Page 14 of Praised By the Lumberjack

Tears gather in her eyes, but her smile is radiant. "Flint..."

I slide from the bench onto one knee, not caring about the damp ground soaking through my jeans. All that matters is this woman, this moment. I pull the ring box from my pocket and open it, revealing the sapphire and diamond ring that reminded me of her eyes the moment I saw it.

"I know it's fast," I acknowledge, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I know people will say we're crazy. But I've never been more certain of anything. When you know, you know. And I want to build a life with you, Hazel. I want to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want to cheer you on as you hit targets, literal and metaphorical. I want to be the man who sees all of you and loves every inch, every layer, every contradiction." I take a breath, my voice growing thick with emotion. "Hazel, will you marry me?"

Time seems suspended as I wait for her answer. The world narrows to just her face—those expressive blue eyes, wide with surprise and shining with tears, those soft lips, parted slightly in wonder, and those freckles dancing across her nose as her expression shifts from shock to joy.

"Yes," she whispers, and then louder, "Yes, Flint. Of course, yes."

Relief and happiness explode through me like fireworks. I slide the ring onto her finger with hands that are somehow steady despite the earthquake of emotion inside me.

I rise from my knee and pull her up with me, lifting her off her feet and spinning us in a circle of pure joy. Her laughter mingles with mine, bright and free in the morning air. When I set her down, I cup her face in my hands, thumbs gently wiping away the happy tears that spill down her cheeks.

"You've made me the happiest man alive," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion.

"And you've shown me what it means to be loved," she replies, placing her hand over my heart. I wonder if she can feel how it beats for her now, how it always will.

I kiss her. When we finally part, I rest my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in the cool morning air.

"So," I say, unable to resist teasing her a little. "Do you think you'll keep throwing axes after we're married? You were getting pretty good."

She laughs, the sound like music. "Only if you promise to keep calling me a good girl when I hit the target," she replies, her cheeks flushing that perfect pink.

"Always," I promise, my voice dropping to the low tone I know sends shivers through her. "You'll always be my good girl, Hazel. In the axe-throwing lanes and everywhere else."

eight

Hazel

Two years later...

Therhythmicthwackofaxes hitting targets fills the air of Timber!, mingling with cheers and laughter. I adjust my stance, take a deep breath, and focus on the bullseye across the lane. The familiar weight of the axe balances perfectly in my hand—no longer foreign, now an extension of myself.

"You've got this, Hazel," Flint calls from the sidelines, where he coaches our team with the same passion he once used to coach me alone.

I bring the axe back, visualizing the perfect throw just as he taught me two years ago. The motion is fluid now, practiced through countless hours of training. The axe spins through the air and embeds itself dead center with a satisfying thunk.

"That's my girl!" Flint's voice carries over the crowd's cheers, and I turn to him with a grin, accepting high-fives frommy teammates—The Timber Vixens, the all women's team I somehow ended up captaining.

Who would have thought that shy Hazel—the woman who nearly impaled herself on her first throw—would now be leading the top-ranked women's team in the Pacific Northwest Axe-Throwing League? Certainly not me.

Lisa, now one of our star throwers, bumps my shoulder. "Captain's living up to her reputation," she teases, her axe ready for her turn.

I step back, watching as she takes her position. My fingers absently twist my wedding band—the simple gold circle that pairs with the engagement ring I never take off, even during competitions. Some things change dramatically; others remain constant, like Flint's steadfast presence in my life, his unwavering belief in me, and his praise still makes my heart flutter and my body warm.

The journey from that first disastrous date night to today has been nothing short of transformative. After winning the couples' casual league six months into our marriage, Flint suggested I might enjoy competing more seriously. At first, I laughed at the idea. Me? Competitive axe-thrower? But he saw something in me I couldn't yet see myself.

"You have natural talent, Hazel," he insisted one night as we practiced in our backyard, the target illuminated by string lights we'd hung together. "But more importantly, you have determination. When you set your mind to something, you don't give up."

He was right.

When Timber! decided to sponsor a women's team, and Flint suggested I join. I did, expecting to be the weakest link. Instead, I found a community of women who, like me, had discovered unexpected strength in themselves through this unusual sport. They elected me captain after our third competition when mysteady throws and calm under pressure helped secure our first victory.

Lisa's axe hits just left of center, and she curses under her breath. "So close!"

"Adjust your follow-through," I suggest gently. "You're releasing a fraction too early."

She nods, accepting the coaching with the same grace I once did from Flint. The parallels aren't lost on me—how I've stepped into his role in some ways, finding joy in helping others discover their potential, in watching confidence bloom where uncertainty once lived.

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