“I’ll do what it takes to keep the fans happy.” Harris winks at me, and I immediately regret showing up to this circus.
Annabelle appears glassy eyed, as if she’s stopped listening entirely. “Jeez, you guys! Stop!” She waves a hand in the air in defeat. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt yourself—or anyone else. Harris,I swear, if youspinthat axe again, I’m pulling you from the event. I don’t care how much the crowd loves a spectacle. It is not safe.”
Harris rests the axe carefully against the log pile, then lifts his hands in surrender and steps away. “Okay, okay. No axe showmanship. But you’re killing my creative flow, Annabelle.”
Her glare could strip paint off a wall.
I can’t help it—I laugh.
Harris hears me, of course, and whirls toward me with that smug expression plastered across his face. “See? Lucy believes in me.”
“I don’t think Lucy believes in you at all,” Bill corrects, deadpan. “That was a pity laugh.”
Harris points at him. “Keep talking and you’re off my team.”
“Team?” Bill scoffs. “Dude, for the second time today—we are not your team! We’re coworkers.”
“Enough!” Annabelle claps her hands sharply to cut them off. “Everyone back to work. I have actual things to organize that don’t involve babysitting a bunch of overgrown boys.”
She stalks off, muttering under her breath aboutliability waivers, leaving us standing in awkward silence.
I shift my feet.
Harris stretches as if he hadn’t gotten scolded. “All right, you heard her. Back to work! Someone hand me another log.” He wiggles his fingers.
“Or,” Wally suggests. “You could stop showing off and actually learn how to roll one of those things. You know—since that’s your job.”
Wally’s built like a truck—broad shoulders, tree-trunk arms, and a face that has seen one too many bar fights. His flannel shirt has the arms cut off; it’s worn and faded, displaying the kind of forearms that could split wood without an axe. Sawdust clings to his jeans, and he’s eyeing Harris like he’s trying to figure out if he’s joking or plainuseless.
Kyle is a little lean for a lumberjack but no less imposing. He’s perched with his booted feet planted wide, a hat pulled low over his sharp features. His beard is scruffy, peppered with premature gray, and when he looks up from his phone, his eyes are twinkling.
“All that fucker has done ispose,” Bill drawls, flicking a wood shaving into the lake. “Didn’t think this was a beauty contest.”
“I’m versatile,” Harris fires back, still grinning as he straightens up.
Bill snorts. “Versatile at what? Wasting time? Where the hell did they find you?”
Wally stands idly by, observing the chaos—the oldest of the group, with deep-set eyes and a voice that sounds like gravel. He’s got thickarms and a scar cutting through one eyebrow and has a menacing glower. Unlike the other two, he doesn’t bother cracking smiles or jokes.
He narrows his gaze on Harris and growls, “You think the log is gonna roll itself, pretty boy?”
Whoa.
I raise my eyebrows in response.
Harris lets out a low whistle, unbothered. “You’re a black ray of sunshine, huh?” he quips. “Who pissed you off?”
Wally grunts, grabbing a log with one hand and chucking it onto the dock, where it lands with a thud. “This isn’t summer camp, kid. Either pick up the pace or get out of the way.”
Harris tilts his head, eyeing the guy up and down. “Jeez, dude. Do you practice that stare in the mirror, or does it come naturally?”
Wally doesn’t blink. “You wanna waste time running your mouth, or you wanna learn hownotto crack your skull open?”
Kyle mutters under his breath. “I kinda wanna see him crack his skull open.”
I giggle, barely suppressing my grin. “Let’s not encourage head trauma.”
Harris holds up a hand, completely unfazed. “Relax, old man. I got this.”
