“I’m being serious. Where did these enormous men come from?” Annabelle asks again. She scans the room, perched on a barstool beside me, a glass of cheap wine in her hand. They don’t serve wine at Lakeside Brew (it’s mostly microbrews and IPAs), but Ben, the owner, lets her keep a bottle behind the counter. Why? Because this is Annabelle and rules bend for her the way trees bend for the wind.
Plus, Ben wants to bang her.
“I don’t know.” I spin on my stool, pretending I don’t know who these guys are, to have a little fun with Annabelle. One of the guys is posturing three feet away, flexing his biceps as he talks. “Maybe they heard your cries for lumberjacks and came in droves.”
Annabelle snorts. “The lumberjacks I hired look nothing like this.”
Half of these behemoths are either pounding back beers or shouting across tables at each other, all testosterone and bravado. It’s not exactly the usual crowd for a sleepy night in our sleepy lake town.
My best friend leans in. “Do you think they’re a team or something? Or a beefcake contest?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “If it’s a beefcake contest, I want a front-row seat.”
“Preach.” She raises her glass. “I do feel like these guys are like cockroaches—they’re turning up everywhere.” She clinks her wineglass against mine in solidarity. “I don’t have time for testosterone-filled blowhards. Speaking of lumberjacks—I’m coordinating Fall Fest, and onlythreeof my lumberjacks have shown up for practice.”
“Know what I’ve been wondering?” I tap on the side of my drink. “Since when do they hire lumberjacks for the fall festival?”
Annabelle waves me off like I’ve completely missed the point. “Since it became trendy on the internet. We’re going to have them chop wood in flannel shirts for a live demonstration.” Her voice lowers dramatically. “Think: outdoorsy. Think: photo ops. Tourists eat that shitup.”
She’s not wrong.
We live in a popular lake town full of them; tourists appear with money and an appetite for anything giving them a real slice of quaint lake living. A little waterskiing show during the day, campfires at night—paired with an organic latte from the local café.
Suddenly they’re posting about how they’vedisconnectedandreconnectedwith nature, all while their gas-guzzling luxury SUVs sit parked a few feet away.
“Is this actually about tourists?” I roll my eyes. “Or is this an excuse for you to watch a bunch of buff guys chop wood?”
She sips her wine. “Can’t two things both be true?”
“Yes, but—”
“Listen,” Annabelle interrupts. “I paid those douchebags a deposit! Three out of eight showed up, Lucy!Three.I’m going to need more lumberjacks. Where does one evenfindmore lumberjacks?”
“You still have time for them to show,” I remind her. “The festival isn’t until next weekend, and it’s only Saturday.”
Annabelle snorts. “I’m serious, Lucy. I need these logs split, or the country charm of Fall Fest will be ruined. I’ve got, like, an aesthetic to maintain.”
“Clearly,” I tell her, keeping a straight face, but inside I’m fighting the urge to laugh. Only Annabelle would stress about theaestheticof wood chopping at a small-town festival. “What about pumpkins?”
After all, the festival is calledFallFest.
“Way too soon for those,” she says, waving me off. “It’s only September.”
The festival in Star Lake, Washington, is the town’s biggest event of the year, and Annabelle’s been planning it for months. I can’t help but visualize her wrangling eight guys from Rent-a-Lumberjack like some kind of petting zoo.
Honestly, watching her figure this out will probably be more entertaining than the festival itself.
Maybe I’ll sell tickets.
Annabelle sighs, then takes another long sip of her wine. “I swear, Lucy, if one more thing goes wrong with this festival, I’m going to lose it. Clarke Robinson was going to repaint the old sign and ended up needing stitches in his palm.”
I’m dying to ask her how painting a sign could lead to stitches but don’t want to trigger her.
“You’re not going to lose it,” I reassure her. “You’re going to rally and pull off an amazing weekend because that’s what you do. And then you’ll act like it was simple and no big deal.”
As the town’s only wedding planner, Annabelle is the most organized and creative person I know. I’m struggling to plan our friend Kiersten’s bachelorette party; I could never plan an entire event for an entiretown.
The only thing I’m good at is yoga, which doesn’t require creativity.
