Page 16 of Love so Hot

"Two." Willow’s eyes, usually so calm, are wide and shimmering with unshed tears. Green orbs that could rival the heart of the forest itself. Is she considering letting me play the executioner?

"One." The word is barely out before her scream pierces the air, halting everything. "STOP!" And I do, the relief flooding through me like a dam burst.

The chainsaw dies in my grasp, silenced by a single plea from the girl in the branches. Willow Harper, Earth Defender and professional thorn in my side, is descending. Her movementsare less graceful now, more desperate scramble than serene glide. As her feet touch the ground, the police are upon her, handcuffs glinting in the sun.

"Sorry," I say, shrugging as I hand the chainsaw back to the worker. "But I called you in for trespassing." It's true, but the words taste like ash on my tongue.

Willow doesn’t utter a sound as they guide her away, but those teary green eyes lock onto mine, and it's like she's shouting without saying a word. There's an ache in my chest, an unfamiliar twist in the pit of my stomach. What is this? Guilt? Regret? No, it can't be.

I shove the feelings aside, bury them under layers of sarcasm and self-assurance. Still, something lingers, a whisper of doubt that wasn't there before—a crack in my armor, courtesy of one weeping Willow.

Turning to face the horde of vultures—sorry, journalists—I brace myself for the onslaught of questions. "So, what's the game plan now, huh? You still gonna chop down our dear friend, the oak?"

I stifle a yawn, feigning a stretch. "You know, it's been one heck of a day. And yeah, apparently this tree is the Groot to their Guardians of the Galaxy, so we're taking a time-out." I throw in a wink for good measure. "Let's see if we can't hash out a truce with the green brigade."

Nods and murmurs ripple through the press like they've just witnessed some miracle of diplomacy. If only they knew.

"Are you considering alternative sites for the pipeline?" another reporter fires off.

"Whoa, whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves," I chuckle, backing away. "One eco-crisis at a time."

My loafers crunch against the gravel as I stroll to my gas-guzzling chariot, feeling the gazes of the crowd on me like I'm some kind of eco-savior. Ha! The irony.

Before I can slip into the driver's seat and escape, my phone buzzes. It's Emily. "Well played" is the first thing she says when I answer, her voice a smooth purr of satisfaction. She always did have a knack for making even bad news sound like a Grammy acceptance speech.

"Wasn't my first rodeo," I reply, slumping into the leather seat with a smirk. "And hey, look at that, maybe I've got a heart after all, right?"

She laughs, that controlled, melodic sound. "Are you going ahead with the tree removal later?" There's a hint of something in her voice, like she's testing the waters.

"Absolutely," I start confidently, but then the image of Willow's aqua-green hair and those tear-streaked cheeks flashes before my eyes. My throat tightens. I hate it when my conscience decides to crash the party. "But..." I trail off, unsure why I'm hesitating.

"Something on your mind?" Emily's voice pulls me back, laced with curiosity.

"Ah, nothing," I shake my head, forcing the uncertainty down where it belongs. "Just thinking about the optics.”

"Of course," she replies, though I can tell she's smirking on the other end. "Keep me posted."

"Will do," I say, ending the call. I sit there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the dashboard as the sounds of the dispersing crowd fade. Great, now I'm getting sentimental over trees and protestor puppy eyes. Get it together.

With a grunt, I press "Start" on the ignition, the engine roaring to life, drowning out the whispers of doubt. Time to get back to civilization; there's a cold drink with my name on it waiting somewhere, and definitely not a single leafy oak tree in sight.

Chapter Nine

Lawrence

I don't even glancein the direction of my office as I leave that tree-hugging circus behind. The allure of Greenwood Hollow's rustic postcard charm is lost on me, but I've got to admit, some savvy souls have figured out there's gold in them hills. Mountain real estate gold, to be exact. So, I find myself trudging back to my current abode—a rental that costs more per month than most folks' yearly salary—because when it comes to escaping the simple life fanfare, I spare no expense.

As I step through the door of the mountain home I've temporarily claimed as mine, it's clear someone had a field day with an architectural magazine and an unlimited budget. The place is a behemoth of modern design, all sharp angles and vast spaces, like living inside a piece of abstract art. Large glass panels stretch from floor to ceiling, offering a view that's supposed to make your heart do somersaults—endless rolling hills dipping and rising, a kaleidoscope of greens and browns, with the sun playing peekaboo behind the peaks.

"Pretty," I mutter begrudgingly, because while I'm not here to join the local chapter of nature enthusiasts, I can appreciate a good sunset when it's framed just right. It doesn't mean I'm going soft; just that I know how to enjoy the finer things in life. Like this mansion in the mountains—my temporary fortress of solitude, shielding me from small-town gossip and giving me room to breathe. Well, as long as the air isn't too thick with the smell of pine needles and misplaced idealism.

Smirking at my own cynicism, I saunter deeper into my rental retreat, ready to shake off the absurdity of the day.

I stride over to the wet bar, the clink of bottles greeting me like an old friend. A quick scan, and I settle on a bourbon that looks expensive enough to forget my troubles—or at least make them blurry around the edges. Glass in hand, I turn toward the floor-to-ceiling windows just as the sun decides to put on its final evening show. The fading light drapes the trees in golds and ambers, a display so stunning even a hardened city-slicker like me can’t help but pause.

"Drink up," I toast to the forest, "because tomorrow we start the countdown to your timber-tastic transformation." I take a swig, letting the liquid heat trickle down my throat. The quiet presses in, the kind of silence that makes you realize just how alone you are. But it's a familiar feeling, one I’ve learned to live with. Loneliness has always been a part of the deal—nature of the beast in my world. I’m not immune to the beauty surrounding me, but sentiment doesn’t pay the bills. I push the ache in my chest down, where it belongs. Nature has its price, and I’m here to collect.

The grit of the outdoors clings to me. I shake my head, the bourbon making warm patterns in my stomach, and decide it's time to wash away the grime of nature. Up the stairs I go, each step taking me further from the world outside and closer to my own lavish haven.

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