15. Chloe
Chapter 15
Chloe
“ T his might be my favorite day ever,” Karl gushed. “It’s like we’re in a small-town Hallmark movie. A wood-chopping competition? On the town common? For charity?” He spun around dramatically, his arms flung out like Maria in the opening scene of The Sound of Music . “How can this be real life?”
“He’s really in his small-town era,” JJ deadpanned. “I’m worried about him.”
“It’s all the fresh air,” He said, his tone breathy.
I could practically see the cartoon hearts dancing above his head.
“And the views. Not to mention the house on the lake boss lady here got for us. On my run this morning, I saw a whole herd of deer frolicking in a meadow. We’re not in Seattle anymore, ladies.”
Karl’s sunny yet sharp personality was one of my favorite things about him. It was a testament to his character that he could remain positive despite his past. And it was rubbing off on me. Every day, I appreciated this place a little more.
“So you’ll stay forever?” JJ asked with a sarcastic smirk.
Karl froze, and his look of pure elation morphed into a grimace. “Fuck no. The nearest Starbucks is over an hour away. But it’s a fun place to spend the summer.” With a shrug, he scanned the outdoor space. “Ooh. Food trucks. I’m starving.” He pulled JJ toward tents and trucks lined up on the periphery of the park.
“I’ll find a spot,” I said, pointing toward the platform where people were assembling. I still wasn’t sure why I was here, exactly, other than because my curiosity had gotten the better of me. And Karl probably would have dragged me even if I’d refused.
The town common was packed, and despite my wedges, I couldn’t see over the crowd to find a good spot. I was just scoping out the side of the large stage when I heard someone call my name.
“Ms. LeBlanc?” a man asked.
I turned and found a skinny man in his early thirties with thinning hair smiling at me. I had an immediate visceral reaction to his presence and took a step back, putting space between us.
He kept smiling.
“Dennis Huxley,” he said, holding out one hand.
He was dressed like a grandfather after a round of golf, in a shiny polo shirt and pleated chinos, but as he reached his hand out, I noticed a tattoo snaking up his forearm. Some kind of branch or tree. Weird.
The last thing I wanted to do was touch this person, but I relented, giving his hand a quick shake.
“Have we met?” I asked, confused by his familiarity.
“No, but it’s about time we did. My family is very connected in town. And I’ve heard so much about you.”
Odd. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Not that he needed much encouragement.
“My father is Charles Huxley.” He paused, as if I should recognize that name.
I just nodded.
“Anyway, I’d love to get coffee sometime and connect, businessperson to businessperson,” he said, his beady eyes twinkling. The way he said businessperson made me think we had vastly different definitions of what constituted business.
“We could really help each other out.” He over-enunciated the t on the word out , and it made me want to jump out of my skin. I’d learned a long time ago to trust my instincts, and right now they were telling me to get far away from Dennis.
I nodded politely, cutting him off and pretending to wave at a stranger in the crowd. “I’m sorry. I’ve been looking for my friend. It was nice meeting you.”
Quickly, I pushed by him, not giving him a chance to respond, and weaved through the thickening crowd to the far side of the park, trying to forget the feel of his slimy hand.
I found a spot on the side of the crowd that was close enough to allow us to see the action. Being short, I always feared missing out in these situations. I texted Karl and JJ so they’d know where to find me and pulled my oversized sunglasses out of my bag. It would be far easier to stare at everyone from behind them.
The emcee was stepping up to the mic as I approached the gathering. “Thank you all for coming to the first annual charity lumberjack games.”
The crowd roared so raucously I had to fight the urge to cover my ears. I took in my surroundings, marveling at the turnout. There were hundreds of people here, all placing bets at the elaborately decorated booths.
Kids ran around with foam axes, pretending to chop inanimate objects and one another, and adults were milling around with Solo cups filled with booze. Apparently, open container laws did not apply here.
The woman on the stage looked to be in her thirties, with long, raven hair pulled into a ponytail and killer red lipstick.
