Page 81 of Caught in the Axe
My mom was making popcorn when tires crunched on the gravel out front. I hauled myself off the couch and peered through the curtains. Instantly, I had to do a double take. Owen had parked his Audi next to my van in our tiny driveway. Just the sight of him had my heart pounding out a joyful rhythm in my chest.
I was bare faced and wearing old sweats. They weren’t the cute kind of sweats that made my ass look great. No, these were an oversized pair that were extra soft and terribly faded from hundreds of washes.
Could I hide in my room? Pretend I wasn’t home? Even as my heart leaped at his presence, my stomach knotted.
God, I was regressing. This man had appeared, and suddenly, I’d been reduced to an insecure teenager.
“Who’s out front, sweetie?” Mom called from the kitchen.
Without responding, I grabbed a fleece from the hook beside the front door, stuffed my feet into a pair of wellies, and headed outside. Obviously, my desire to see him had won out over my vanity.
When I opened the door, he smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to intrude. I know it’s girls’ day. I just wanted to check on you.”
My stomach dipped at his thoughtfulness. And did he have to be so damn attractive?
“And I wanted to drop these off.” He leaned into thecar and stretched over to the passenger seat. When he straightened, he was holding a small pink box tied haphazardly with string.
I wandered out to meet him and took it. Immediately, I was hit with the most heavenly smell.
“They’re gluten-free scones. Cranberry orange.” He ducked his head and kicked at the dirt with a well-worn work boot I’d never seen him wear. “I figured they would go well with your tea.”
I cocked my head and frowned, processing his words. “Did you—” I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed, hoping when I spoke again, my voice wouldn’t sound so crazed. “Did you make these?”
He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Got a good recipe on the internet. Not a big deal.”
I blinked, as if that would somehow make this make sense. “You baked for me?” My inner lovesick teen girl was squealing with delight.
“I thought you could use a cozy fire too.” He rounded his car and opened the hatch. “So I brought firewood.”
He loaded his arms with logs and carried them toward the backyard.
I took a moment to center myself before I said or did something stupid. This man had shown up to my house bearing homemade gluten-free baked goods and firewood?
Was I asleep? Was this some kind of Hallmark-induced fever dream?
I followed him, finding him neatly lining up the logs. I was frozen to the spot, unsure I could trust my legs not to give out on me, when he passed me and headed back to his car.
“Go inside,” he said when he returned with an axe. “It’s cold out.”
“It’s forty-five degrees. That’s bikini weather in Maine.”
He froze his efforts to set up a log and looked up at me, a full smile spreading across his face. “Do you want to put on a bikini, then? I won’t object.” With a wink, he went back to the task at hand.
I stepped forward, wobbling as my boot caught on the loose paver.
A wink.
Owen Hebert, Mr. Super Serious Corporate Bossman, just winked at me.
And it caused my legs to stop working properly.
I knew what he was capable of. I’d gotten a taste in Boston. But I was beginning to think that was only the beginning. That he had more sexy layers for me to peel back.
“Where did you get those?” I asked with a nod at the small pile of logs, desperate to change the subject and recover my dignity.
“My family owns a timber company.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and bit back a huff. “Okay. Wrong question. Why did you bring them here?”
