Page 21 of Celebrating the Season

As we said goodbye to Auden and moved on, the cheerful clamor of the festival swelled around us once more. A glint of polished steel caught my eye, drawing my attention to a roped-off area where a group of burly men were gathering, holding axes.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said, a familiar surge of competitiveness rising in my chest. “They’ve got a wood-chopping contest.”

Boaz followed my gaze, his eyes widening. “Oh my god, El. You have to do it. Please tell me you’re going to do it.”

I chuckled, feeling a mix of excitement and hesitation. “I don’t know, it’s been a while since?—”

“Are you kidding me?” Boaz interrupted, bouncing on his toes. “This is your chance to show off those muscles of yours. Come on, big guy. Give the town a real show.”

I felt a rush of heat at his words, partly from embarrassment, partly from the way his eyes raked appreciatively over my body. “You just want to see me half-naked and sweaty, don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Boaz grinned, not even trying to deny it. “But seriously, El. You’d crush this competition. Literally.”

I glanced back at the contest area, weighing my options. I was competitive enough that if I entered, I wanted to do well. I wanted to win, especially if Boaz was watching. I studied the form of the other guys who were practicing. Some were amateurs, others wielded the axe with ease. But I was faster than that, used to working with wood.

Oh, what the hell. If Boaz wanted me to enter, who was I to say no?

“Alright.” I squared my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

Boaz let out a whoop of excitement, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the registration table. As I signed up, I could feel the old confidence settling into my bones, the kind that came from years of physical training and the knowledge of what my body was capable of.

“You know,” I said as we walked toward the staging area, “I used to do this kind of thing all the time in the Army. Kept us in shape between jumps.”

“Oh yeah?” Boaz’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Tell me more about these sweaty, shirtless Army competitions.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Not quite like that. But it was good training. Taught us precision, control.”

As I took my place in line, waiting for my turn, Boaz leaned in close. “Well, hot stuff,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “show me what your gorgeous muscles can do.”

I swallowed hard, his words sending a shiver down my spine. Damn, the kid knew how to push my buttons. “I’ll do my best.”

The sharp crack of the axe meeting wood echoed through the air as I stepped up to my log. I hefted the axe, its weight familiar and comforting in my calloused hands. The crowd’s chatter faded to a dull hum as I focused, my world narrowing to the task before me.

“Gentlemen, on your mark,” the referee called out, “get set, go!”

I swung, and the satisfying thunk of metal biting into wood sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. The scent of fresh pine filled my nostrils as wood chips flew. Each strike was precise, calculated, the product of years of practice and innate strength.

“Yeah, baby! Show that log who’s boss!” Boaz’s voice cut through my concentration, and I grinned. His enthusiasm was infectious.

I redoubled my efforts, muscles straining as I brought the axe down again and again. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each swing, but I tuned them out, focused on the rhythm of my movements and the log before me.

With a final, powerful strike, the log split clean through. I stepped back, chest heaving, as the judge raised his flag.

“Time!” he called out.

The crowd erupted in applause. I wiped the sweat from my brow, finally allowing myself to take in the scene. My eyes found Boaz in the crowd, his face lit up with a mixture of pride and something else…something that made my heart race even faster than the competition had.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner!” the announcer’s voice boomed. “Ellery Wolfe!”

I made my way to the makeshift podium, still catching my breath. The announcer handed me a trophy and a ridiculously large, fluffy polar bear stuffed animal. I stared at it for a moment, bemused, before spotting Boaz pushing his way through the crowd.

With a triumphant grin, I held out the stuffed animal. “For you.”

Boaz’s eyes widened. He reached out, taking the bear with exaggerated reverence. “Why, Mr. Wolfe,” he said, his tone mock-serious, “I do declare, no one has ever given me such a magnificent beast before.”

I snorted, unable to keep a straight face. “Just don’t expect me to win you one at every fair.”

Boaz’s serious expression cracked, and he burst into laughter, clutching the bear to his chest. “Are you kidding? This bad boy is the best prize ever. I’m naming him Ellery Junior.”

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