Lifting my head off the ground, I stared down my body to find the towel no longer covering what it should have been covering.
Cursing, I whipped the towel over my lap and scrambled up. Once it was secure and I was certain no breeze could get in, I peered around the prickly green bush to the sidewalk.
No one was there.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I stepped back out, heading toward my truck.
Seconds later, the side door opened, and two students stepped out. Girls. Girls from a few of my classes. One of whom I was considering asking to prom.
“Uh, Archer? What are you doing?” she asked.
I swallowed, gripping the towel tighter around my waist. “Heading to my truck.”
“I think you forgot to get dressed,” her friend said.
Both girls giggled.
“Didn’t forget. Someone thought it’d be fun to steal my clothes.”
“Boys are so immature,” the friend said. My would-be date nodded emphatically.
Forget prom. I’d just stay home.
“Well, gotta go,” I said and sprinted past, the towel flapping.
Behind me, the girls erupted into laughter, and I ran faster.
The moment my truck came into view, I sighed in relief. The gravel under my feet was painful and made me walk like an old man, but I picked my way across it and lifted the key to unlock the door.
Except it was already unlocked.
Frowning, I pulled it open.
My clothes were on the seat, my bag beside them.
Letting out a relieved grunt, I grabbed my hoodie and quickly pulled it over my head, grabbing at the hem to pull it down.
Except… where the hell was the hem?! Confused, I glanced down, thinking it was caught inside itself. It wasn’t.
Someone had crudely hacked it into a crop top.
I let out a curse and climbed into the truck, the towel pulling as I sat down. Grunting, I grabbed my duffle to lay on my lap and cover what the towel was not. It was then that I noticed the yellow sticky note stuck to the zipper.
Plucking it up, I looked at the note written in a handwriting I knew far too well.
Tit for tat.
I glanced down at my ruined hoodie, noticing one of my pecs was out. I balled the note into my fist, tossed it onto the floorboard, and started my truck. Was this about the cream puffs? He’d gone too far.
If he wanted war, I’d give him one.
Present Day…
The Yuletide bonfirewas something I started about six years ago as a way to bring more business to the farm. The season wasalready our busiest. I mean, we primarily grew Christmas trees, but why not capitalize on it even more? Even if people didn’t want a fresh-cut tree, they could visit for something from Hodge Podge or just to enjoy a holiday night out.
I personally thought of the bonfire as sort of a pregame for the mistletoe raising and tree lighting in the town square. I guess even after all these years, there was still a little football left in me after all. Or at the very least, the art of strategy I’d learned on the field. It was a good thing, though, because since we’d started it, our profits and foot traffic had increased.
So that was why I was splitting wood even as the sun started to lower in the afternoon sky. Despite it being near-freezing temperatures, I was sweating from the constant swinging of the axe. I’d already shed the quilted black vest and toboggan I was wearing and rolled the sleeves of the flannel up to my elbows.
