This can't be real.
When we've cleaned up, I'm already thinking about the shit on my house list today, mostly focused on clearing what's left of the downed tree. Which is a lot.
"Welp, you have a promise to keep me," she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"Is that right?"
"Yup. You. Shirtless. With an axe."
"Think you can handle that, peaches?" I'm pulling off my shirt and heading for the door, stuffing my feet in sneakers on the way out.
"I'll take my chances, McHotbooty."
"That's Wolf Daddy McHotbooty, Esquire, to you." I trot down the stairs and to the shed, finding my splitting axe and a wedge along with all the rest of my tools. I pick a thick slab of trunk to start with and roll it toward the steps of the house where Molly is sitting with Scout in her lap, sparkling eyed and amused.
"Talk me through it, coach. I wanna learn how."
I know exactly what she wants. Smirking, I nudge it over onto its side and grab the wedge in one hand and the axe in the other, holding it near the head, sharp end up.
"Anything you want." I smooth a hand over the face of the wood, stroking it. "You know, it looks real simple, but there's a technique to it. First, you need the right tool." I heft the axe. "For a piece this big, you gotta have one big enough to get the job done." I flex ridiculously for show, kiss my bicep to her laughter.
"Now, you want to find the right spot." Again I stroke the wood. "Look for the split, the weak point. Then, it's all about stance." I plant my feet, demonstrating. "Wide. Stable. Solid base." I give her a hot look.
"I'm learning so much," she says, flushed.
"Key is letting it drop. Don't force it. Let gravity do the work." I raise the axe, slide my lower hand down the handle, grip, scrunch, bring it down clean, perfect. The wood splits with a satisfying crack. "See? Hit it just right--" I kick the smaller pieces aside. "Splits wide open."
She fans herself. "Is it hot out here?"
"Little bit." I pick up the biggest of the pieces off and stand it on top of the block. "Now, see how thick this one is?" I run my hand over it. "Gonna take more effort. But the bigger they are--"Crack. "The harder they fall."
"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Just being thorough."
"Educational even."
"That's me. Always teaching." I take another swing.Crack.
Now I'm just showing off, splitting the big piece into smaller ones getting into the rhythm, the repetition satisfying. My muscles are working, sweat beading. I stop to wipe sweat from my brow, knowing she's watching that too, thinking about how I'm gonna fuck her all dirty like this and then wash her off in the shower.
This can't be real.
"Trick, peaches, is consistency. Same motion, over and over."Crack. "Find your rhythm and stick with it."
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Doing what?"Crack. "Just explaining my process."
I stop mid setup, look over at her sitting there in the perfect morning light, the perfect moment, the perfect woman. My chest aches so bad, I can't breathe for a second. I go back to my task, smiling like a fucking idiot.
"What are you smiling about?" She asks, curious and warm.
"Nothing, just…" I look at her again. "Nice morning."
The sound of a car engine precedes the crunch of gravel, and I pause, mid swing as a car pulls into the drive. I can't see who's inside the Subaru, but when I look at Molly, cold uncertainty trickles through me. Because she's shocked. Frustrated. Worried.
I see every emotion pass across her pale face, her body tense, eyes wide.
