“Oooh, foot massage.” Stacey sounds downright giddy and begins wiggling to try and stand up in her bath.
“Woah there, mama!” Rylee pops to her feet, naked and muddy, to rush to Stacey’s aid so fast that she nearly trips herself. “Take it easy. Owen’s going to have our asses if you come back with even a bruise.”
“All right, all right,” Stacey nods, accepting Rylee’s hand as she steps out of her tub. “Sorry, I got excited. My feet are so swollen, I look like I’m walking around in clown shoes.”
A quick glance at her feet shows me that’s not in fact true. They may be a bit swollen, but they’re still quite dainty.
We all get out of the mud and follow the attendant as she leads us into a separate room with rows of large, individual showers. There are shampoos, conditioners, and body washes sitting in little caddies in each stall. One even has a bench where Stacey can sit as she rinses herself off.
As I step under the hot spray of my shower to wash away the thick layer of smooth mud coating my skin, I push away all thoughts of men and loneliness, doing my best to ignore that feeling of longing that continues thumping deep in my chest. I’m going to enjoy this weekend with my friends, and I’m not going to worry about what’s waiting for me at home.
All too soon, I’ll be back with my family, fighting to prove my worth and abilities, all while dodging the uptight suitors my mom constantly throws my way.
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE LUMBERJACK AESTHETIC
WILDER
The snow is falling harder,and the wind is whipping it into my face.Thisis why men have beards. It’s probably the only thing keeping my face from freezing like Jack Nicholson inThe Shining.
Zander trudges along behind me, his own beard catching snowflakes and making him look more and more like a ripped Santa Clause.
“Are we even going in the right direction?” he asks.
I look back at him with a raised brow. “We’re goinguphill.Towardtrees.It’s not complex navigation, Dora.”
“My toes are going numb.”
“That’s called consequences. You should’ve brought better boots.”
He waves his hands in the air, swatting at the snow. “This snow is like… personal. It’s aggressively snowingat me.”
I chuckle. “The weather isn’t targeting you, princess.”
“You can’tprovethat.”
“Well, if it is targeting you, you must’ve done something really bad to piss Mother Nature off. What happened? You piss in a sacred stream or something?”
He actually looks thoughtful for a moment. “No… no, I didn’t. Definitely not.”
“I don’t love that you’re actually thinking about that.”
My mind won’t stop thinking about my poor turkey back at the house, alone and vulnerable with the Three Stooges. Instead of freezing my ass off, I should be back in the cabin’s kitchen, cooking it myself. All the time I spent with Mrs. Clay learning how to prepare the perfect bird…Thanksgiving is her favorite holiday, so we really focused on turkey, but now I’m wondering if it would’ve been better to just get a pre-cooked ham instead. Even those boneheads couldn’t mess that up.
Adjusting the ax on my shoulder — which we found in a storage shed outside the house — I look around, trying to spot a tree that would fit in the living room.
“Have you ever cut down a tree before?” Zander asks, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
“Nope.”
“Really? You look like a fucking lumberjack,” Zander snorts. “Yet you’ve never cut down a tree?”
“It’s an aesthetic," I grumble. “Looking like I could do something and actually doing it are two very different things. Like Carson looks like he should know how to do his taxes, but he has to use his fingers to count past ten. And why are you so shocked about me? Haveyouever done this?”
“Nope.”
I let out a short chuckle. “Well, great. This should go flawlessly.”
Zander snorts. “Oh, yeah. As long as we don’t kill ourselves, I’ll consider this a rousing success.”
