Page 26 of Say It Isn't Snow
“Oh, come on,” I say with a sigh.
“Need my help?”
I whirl around at the deep, smoky offer to find Caleb leaning a shoulder against the porch column with a mug set on the railing in front of him. He’s watching me with the hint of a smirk, arms folded. He’s the picture of a casual, laid-back mountain man. I do my best to ignore how nice his muscled arms look pulling his sweater taut.
“How long have you been there?” I ask.
“Only a minute.” His eyes dance with humor and satisfaction. “My face is attractive, huh?”
“No,” I snap too quickly.
His grin spreads slowly. “Whatever you say, sugar cookie.”
Greta’s attitude changes immediately from dour to excited as she comes back from exploring. She cackles, flapping her wings and waddling to him. He meets her halfway, crouching with a fond, crooked smile.
“Hi, pretty girl.” He strokes her back.
“Of course you want the heartbreaker,” I mutter.
“Heartbreaker?” Caleb repeats.
I didn’t mean for him to overhear the nickname I’ve been calling him by for years in my head. Crossing my arms, I lift my chin.
“Yeah. That’s you.”
“I see,” he muses. “Well, we have to fix that. Don’t we, Greta?”
He acts like it’ll be so easy. As if he already knows his odds of getting into my pants is a done deal.
Cocky ass.
No matter how much he flirts with me, or makes me food, or acts all cool and swoonworthy—it’s not happening. I have a perfectly working vibrator in my luggage. I don’t need him.
I rest the axe against the stump and stretch. Despite not having much to show for it, my arms twinge from the workout.
“Come take a break, tough girl. I made you this to warm you up.” He nods to the steaming mug he left on the railing.
My mouth purses to the side. I take him up on it, only because I’m cold.
Greta hisses in warning at my approach, arching her neck to stare me down with one eye. She puffs up her feathers to appear more intimidating.
I freeze. “Is she going to attack me?”
“I’d never let that happen. But she can be a little, uh…possessive of me, I guess.” He covers his mouth, obviously hiding how hilarious he finds it.
This is what my life has come to. Beefing with a territorial goose that likes my ex-boyfriend better than me.
“Girl, you can have him,” I say to the goose.
Muffled laughter escapes Caleb. “Ladies, ladies. No need to fight over me. Greta, you have to be a nice goose. We like Holly. We don’t hiss at her.”
Scoffing, I return to my pitiful excuse for chopping firewood. He lets me get one more swing in before he comes over to help me dislodge it.
His hands curl around mine and his chest is a solid force at my back. My breath hitches and I’m overwhelmed by his delicious woodsy, masculine scent. With his arms surrounding me, he frees it with a firm yank.
“Let me do this. Drink your coffee before it cools down,” he says.
His tone carries a hint of authority that stirs molten heat low in my stomach. It leaves me short of breath with butterflies tickling my stomach.
