Page 35 of Pieces Into Place

The way he says the word “pleasurable” sends a shiver down my spine. As he speaks, my mind wanders to thoughts of all the people who have wronged me in life, and how much satisfaction I would get from seeking revenge on them. But Kane’s words remind me that maybe there’s a better way to handle things than just lashing out in anger.

“Retribution means to punish any wrongdoing done and restore balance,” he explains.

I ponder his words for a moment before responding. “I agree with that concept.”

Kane’s eyes widen in surprise, one dark eyebrow rising. “You do?” he inquires.

“Yes, I do,” I say before hopping up and shaking the snow off my butt. The temperature outside is plummeting, so I leave him standing by the pile of wood and go into the cabin in an attempt to warm up before returning to the frozen tundra. While inside, I concoct an idea that he might actually appreciate.

I walk outside ten minutes later with two cups of hot cocoa. I set Kane’s down on another stump covered with fresh, powdery snow, and watch as it liquefies outward into a thick slush around the cup.

Kane is back to chopping wood again like it’s his job. This time, my eyes stay drawn to him, no longer distracted by the snow or our earlier conversation, and I have to say, I don’t hate it. His large build is enhanced with both a sweatshirt and a flannel, making him appear even larger.

He swings the ax in long, even strokes. Watching him do this is like watching an athlete doing something extraordinary. An elite receiver catching a difficult pass. A hockey player hitting the perfect slapshot. A sprinter outrunning everyone around him with ease. It’s mesmerizing.

“Olivia,“ he says as if he’s repeating it for the tenth time, pulling me from thoughts. The annoyance in his voice is apparent, but then it usually is when he’s talking to me.

Obviously, it was so mesmerizing that I didn’t hear him speaking to me. I shake my head and meet his dark gaze. His face is covered by a short beard now, adding to his lumberjack vibe. “Sorry, what?” I reply.

“I said thank you for the cocoa,” he says, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

I rear my head back, trying to sell the fact that I didn’t just get caught ogling him. It’s an over exaggerated gesture that only makes me appear more guilty. “Pfft, nothing. I’m just enjoying the view. Of the mountains. And the snow. The view of the mountains and the snow,” I say rapidly. Way to go, Liv. Way to sell it.

One dark eyebrow arches as he says, “OK.” But it’s actually more of a question than a statement, indicating he doesn’t believe me. “Well, why don’t you put your drink down, pick up some of this wood, and take it inside.”

“You didn’t say ‘please’,” I reply, jutting my hip in fake indignation.

“And I won’t,” he shoots back, with a wicked grin.

“Whatever,” I reply, setting down my cocoa and grabbing a few pieces of wood.

“Not like that,” Kane says with a heavy sigh. How is everything I do a disappointment to this man?

“You can’t possibly tell me there’s a correct way to carry wood, Kane.”

“There’s a correct way to do everything, Olivia. You just seem to have a knack for not knowing what it is.”

“They are about to find your dead body in these woods with an ax correctly shoved up your ass,“ I say through gritted teeth, which only causes him to laugh.

“Come here,” he says.

I’m clearly at war with myself when it comes to this man because I’m torn between following his command, and wanting to stand closer to him and get high on his masculine pheromones. I wait a beat and then go stand in front of him.

“Hold your arms out,” he instructs. I do what he says and he layers five pieces of wood in my arms. I have to admit, this is easier than the way I was doing it. “Is that too heavy?” he asks.

“No, it’s fine,” I answer. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that this is, in fact, the correct way to carry wood.

“Wait,” he says, as I turn to head inside. I watch him go over to the cup of cocoa I made and pick it up. He returns to stand in front of me and takes a long sip of it. This wood is not getting any lighter and I’m getting more irritated by the second. He raises his glove to his mouth and bites the tip of the middle finger between his teeth, sliding the glove off and then grabbing it in his fist. His index finger dips into the last remaining dollop of whipped cream which has yet to melt, and then he taps it lightly onto the tip of my nose with a smirk. “Now you can go inside,” he says.

I stand there with my mouth agape and eyes squinting at him. Did he seriously just do that? I try to hold onto my indignation, but the genuine smile on his face has an entirely different effect on my body. With wet panties, I make my way back inside the cabin.

We sit across from one another later that evening with a cribbage board between us. It’s a pretty even game and we’re playing at a leisurely pace, having a relaxed conversation.

“So, how do you know Henry?” I ask, pegging two points.

“He worked with my dad years ago, and once he retired, he started a successful security company, specializing in wealthy clientele. After my discharge, he reached out to me.” He pegs three points.

“And do you like what you do?” I ask.