Yes, there is a large tree stump full of axes in front of me. It’s a bit surreal for this work-at-home mom who barely leaves the house. I wiggle-waggle an ax out, trying not to amputate my lower leg, and carry it like Paul showed us.
At the throwing line, Paul appears next to me, adjusting my grip.
“Woot! Go, Andi,” Reid catcalls from behind me.
Paul moves aside and I let the ax rip, immediately squeezing my eyes shut. A loud clang fills the air ...
“Don’t do that,” Paul says.
“What? It was my first try.”
“Don’t close your eyes. It can ricochet. Keep your eyes open, ’kay? Now, try again.”
I retrieve my ax, belly up to the line again, and let her fly, keeping my eyes wide open.
“Yes! Look at that. Hit the thing!”
I feel a tug on the waistband of my jeans and turn around.
“Nice one,” Reid says, and plants a kiss on my forehead.
“Your turn. Let’s see if you can do better.”
Of course, Reid hits almost dead center on all of his throws, and Paul decides to explain the rules. We need to play three rounds to determine the winner. Paul stays in the background, Reid placing this and that little touch on me between every turn. After two rounds, we take a break. Reid opens a fresh beer for each of us—doing the hip-wrist-hand trio of want and desire.
Then there’s the food basket. We’re sitting on the table, side by side, our legs dangling over the bench, when he opens it up.
“Of course, showoff,” I tell him when he reveals what he brought. “I’d go to the deli and make sandwiches, but you grill your own brisket and have to one-up everyone.”
Homemade brisket, fresh rolls, and all the fixings, mustard, horseradish, even ketchup appear. Not to throw shade on the veggies and dip, and sweet potato chips on the side, but the sandwiches are mouthwatering.
“This is really good,” I mutter with a full mouth, then swallow. “Okay, that wasn’t the best manners, but it’s really good. I said that ... it’s amazing. Perfect.”
Reid washes down his first bite with a swig of beer. “I’m glad you like it. I could’ve taken you to a fancy restaurant, but I don’t know, I feel like we’re having more fun.”
“We are. I don’t like those long sit-down dinners. Sometimes, I think I may fall asleep on the table.”
He looks so cute with his scruffy jaw, eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose, his hair mussed. My heart leaps in my chest.
“I’m glad I chose this then.”
“You did good, chef.”
“Oh, a new nickname? No more geek?”
“Nah, you’re earning a new status with me.” Taking a chip and popping it in my mouth, I realize it’s homemade. “You made these?”
“Of course. It’s not hard. In fact, you’ll see a video on the blog tomorrow.”
I lean in and whisper, “You didn’t make these without a shirt on, did you?”
“I guess you’ll have to watch and find out.”
“Torture!” I poke his side, and he in turn, kisses me. He aims for my cheek, but he gets my lips when I turn at the exact moment he leans in.
“This is fun. Thanks, if I forget ... like inPretty Woman.”
“I got you.”
