I adjust my grip and bring the axe down with a grunt.
Thunk.
“You know you’re using that thing wrong, right?” She taps her foot on the lawn.
“Jesus, woman,” I complain. “You want to do it?”
She folds her arms and cocks her hip. “Don’t come for me. I think I know a bit more about this than you do.” She barely pauses before continuing. “You’re holding the handle too low, and your stance is off. You’re muscling through it like a caveman. No finesse.” She steps closer, eyeing my sad little woodpile. “It’s not about brute force. It’s about balance. Precision.”
“Is that right?”She is so fucking bossy.“Please, enlighten me.”
“Do you actually want me to show you?”
No. But I gesture with my hand for her to step closer, holding the axe out. “By all means. Be my guest.”
She marches over and yanks the axe out of my hand like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Watch and learn,” she says, rolling her shoulders and squaring off like she’s about to swing a baseball bat instead of split a log.
“This should be good.” I’m not mocking her—swear I’m not.
She plants her feet, adjusts her grip, and wiggles her ass. Then—without so much as a grunt—she lifts the axe, swings, andcrack—splits the log clean down the center like some kind of sexy woodland assassin.
“Boom,” she says, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her shoulder. “There we go.”
My jaw might actually be hanging open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Annabelle extends the axe, and I take it.
I blink over at her perfectly halved log. Then at her. “How do you know how to do that?”
She shrugs. “Fall Fest. I managed four lumberjacks without a single lost limb. You think I didn’t learn a trick or two?”
I rake a hand through my hair, still processing. “I’ve never been so humbled.”Or so turned on at the same time ...
My cabinmate regards me. “What do you need firewood for, anyway? It’s warm outside.”
There was an axe. I wanted to chop stuff. Roar out my frustrations into the woods.
IAm Man,Hear Me Roar.
You know, manly shit.
I hobble back to the woodpile with the axe and take up the same stance Annabelle had, hoist the axe, and take another swing.
I miss. She giggles.
I scowl at her over my shoulder. “I could do without the audience.” The last thing I want is her watching and judging and criticizing my technique.
“Unfortunately for you, I have nowhere to be.”
Dammit! “Why don’t you mosey on next door and get like—a spa treatment or something?” The axe hangs in my hand uselessly.
She snorts. “A spa treatment? I had no idea there was a resort so close to the cabin, or I probably wouldn’t have rented this place. It’s been one surprise after the next, hasn’t it?”
That is putting it mildly.
“Watching you is way more entertaining—no offense.”
Some taken. I shift my grip, settle into a better stance—like she showed me—and try again. This time, the axe actually lands on the log, but then sort of ... bounces off.
