Page 44 of Wood Riddance
Chapter14
Adele
Friday. Thank Jesus. An entire week of Finn Goddamn Hebert up in my space. My shop was my sanctuary. The place ran efficiently, and I loved my team. We had our routines and our checklists and our traditions.
But now we had a surly Viking in our midst, and everything was being destroyed. He barely spoke, and he spent all his time either playing with his drone outside or talking to Henri. But I couldn’t shake the feel of his gaze on my skin, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but him.
I had started wearing mascara to work. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Not at all. More like a subconscious compulsion. And I hated myself for it.
I was not that woman. I did not wear makeup at work.
This was my safe space. In this building, I was the boss. I was capable and powerful. I could escape the bullshit that tainted the rest of my life. The depressing dates, my ticking biological clock, and that crushing feeling of loneliness that sometimes crept in when things got tough.
Mascara was a betrayal. Like an admission that he was here. And there was a part of me, deep down, that felt like a coat of shit on my eyelashes would help me face him day in and day out.
Shit, I should go back to therapy. Clearly, I was cracking up.
I’d cut the crew loose at four. It was a beautiful mid-July night, and we were, as usual, ahead of schedule. Plus, I desperately needed some time alone.
I left He-Man sleeping on his bed in my office and headed out back, past the puppy play area, to one of the shipping containers.
A few years ago, I’d converted it. I’d run lights and I’d set up a makeshift gym here. But recently, I’d added something new.
My axes.
Once in a while, Henri came out and threw with me. He was good. Not as good as me, but he put up a fight. He was the one who’d convinced me to replace the old particle board with proper wooden targets, complete with regulation-size bull’s-eyes.
A rack with the throwing axes, a stone for sharpening, and a whiteboard for keeping score were mounted along one wall.
Phone in hand, I flipped on my “Angry Feminist” playlist on Spotify, then set it on the floor near the wall and warmed up.
Some people did yoga, others took baths, but me? Throwing bladed instruments was what calmed me. This was my Zen time.
Focus and precision were paramount. Controlled breathing was an absolute must as I prepared for each throw. It forced my body into a state of calm clarity, thus easing my mind and all the tumultuous thoughts swirling inside it.
Tonight, I needed it more than usual.
“You’re really good at that.”
Turning, axe still raised, I came face to face with Finn Fucking Hebert. As if my day hadn’t been shitty enough.
He took a step back and threw his hands up to shield himself. “Easy, She-Ra. I come in peace.”
Lowering my axe, I scowled at him. Dammit. There went the sense of peace I’d just harnessed. “Do you need something?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No. I forgot my phone charger, so I came back. Found He-Man, but not She-Ra. Then I heard a noise back here and figured I should investigate.”
Ihmphed, annoyed. Maybe more with myself than I was with him. My brain was sending signals reminding my body that he was intruding on a sacred moment for me and that I should want nothing more than for him to skedaddle his way out of here, but my heart was a little bruised. Because he wasn’t here for me. He’d only returned because he’d left his phone charger behind.
“It’s me. You can go away now.”
“Can I watch?”
“No.” I flipped my axe in my hand, refusing to look at him and willing my body not to react to his desire to be near me.
“Why not?” he asked, taking a step forward and crowding the entire space.
As a woman, I was constantly being reminded that the world believed I should take up as little space as possible. Finn Hebert clearly believed he’d been given the opposite instruction. The container was only eight feet wide, and his massive frame practically filled every inch, leaving me surrounded by his maleness. It was annoying, and it totally ruining my planned meditation.
