Miss.
“Shit.” Annabelle snorts, and I scowl at her over my shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m working on it.”
“I’m laughingwithyou,” she lies. “Come on, Harris. At this rate, you’re going to be the comedic relief of the festival.”
Fantastic.
Exactly what I want.
To be remembered as the lumberjack who couldn’t split wood to save his life.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I almost ignore it, but something about the timing makes me pause. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
Lucy:
So. I’ve been thinking . . .
I blink at the message, the axe suddenly forgotten in my hand.
About me, obviously,I type back, smirking as I wait for her response. She’s going to be so irritated.
When it comes, I can’t help but chuckle.
I’m about to respond when Annabelle claps her hands behind me, snapping me back to reality. “Hi. Remember me? I hate to remind you that we have a show to do in a mere matter of days—so unless that text is someone giving you step-by-step instructions on how to chop wood, I suggest you focus.”
Jeez. What a hard-ass.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, my thoughts still half on Lucy. “One more try.”
I raise the axe again, trying to shake off the mental image of Lucy smirking at me through the screen, teasing me the way she always does. This time, I focus on the damn log and swing with everything I’ve got.
Crack. The axe buries itself halfway through the wood, but it doesn’t split cleanly. It sits there, mocking me like the universe wants to test my patience.
“Better,” Annabelle says, her tone somewhere between encouragement and pity. “We might make a lumberjack out of you yet.”
I doubt that.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead, laughing under my breath. “Or I’ll be the cautionary tale for future recruits.”
She taps the clipboard in her hand, smirking. “Either way, you’ll be remembered.”
Little does she know this will probably be all over the evening news, once people realize who it is making an ass of himself.
The guys around me are still going strong, splitting logs like pros, while I contemplate whether to throw my axe into the lake.
“Wally is a fucking show-off.” I can’t stand that dumbass.
Huffing, I swing the axe again. This time, it grazes the log and sends a sharp vibration up my arms. I grit my teeth as Wally splits another log effortlessly and grins over at me like he’s the king of the goddamn town festival.
“Ihatethat guy,” I grumble to Annabelle as I shoot him a glare, tempted to tackle him as a reminder to him who therealathlete is—then remember no one knows I am who I am.
These dudes do not follow football, or they would be fawning all over me, period.
That oughta give me some satisfaction, but it doesn’t.
Annabelle laughs, grinning as she marks something on her clipboard. “You know, if you hate him this much, maybe you should beat him in the axe-throwing competition. Show him who’s boss.”
I smirk at the thought but quickly shake it off. “If today’s any indication, I’d probably end up killing someone in the crowd by accident.”
