Chapter 4 Lucy
Lucy
“I ran into one of your lumberjacks.”
“Which one? Bill, Wally or Kyle?”
“Neither.” I shake my head, hiding a smirk. “Harris. The new guy.”
That gets her attention. Annabelle stops mid-keystroke and looks up, her forehead furrowing in confusion. “What new guy?”
“You know, tall, broad shoulders, coffee-stained sweatshirt? Kind of a Travis Kelce vibe but way better looking,” I say, casually sipping my tea. “Apparently, he’s your emergency fill-in lumberjack.”
For a moment, she stares at me blankly. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face. “Wait—are you serious? I have four lumberjacks now?”
“Looks like it,” I say, setting my cup down on her counter. “Though he didn’t exactly come with an axe or flannel. Or tools. Seemed pretty unprepared, if you ask me.”
Annabelle lets out a laugh, slumping back in her chair. “I don’t care. I’ll take whatever I can get! This is great news. Do you know how much easier this makes things? With three, we were barely scraping by. But with four, I have hope the others will show up too.”
“Well,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Don’t get too excited. He talks a lot. And he’s kind of cocky.”
Annabelle waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll knock him down a peg or two if I have to. As long as he’s got two working arms and a pulse, I can put him to use.”
He does. Nice ones. He’s fit and cute and has a neck so thick she won’t be able to locate his pulse.
“Oh, he’s got working arms,” I mutter, remembering how easily he leaned into the whole rugged-hero act. “And a talent for spinning bullshit. I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not—you may need to keep an eye on him.”
“Noted,” she says, still grinning like she’s won the lottery. “Honestly, I don’t care if he’s a drama queen or a beauty queen or a terrible logroller. I’ve been praying for these guys to show all week, and now one of them has.”
“Then . . . if you’re happy, I’m happy.” I grab a slice of toast from her plate and take a bite. “At least you’ve got four now. Crisis mostly averted, yeah?”
Annabelle nods, letting out a long, dramatic sigh of relief. “For now. Four lumberjacks means I might actually sleep tonight instead of lying awake, stressing about that—and hayrides and cider stations.”
Beside her on the table, her phone chimes. Annabelle glances at it, groaning as she picks it up. “And just when I thought I could relax . . .”
“What now?” I ask, then sip my tea.
She stares at the screen, thumb scrolling through a string of notifications. “My assistant, Blake, texted. Apparently, one of the guys is complaining about having to stack firewood. Says it’s messing with his back.”
I snort. “Do they realize he’s been hired to lumberjack? In a festival? Stacking firewood and looking good while doing it is the job. For tourists.”
“I get that. And you get that. But apparently, he’s another pretty face with no work ethic.” She sighs loudly, typing out a response. “He’s decided he’s more of a ‘supervisory’ type and less of the wood-chopping type.”
These guys are unbelievable! “How the hell did you end up with a crew of diva lumberjacks?”
“Because. I have the shittiest luck.” She takes a crunchy bite of toast. When crumbs scatter on the table and down the front of her sweater, she doesn’t seem to care. “I swear to God, I’m never volunteering to do this again.”
“How many times have I heard you say that? Last year you said it. The year before that you said it.” I wave my hand. “You love this chaos, don’t lie. You’d go crazy without a million things to do.”
Or people to yell at.
My bestie is bossy.
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she points her toast at me like it’s a weapon. “Remind me the next time someone’s trying to sucker me into organizing something, okay? Saying no will be my New Year’s resolution.”
“Then you only have to wait four more months.” I laugh. “I’ll make sure to remind you when you’re coordinating Christmas carolers at the pavilion or trying to wrangle toddlers for the May Day celebration.”
She glares at me. “I don’t like you very much right now.”
“Because I’m right?” I reply.
“Yes. I do not need the hard truth at the moment, okay?” Annabelle reaches for her coffee at the same time her phone dings yet again, forever blowing up.
“Hmm?” I ask, wanting to know all the drama.
She sets her cup down with a thud and glances at me. “It’s the new dude, Harris. And praise be, he’s asking when he needs to show up.”
I blink back my surprise. “Really? That’s great!”
“Oh, it gets better,” she adds, holding up the phone. “He’s also asking for your phone number.”
My phone number?
My jaw drops, and I burst out laughing. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, her grin widening. “Apparently, he thinks the two of you are best friends now and says it would be helpful to have Lucy’s number in case of any ‘lumberjacky’ emergencies.” Annabelle looks at me and tilts her head. “What’s a lumberjacky emergency.”