She was lean yet curvy and confident and had a plaid shirt tied around her waist. Along with the denim skirt and work boots, she looked like a sexy lumber-jill. Instantly, I wanted to be her friend.
“I am Victoria Randolph. Many of you know me as the director of the Greater Havenport Food Pantry. I know you’re all waiting with bated breath for the result of the blueberry pie competition, but first, we have a little entertainment.”
“Thanks to a genius suggestion from Mr. Finn Hebert, the food pantry put together a little fundraiser today. As you know, this town is home to two of the largest logging companies in the great state of Maine, so we thought it was about time we put these lumberjacks to the test.
“We invited these kind gentlemen up here today to help us raise money to fight food insecurity in western Maine. Give it up for our lumberjacks!”
The crowd roared as several men filed onto the stage. Each man who appeared was pure lumberjack. Tall, slightly less tall, broad, and even broader. It was like a police lineup for the crime of forestry.
Victoria greeted each of them, giving high fives and fist bumps.
These guys had all donned green T-shirts that said Team Gagnon . They were burly types, with dark hair and a strong family resemblance. So these were the famous Gagnon brothers. Fascinating.
“Here we have Henri, Pascal, and Remy Gagnon.”
The crowd cheered loudly.
Then Gus stepped on the stage, and all the air left my lungs. The man hated crowds, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. Not one bit. No, he looked mad and really hot.
Like his brothers, who followed him out, he was wearing work pants, boots, and a red T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and said Team Hebert .
Victoria, the naturally gorgeous emcee, walked up to Gus and threw her arms around him in a bear hug, which he returned.
My heart sank.
Were they dating?
Had they dated?
Why did I care?
My throat felt scratchy, and my feet itched to run right out of here. Suddenly, her easygoing charm and passion for food insecurity made me angry. She was gorgeous and charitable, and she was a local who, from the looks of it, might have had a past with my ex-husband.
“You okay, boss?” JJ elbowed her way through the crowd to me, holding out a plastic cup. Without even a glance inside it, I went to take a gulp. But the smell, pure alcohol mixed with something fruity, made me gag. I handed it back to her, grumping about finding water.
Karl followed, balancing two hot dogs, a basket of fried dough, and a molasses cookie in his arms.
They both eyed me suspiciously, Karl giving me a once-over with one brow raised. I uncrossed my arms, aware that my body language probably looked insane for a Sunday afternoon charity fundraiser. I needed to do something with my hands. It would help hide the rage fantasy I was currently having about a woman I’d never met.
“And let’s welcome our other team: Finn, Gus, and Jude Hebert!”
The crowd was far less enthusiastic. In fact, there were a few boos.
Shit. As the new owner of Hebert Timber, this was concerning. So I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled. Loudly. I elbowed JJ and Karl, who broke into a round of cheers with me.
The guys shook hands as I studied the lineup on stage. Gus was the oldest and the thickest. Unlike his brothers, he didn’t look like he ran marathons on the weekends. Even from a distance, the sprinkling of salt in his beard was visible, and his thick hair was tucked behind his ears.
Fuck. I swore I could feel those blue eyes gazing out at me through the crowd.
There was no denying he was all man. And in my vulnerable state, I couldn’t tear my attention away. His attractiveness was offensive, but even worse was how damn helpful and respectful he’d been since I arrived. I’d expected him to resist the changes I’d put in place, fight me on decision-making, and second-guess JJ’s evaluations. But instead, he asked thoughtful questions, followed orders, and seemed committed to making the business work.
I’d counted on him being a stubborn ass. I figured his ego and bad attitude would be enough insulation from the heat, but he had the ego on a leash, and the bad attitude I was certain I’d encounter was nonexistent. There was no saving me now. I was veering into full-blown infatuation. And my younger self was panicking.
