headlights.
“Lavender?” he states, confused and surprised in equal parts.
My eyes go wide as I look back at him. I raise my right hand meekly, in what must be the most pathetic hello gesture ever performed.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, confused.
I stagger back.
Fight or flight kicks in, and since I’m nowhere near dumb enough to challenge Hawk with the former, I go with flight.
Which is me rushing away from him, down the hill.
I’m surprised I don’t slip on anything, knowing how nasty a spill out here could turn for me. I must be running for a good five minutes before I’m back at my chalet, heaving long, deep breaths, my adrenaline from the previous moment finally fading.
Rationality creeps back into my mind.
And reminds me of what a massive creep I’ve made of myself in front of Hawk, for the second time.
If I’m going to act like this every time I meet a man I’m attracted to, I’m never going to get married.
Even if Hawk doesn’t seem like just any other man.
My phone goes off: an alarm I set earlier.
Hannah was going to set up a stall at the farmers’ market today and wanted me to take over for her, so she could get to a doctor’s appointment. The alarm was to let me know I should start heading back to the chalet so I wouldn’t be late.
Luckily, I’m a bit ahead of schedule.
I need a nice cold shower first, though, for the sweat.
And for the other feelings I have, too, I suppose.