I laugh some more. “Beats me.”
“Sooo . . . should I give him your number?”
“Absolutely not,” I say quickly, sitting up straighter. “If he wanted my number, he should have asked when he had the chance.”
Annabelle smirks, leaning back in her chair as she twirls her phone in her hand. “Ooh, harsh. Playing hard to get, are we?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not playing hard to get. It’s basic manners. If he wanted my number, he should’ve asked me directly. Not tried to weasel it out of my best friend.”
“Fair,” she says, glancing back at her phone. “I have to admit, though, I’m tempted to give it to him. See what he says.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn. “The last thing I need is some cocky out-of-towner blowing up my phone with fake emergencies.”
“Are you done with dating apps and looking for the love of your life? These guys are all from out of town—we are running out of men to date. Eligible guys don’t pass through town this often—all the good ones are taken.”
True. But, “He never said he was single, and I am not dating an actor.”
“He’s not an actor. He’s a lum—”
“Don’t you dare say ‘lumberjack.’ I’m not dating one of those either! You are paying him to play Paul Bunyan.”
“No.” Annabelle rolls her eyes dramatically, setting her phone down on the table. “Be real, most likely he’s a trainer at a gym and agreed to fill in for one of my no-shows.”
Yeah. I can see that; he looked fit enough to be a personal trainer, not that I was scoping him out.
“Filling in as someone who pretends to chop wood for a living,” I counter, crossing my arms. “That makes him an actor.”
“You are grasping, my friend.”
Maybe so. But I’m not comfortable giving a random guy my phone number until I’ve at least vetted him properly, the way I can do on an app by asking him questions. Especially a guy passing through town short term.
“Don’t know what to tell you.” I shrug as I sip my tea, which is now lukewarm. “I will say this, though—he was really cute.”
“Cute? Now we’re getting somewhere.” Annabelle is tapping away at her laptop again. “Good-looking guys will bring women flocking to the show, which means more money for us.”
True. “Speaking of money, how’s it looking?” I ask, tilting my head. “With the budget, I mean.”
Annabelle exhales, leaning back in her chair and stretching as if she’s been sitting in that chair for days.
“Not great. Fall Fest is supposed to make up for all the funding the community center lost this year, so it’s on me to pull a miracle out of my ass.
Since I’m volunteering my time for this while juggling a bride who can’t decide between ivory and cream.
Lindsey Vodgs is on the verge of buying two dresses. ”
I wince. “That sounds terrible.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She giggles, though we both know Annabelle uses the word fine the way other people use Bubble Wrap—to protect herself from having a meltdown.
“Wedding planning pays most of my bills, but I also need to give back, you know?” Her sigh is loud.
“Plus, I spent all my time at the community center as a kid—if we don’t make enough money, we’ll lose the winter programs.”
I know how much this means to her. The programs she’s talking about—free dinners, after-school events and babysitting, and sports—are a safety net for a lot of families in town.
Annabelle’s been pushing herself to the brink to keep it all afloat.
“Okay,” I say, determined to be supportive. “So the show needs to be a hit. We have to sell a ton of food. More sponsors? Maybe one of your lumberjacks will go viral for his wood-chopping skills.”
Annabelle snorts. “We need one who looks like Thor.”
“Thor? Now you’re getting greedy,” I tease, though I can’t help but think of Harris—his broad shoulders, the scruffy jawline, the effortless way he looked like he belonged in a flannel shirt.
My mouth begins to water despite my objections to him having my contact information.
Annabelle narrows her gaze at me. “Why are you smiling like that? You have that weird look on your face.”
“I have a weird look?”
“You do, actually.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “Listen. All I will say about it is, Harris will meet your Thor quota.”
Her stares. “He looks like a superhero, and you won’t let me give him your number? What is wrong with you? I’m offended on his behalf.”
I shake my head. “He’s just a guy. A guy who happens to have, you know—a chiseled jawline and great hair.”
Windswept hair.
“Just a guy?” She slaps her desktop lightly, glaring at me. “No, Lucy. Larry from Lakeside Plumbing is just a guy. Harris sounds like the kind of guy we close our eyes and masturbate to.”
Facts! He is.
“So?” Her words do not faze me. “I’ve learned my lesson about jumping too quickly into something that looks shiny on the surface.”