Victoria returned to the mic. “If you look at the perimeter, you’ll see volunteers with red and green buckets. Place your bets there, people. Every dollar counts. And while the team who chops the most wood technically wins, the real winner is which team gets the most donations. Every single bet enters you to win one of the many amazing raffle prizes from our sponsors. And remember. Losers get a blueberry pie to the face!”
The cheers were overwhelming. Screw the lumberjack shit. I’d easily pay ten grand to throw a pie in Gus’s face.
All around us, the townspeople waved cash at the volunteers. On stage, Victoria listed out the prizes.
People were flocking toward the left side, where the Gagnon volunteers were handing out raffle tickets and collecting money in their green buckets. They were clearly the good guys in this scenario. I had nothing against the family or their business. How could I? I’d only heard annoyingly good things about all of them, and so far, they had proven to be fair business partners when necessary.
“Who is the Viking in Hebert Green up there?” Karl asked. “Do we employ him?”
An older woman next to us, wearing a flowy caftan and at least a dozen necklaces, laughed. “Oh, you must be new in town. That’s Finn Hebert, darling. He’s engaged to Adele Gagnon.”
Karl offered her the molasses cookie the size of my face and she broke off a small piece.
“Quite the scandal when he knocked her up.” She waggled her brows and popped the cookie into her mouth.
“Gotta love the small-town rumor mill,” JJ remarked.
With a smile, the woman wiped her hand on her skirt and then held it out to JJ. “I’m Francine DuPont.”
“The gossip about these two families could fill a set of encyclopedias,” she said after we’d all introduced ourselves. “Rivals. Have hated each other for generations. The bad blood goes way back.”
While Mrs. DuPont wove a dramatic tale worthy of an HBO prestige drama, I scanned the crowd, noting the kids running wild and the lines of people waiting for blueberry pie. The scene was both familiar and foreign all at once.
It felt like Maine, though not the Maine I’d grown up in. This was the idealized version that I’d always craved. We didn’t have many events or festivals in Heartsborough. It was safe to say that my hometown lacked the delightful New England charm of its neighbor. Where Lovewell got the lake and winding country roads, Heartsborough got the interstate and several abandoned paper mills.
The crowd was frenzied as Victoria called for an end to the bets.
Karl elbowed me. “My money’s on the other guys.”
JJ glared at him. “Those are our employees up there. Show some support.”
“You see that one? Up there?” Mrs. DuPont pointed a bony finger at a lean, muscular man on the Gagnon team. “That’s Remy Gagnon. He’s a professional timbersports athlete. Been on magazine covers and stuff. It’s not much of a competition with him here, but it’s all for fun.”
As the crowd chanted the Gagnons’ names, my stomach twisted. The strange feeling was only compounded when I got a look at the green buckets overflowing with bills.
I reached into my small crossbody bag and pulled out my wallet. “Here,” I said, handing JJ a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Go bet on our team.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s for charity.”
“Boss lady does love an underdog,” Karl joked.
As volunteers hauled out the equipment, music blasted from the speakers on either side of the stage. Once it was all set up, Victoria explained the rules of the standing block chop.
I stood on my tiptoes so I could see the stage as she continued. Each competitor had a giant block of wood that stood vertically in a metal stand. The goal was to chop through it from both sides as quickly as possible.
Huh. So they were simulating chopping down a tree.
I found myself sizing up the Gagnons. I wanted to watch with detached amusement like Karl and JJ, but I did care. This was my company, and those were my employees. Jude was there, his expression mostly shuttered. And Gus. He stood tall, listening politely as people booed him.
It was so him. He’d probably let people throw rotten tomatoes at him if it increased donations for the food pantry. The sight of him made my heart melt. Dammit, he was good. Deep down, in all the right places. And he’d been through hell with his father and the police and losing the company. Yet after all that, he was here, doing his part.
Suddenly, I was hit with a pang of guilt. I’d forced him to stay. He could be across the country, with a new job and a new home in a new town. A town where no one cared what his last name was or what his father had done.
