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Axe-Rated Lumberjack

Page 8

by Annee Jones

“You’re the woman from the turnout.”

His voice washed over me, warm and deep enough to make the back of my neck grow hot.

I stood a little too quickly and nearly knocked my knee against the table.

“Yes. Peyton Appleby.” I offered my hand. “And before we discuss anything else, I owe you an apology.”

He looked at my hand for a moment, then took it.

His palm was broad and warm, with calluses that scraped lightly against my skin.

“Hudson Hewitt,” he said. “Although I guess you know that now.”

I managed a small smile. “I do. And I’m sorry I recorded you without permission. I should’ve asked first. I was desperate to find someone for the audiobook, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

Hudson released my hand and studied me for a moment.

“I appreciate you saying that. Getting a call at work from a man who claimed somebody had recorded my voice and wanted to pay me to read a dragon book wasn’t exactly how I expected my Thursday to go.”

“I imagine not.”

“And then he told me the woman responsible was standing near our service road looking like she’d escaped from a library.”

I blinked.

“Escaped from a library?”

His mouth curved.

“Well, you didn’t look like you were out there shopping for logging equipment.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

“That’s fair. Although for the record, librarians are perfectly capable of appreciating heavy machinery.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He slid into the seat opposite mine, and I sat down again, considerably more aware of how small the booth suddenly seemed.

Hudson glanced at the latte beside my tablet.

“Is that pumpkin spice?”

“Yes. Apparently, I become terribly predictable when confronted with an autumn beverage menu.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Half the town’s been living on pumpkin everything since September.”

I reached for my drink just as I pushed my glasses back into place. My sleeve caught the edge of the cup, tipping it toward my coat, which I’d folded beside me.

I caught the cup before it went over completely, but a splash of warm latte landed on the dark wool.

“Oh, wonderful.”

Hudson was already reaching for the napkin holder.

“Here. Looks like your coat took most of it.”

“Thank you. I promise I’m usually much better at coordinating my limbs.”