Page 6 of Wood You Knot

Dorothy, Alice, and Betty owned these streets. They were the busiest bodies in town, and they always seemed to know everything about everyone. It was a common occurrence, seeing their purple all-terrain vehicle zooming around town.

I strolled over to the doorway to the right of the hardware store and buzzed up, waiting a few minutes before a sleepy voice came on over the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sage. It’s Nix Hutchinson. We’ve got a couch here for ya.”

“Oh, right. Thank you so much,” she said, sounding more awake and buzzing us up. I pushed open the door and used the doorstopper to prop it open; then I walked back to the truck to find Parker untying the straps.

I released the straps on the other side before I grabbed the side of the couch, maneuvering it down off the truck and onto the road for a moment while Parker jumped out beside it. We picked it up, carrying it across the sidewalk and through the open door.

It was a bit of a process, but we got it up the stairwell and down the hallway. As we were moving past the first apartment door, it opened, and Mrs. Durand scowled at us as if we’d greatly inconvenienced her. I sent her an apologetic smile as we passed, and she slammed her door shut in response.

Mrs. Durand had lived in that apartment for almost four decades now. My mom told me she used to be a famous painter, with her paintings featured in galleries all over the world. Now she was a crotchety old lady who seemed to hate everyone she encountered.

I still made it a point to smile at her, even if that seemed to anger her more.

The second door was propped open, and I walked through it first.

“Just against that wall is fine, thank you,” a voice said, and my eyes were pulled immediately to its source in the kitchen.

Sage Whitaker was just as breathtaking as she’d always been. She tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear, her captivating green eyes moving from me to Parker as she smiled timidly.

I nodded—my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert. As I walked backward into the apartment, my fingers began to sweat, and my grip on the couch started to slip. We set the couch down where Sage directed. I straightened and wiped my hands on my jeans, my gaze going to the kitchen—back to her.

She looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed. She was dressed in a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms and an old band T-shirt. Even still, she took the very breath from my lungs.

It was the strangest thing, but I’d always found it a little difficult to breathe around her. It was like my body forgot how to do basic functions, like bring oxygen into my lungs. Or speak. Anything I did manage to say was usually ridiculous.I hadn’t expected to still have that problem years later.

“Thank you so much,” Sage said, her gaze going from me to Parker.

“It’s no problem at all,” I responded, grinning at Sage. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from her.

“There’s a coffee table too,” Parker said, looking at me. But I seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance, my eyes completely unwilling to tear away from Sage. “I’ll go grab it.” I barely registered my brother leaving; I was too busy searching for something witty to say.

“So I guess you’re an official resident now. Welcome to Hartwood Creek,” I said, instantly kicking myself. What a lame thing to say.

But she smiled, so it must have done the trick. “Thank you. I’m excited to be back. I’ve always loved it here.”

I was glad she was back too. Though it’d been years since I’d seen her, the moment I’d heard her name, I remembered every feeling I’d had in my adolescence over this girl. The sweaty palms, the lame jokes to make her laugh, the galloping heart rate.

I’d been curious more than anything—curious to see if any of those old feelings lingered. Apparently, they had. I still found her gorgeous and still wanted to make her laugh and smile. I took that as a good sign.

“If you feel like getting out tonight, a bunch of us are meeting up at The Quarter Lounge. You’re welcome to join.” I hoped she’d be up for it, even if it meant sharing her attention with my friends.

“Thanks, but—” Sage started to reply when she was cut off.

“Mommy?” a tiny, sleepy voice said. I turned to see a little girl standing in the hallway. She was carrying a well-loved stuffed elephant in one hand.

My gaze swivelled back to Sage. I had no idea she had a kid; my mother had failed to mention that part.

“Morning, Squirt,” Sage affectionately said to the little girl.

“Who are you?” the little girl asked, eyeing me with suspicion. She was the spitting image of her mother.

I cracked a smile. Although I didn’t have kids of my own, I was pretty good with my nieces and nephew. “I’m Phoenix Hutchinson, but you can call me Nix. What’s your name?”

“Daphne,” the little girl answered, her wide green eyes probing. “What are you doing here?”

---