8. Hazel
Two years later...
The rhythmic thwack of axes hitting targets fills the air of Timber!, mingling with cheers and laughter. I adjust my stance, take a deep breath, and focus on the bullseye across the lane. The familiar weight of the axe balances perfectly in my hand—no longer foreign, now an extension of myself.
"You've got this, Hazel," Flint calls from the sidelines, where he coaches our team with the same passion he once used to coach me alone.
I bring the axe back, visualizing the perfect throw just as he taught me two years ago. The motion is fluid now, practiced through countless hours of training. The axe spins through the air and embeds itself dead center with a satisfying thunk.
"That's my girl!" Flint's voice carries over the crowd's cheers, and I turn to him with a grin, accepting high-fives from my teammates—The Timber Vixens, the all women's team I somehow ended up captaining.
Who would have thought that shy Hazel—the woman who nearly impaled herself on her first throw—would now be leading the top-ranked women's team in the Pacific Northwest Axe-Throwing League? Certainly not me.
Lisa, now one of our star throwers, bumps my shoulder. "Captain's living up to her reputation," she teases, her axe ready for her turn.
I step back, watching as she takes her position. My fingers absently twist my wedding band—the simple gold circle that pairs with the engagement ring I never take off, even during competitions. Some things change dramatically; others remain constant, like Flint's steadfast presence in my life, his unwavering belief in me, and his praise still makes my heart flutter and my body warm.
The journey from that first disastrous date night to today has been nothing short of transformative. After winning the couples' casual league six months into our marriage, Flint suggested I might enjoy competing more seriously. At first, I laughed at the idea. Me? Competitive axe-thrower? But he saw something in me I couldn't yet see myself.
"You have natural talent, Hazel," he insisted one night as we practiced in our backyard, the target illuminated by string lights we'd hung together. "But more importantly, you have determination. When you set your mind to something, you don't give up."
He was right.
When Timber! decided to sponsor a women's team, and Flint suggested I join. I did, expecting to be the weakest link. Instead, I found a community of women who, like me, had discovered unexpected strength in themselves through this unusual sport. They elected me captain after our third competition when my steady throws and calm under pressure helped secure our first victory.
Lisa's axe hits just left of center, and she curses under her breath. "So close!"
"Adjust your follow-through," I suggest gently. "You're releasing a fraction too early."
She nods, accepting the coaching with the same grace I once did from Flint. The parallels aren't lost on me—how I've stepped into his role in some ways, finding joy in helping others discover their potential, in watching confidence bloom where uncertainty once lived.
The tournament continues, our team maintaining a slight lead over the Axe Maidens from Red Deer. Between rounds, I find Flint at the refreshment table, his eyes never having left me despite his conversations with other coaches and competitors.
"Proud of you," he murmurs as I approach, pulling me against his side. After two years of marriage, his touch still sends electricity through me, a current of desire and connection that never diminishes.
"We haven't won yet," I remind him, though I can't help leaning into his warmth.
"Doesn't matter." He presses a kiss to my temple. "You've built something special with this team. They look up to you, you know."
"I just try to channel you," I tell him honestly. "I ask myself, 'What would Flint say?' whenever someone needs encouragement."
He laughs, the sound still my favorite in the world. "So you tell them they're good girls ?"
My cheeks heat at his teasing whisper, and I playfully swat his arm. "Not exactly. I save that particular phrase for more private settings."
Flint’s eyes darken momentarily, memories of last night's private "practice session" passing between us. Two years in, our physical connection remains as electric as the first time, perhaps even more so as we've learned each other's bodies, desires, and needs with intimate precision.
"Captain!" Madeline, our youngest team member at just twenty, calls me back. "We're up again in five!"
I squeeze Flint's hand before returning to my team. The final round is intense, with both teams throwing perfectly. It comes down to the last throw—mine. The pressure would have paralyzed me two years ago. Now, I welcome it, the familiar surge of adrenaline sharpening my focus rather than scattering it.
I think of how far I've come since that night I was stood up. How walking into Timber! disheartened and embarrassed, somehow led me here, where I’m surrounded by friends, respected as a leader, and loved deeply by a man who sees all of me.
The axe leaves my hand in a perfect arc, spinning exactly as intended before striking true center. The crowd erupts, my team engulfs me in hugs, and somewhere in the chaos, Flint's distinctive whistle cuts through—our private celebration, a sound that means "I saw that, and I'm so damn proud of you."
Later, after the celebration at Timber! winds down, Flint and I return to our cottage. The night is cool but clear, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet.
"I have something for you," he says as we step onto our porch, the lights we leave on for each other glowing welcomingly through the windows.
"It's not our anniversary," I say, confused but intrigued.
Flint guides me to the porch swing—the one he built by hand last summer, where we often sit in the evenings, reading together or simply watching the world go by.
"It's something I've been working on." He reaches behind one of the potted plants and produces a small wrapped package. "Open it."
Inside the wrapping paper, I found a handmade scrapbook. I opened it carefully to see photographs, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes documenting my journey from novice to champion.
"Flint," I whisper, tears filling my eyes as I turn the pages. There's the first photo he ever took of me awkwardly holding an axe. A newspaper clipping from when we won the couples' league. The ceremony when I was named team captain. Our most recent victory.
"I wanted you to see what I see," he explains, his voice tender. "How far you've come. How much you've grown. I'm so proud of the woman you've become, Hazel—though I've always been proud of who you were, even that first night."
I trace my fingers over the words he's written beneath each photo—words of love, admiration, and, yes, praise. Words that have shaped me, strengthened me and helped me believe in myself in ways I never thought possible.
"You did this," I tell him, leaning against his solid warmth. "You believed in me first."
He shakes his head, tucking a curl behind my ear in that familiar gesture that still makes my heart flutter. "No, my love. I just saw what was already there. You did the hard work. You took the risks. You became the champion."
As we sit together under the stars, the book of memories in my lap and Flint's arm around my shoulders, I reflect on the strange, wonderful path that brought me here. From a shy bookworm with a secret praise kink to a confident woman who leads a championship axe-throwing team while running her own business—all while being deeply, passionately loved exactly as I am.
"Thank you for seeing me," I whisper, turning to kiss him softly.
"Always," he promises against my lips. "My beautiful, brilliant, axe-throwing champion. My good girl. My everything."
And as our kiss deepens beneath the starlit sky, I know with absolute certainty that being stood up that night was the best thing that ever happened to me. It led me to Flint, to this life, to myself—to a love that doesn't just praise me but helps me grow, a love that sees all of me and celebrates every part.