Page 4 of Aching for the Lumbersnack
As soon as he walked out the door, I closed and locked it, resting my back against as I slid to the floor in a dreamlike state.
Who the hell is that man and why is he so fucking hot?
For the restof the week, I hoped to see Banks’s name pop up on my schedule or for him to stop by, tell me if he liked the lotions, see how he was doing, but nothing.
The man gave me nothing but silence. But what did I expect? That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?
I gave him a list of other massage therapists and sent him on his way. What the hell was he supposed to think?
I finished my shift at work, said goodbye to Lacey and Sadie, who I’d recently become closer to, and checked in with my parents and younger brother, Aiden, who still lived a few towns over. But after scoring the job at the spa, I moved to Appleridge, renting a small cabin on the mountainside. It was quiet and secluded and I loved it.
The past month I spent redecorating and making it feel more like a little piece of comfort waiting for me after a long day.
Tonight, I stopped at the market, picking up things to make myself a dinner of made from scratch tomato soup and grilledcheese with thick sliced bread and thick slices of cheddar cheese. The rain started on my way over, a distinct chill in the air, which called for warm, comforting foods.
“Looks nasty out there already.” Maise said as she rang out my groceries. The first day I shopped here, she introduced herself and since then we always made small talk while I checked out.
“It’s the chill in the air. Perfect night for soup.”
“I agree. Let me know how it comes out.” Maise smiled as she handed me my bag.
The rain came down hard as I walked outside, carrying my bag of groceries in my arm. I stepped off the curb and suddenly went airborne, my groceries flying in every direction as my ass hit the ground hard.
I sat there, the wetness seeping in through my pants, my knees and elbows screaming in pain, my tomatoes rolling down the sidewalk, the heavy cream busted open and leaking, in complete shock. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, as reality set in. I fell on my ass.
“Oh my God, miss, are you okay?”
“Should I call for help?”
“Can you get up? Here, I’ll gather your groceries for you.”
Voices and questions floated around my head, but all I could think about was how badly my knees hurt.
“Delilah? Are you okay? Shit, what happened?”
Banks’s voice washed over me, and I froze, white hot panic filling my veins.
Banks? What the hell is he doing here?
And then I burst into tears.
CHAPTER THREE
Banks
The rain fell hardas I sprinted through the parking lot towards the town market. The day had been long, wet, and muddy and I was tired and in desperate need of a hot shower.
But as soon as I saw Delilah on the ground, time stopped. My heart skidded to a stop and my breath caught in my throat.
The thought of her hurt made me want to switch places with her, protect her, and take the pain away.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, not caring if the ground was wet. “Delilah? Are you okay? Shit, what happened?”
When her eyes met mine, she choked out a sob and tears leaked down her cheeks.
Without a second thought, I scrambled to my feet and took over cleaning up the groceries with the help of another person who supplied me with a reusable bag for all the items. Then I kneeled down once more, and I scooped her into my arms. I stood up and looked around at the small crowd of people. “Thanks, guys. I’ll take it from here.” I said before heading backtoward my truck, my reason for stopping at the market forgotten about.
Delilah slipped her arms around my neck and buried her wet face into my chest as I jogged over to the passenger side of my truck. I set her down gently, unlocked the doors, and helped her inside, closing the door before hurrying around to my side. I grabbed the first aid kit from the back seat and climbed behind the wheel. “Damn, that rain is cold.” I said as I started the engine and turned up the heat. I picked up a dry towel from the back seat and offered it to her, grabbing another for myself to wipe off. Being a lumberjack meant being prepared, as accidents and unexpected weather liked to rear their ugly heads often.
