Page 9 of Stitch & Steel
I stormed down the trail.
She spun toward me just as I ripped the chainsaw out of her hands.
“Hey!” she yelled. “What is your problem?”
“You,” I growled. “And this thing. And your complete lack of self-preservation.”
“I wasfine.”
“You wereten secondsfrom losing a kneecap.”
She crossed her arms, glaring. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Too bad. You’ve got it.”
I turned, stomped back to my truck, and grabbed the machete I kept in the back. Walked straight back down and started swinging. Brush fell. Sap flew. I didn’t stop until the path was clear all the way to the creek.
When I looked up, Bella was still standing there. Dirt on her cheek. Arms crossed. Breathing fast.
She looked like she wanted to scream.
And maybe also like she wanted to kiss me.
“Don’t say it,” I muttered.
“I wasn’t going to thank you.”
“Didn’t expect you to.”
We stood there, silent.
She shifted her weight, eyes flicking toward the porch. “I guess… you want some iced tea or something?”
I paused.
That wasn’t a no.
I stepped forward, slow and steady like she might spook if I moved too fast. “You always offer drinks to guys who steal your chainsaws?”
She shot me a look. “Only the ones who come bearing machetes or fix my car. But I’m keeping my clothes on.”
I grunted, half-smirking as I followed her up the steps. She opened the screen door and disappeared inside, bare feet padding across the hardwood.
I shut the door behind me, wiping sweat and sap from my hands with a rag I had tucked in my back pocket. The cabin was tidy, but lived-in. Books stacked on every flat surface. A vase of wildflowers sat on the kitchen windowsill, backlit by sunlight cutting through the trees.
She poured two glasses of iced tea, ice clinking loud in the quiet.
I took mine from her fingers—cool, slender, and just a little unsteady.
“You always this jumpy?” I asked.
She lifted her chin. “Only when strange men crash into my afternoon yard work and start acting like Paul Bunyan.”
I barked a short laugh and took a sip. Sweet tea. Southern and perfect.
Bella fidgeted with her glass, gaze darting to the table and back to me. “Do you…” she paused, clearly regretting the words before they even left her mouth, “do you play cards?”
I raised a brow. “Cards?”