But he’d given up the opportunity in order to make the sale. To guarantee his employees would have jobs and that his brothers would be compensated. A bolt of white-hot shame washed through me. Because I’d contributed to his unhappiness. I’d leveraged my own anger and hurt to punish him.
My resolve wavered. Regardless of how badly he’d behaved twenty years ago, did he really deserve this punishment now?
God, Chloe . It was all getting to me. The sex, the winks, the morning lattes. I had to stay strong. He was the villain here. And sure, he was charitable, but why shouldn’t he be? It was the least he could do. I had a mission, and my poor heart could not afford to veer off course.
I pushed closer to the stage, cheering and whistling, desperate to show my support for the Heberts, despite my determination to keep my distance from Gus. It was unfair how much the crowd loved the Gagnons.
The competitors, all carefully spaced apart, were given axes.
Once they were lined up and equipped, a loud air horn blasted, and then they were swinging.
I had not anticipated the sheer heat that would overtake me as I watched Gus swing an axe. He was not as quick as some of the others, but he was powerful and precise. Every movement was graceful and strong. Time ceased to exist as the muscles in his forearms rippled and his powerful legs flexed, anchoring him to the floor.
The stage was lined with a certified lumberjack buffet, all ages, sizes, and types. But I only had eyes for one.
His expression was one of pure focus, and his body was performing a delicate dance of strength and grace. Down here on the grass, I was a puddle of pure hormones, yelling and screaming and cheering his name. I didn’t care who heard. All I wanted at that moment was for him to feel like someone was on his team.
Every swing and crack ripped through me, every move he made pulled me toward the stage. Around me, people were cheering. One of the men had already finished his log, but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching Gus.
When he finished, he dropped his axe and mopped his brow with the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a few inches of tanned skin and dark hair.
And when he looked out at the crowd, his eyes immediately met mine, as if he were as drawn to me as I was to him.
I bit my lip so hard I thought I might draw blood as the intensity in his gaze hit me.
His chest heaved from exertion beneath his T-shirt, and the muscles in his forearms flexed.
Shit. I clenched my fists, willing my body to stay put. My legs wanted to carry me up there and send me jumping into his arms. But that was insane. Maybe the heat was getting to me. Had I had enough water today?
“That was so much fun,” Karl said, pulling me out of the staring contest I’d inadvertently entered.
I turned, blinking, and focused on him. “Yeah.”
“That Remy guy was so fast,” JJ said as the Gagnons were crowned the winning team.
I floated in a daze as people around us chatted and music played. That had been… something. I was wandering toward a row of tents, in search of bottled water, when a strong hand landed on my shoulder.
I turned and found myself face to face with Gus.
He was sweaty and still a bit out of breath. Up close, it was hard to miss how hard his T-shirt was working to contain his heaving chest.
He led me around the back of the tents toward a small copse of trees.
“I saw you, Dragonfly,” he said when we stepped into the forest. He tipped my chin up and forced me to look at him.
“It was a fun event,” I said, willing my racing heart to slow. “You did a good job.”
He chuckled softly. “I had no chance of winning. And that was before I got distracted by how beautiful you look in that dress.”
My breath hitched, and butterflies took flight in my belly.
“I saw you cheering for me. Don’t deny it.” He smirked. “You liked my moves.”
I huffed. It was the best I could do. When he was this close, it was impossible to formulate a pithy response. My body arched toward him involuntarily, and my brain fought to gain control of my raging hormones.
He slid a hand down my arm and settled it on my hip. Energy pulsated between us, and the noise and the crowd disappeared. It was just the two of us beneath these trees.
It was thrilling and familiar all at once.
He tilted my chin up, his touch gentle.
I exhaled. He was going to kiss me. And for some insane reason, I was going to let him. Despite every rational part of me shouting that it was a terrible idea.
He moved in closer. So close I could feel his breath on my skin.
I closed my eyes.
His lips ghosted over my earlobe, startling me.
“Next time,” he whispered, making my knees buckle. “I’ll give you a private show.”