Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JOSIE
So… admittedly, when Colby said Follow me with a cheeky grin, I had a brief panic that she really was going to lead me to the bedroom.
Then my mouth started watering, anticipating what we might do in the bedroom.
And then, I was simultaneously hit with half disappointment and half relief when she led me to the closet filled with winter gear.
“Make sure to bundle up,” she says, handing me industrial-size gloves and snow pants.
“What exactly are we going to do?” I ask as I pull the snow pants on and scoop my arms under the suspenders.
“We’re gonna go chop some wood.”
Okay, the grin on her face is too cute to ignore.
I think she was waiting for me to balk at this idea, or laugh, or ask if she was serious, but instead, I continue layering up and a few minutes later, after we both reassure Kona that we’ll be back in not too long, we step outside and trudge through the pathway leading up to the shed.
The snow has stopped falling almost completely now.
Instead of the torrential downpour of flakes, it feels like someone is giving the clouds a good shake to get the rest out.
Colby tugs on the large barn doors, and the daylight illuminates the inside. It’s surprisingly clean and organized—much different than the one I had in my childhood home—with garden tools, jackets, different axes, and saws. And an ATV and snowmobile.
How does Colby do all of this stuff on her own? There is something so deeply impressive—and admittedly pretty hot—about this woman being so fierce and independent that she hops on this ATV or snowmobile and tears through the woods, rather than hiring out or living somewhere with less maintenance.
Colby tosses some rope, a few different-sized axes, and a bag in the small trailer, throws a leg over the seat, and backs the ATV out of the shed. “Have you ever ridden on one?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I thought you aren’t supposed to use an ATV in the snow?
” I’m not worried… not really, anyway. I normally love things like this—trying something new that gets my heart pumping.
But I’m also not a huge fan of being stranded in the middle of nowhere in the aftermath of a blizzard.
I’ve seen enough survival-style shows in my day to know I’d be the first one voted off the island.
“Hey, I got you, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen.”
She says this with such a mix of authority and empathy that I feel it in my stomach.
Something in those words trigger something deep in me, and I know right now is not the time to process what it is, or why it’s hitting me so hard.
I believe her. She really won’t let anything happen to me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel safe.
Colby’s beautiful eyes fill with concern when I don’t say anything. She’s probably thinking I’m skittish, but it’s not that. It’s that I have such an overwhelming urge to hug her and thank her for being here with me, that it’s rendering me silent.
“Josie? You good? We’re totally safe. This baby right here is rigged for the snow. Chains, snow tires, all the things. I’ll go really slow, and we won’t go too far. Still within walking distance if for some reason it can’t make it back.” She pats the back of her seat. “Hop on and hold on tight.”
Through my smile, my pulse increases. I swing my legs around the seat and cozy in close.
We have layers and layers of clothes between us, but I remember the way her firm body felt in my arms a few nights ago, and as much as I want to ignore it, I also want to remember it.
She starts out slow, bumpy, and I tighten my hold around her stomach.
The calm, cold breeze feels good against my cheeks.
Invigorating, really, as we make our way on the windy path down to an area that has a pile of logs nestled up to a massive, fallen tree.
When we hop off, Colby grabs a large axe and hands me a smaller one. My snow pants shuffle against my legs as we move to the tree and a large stump. She grabs one of the logs and rests it on the stump.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“If you could hold on to the log while I’m chopping it, that’d be great,” Colby says as she lightly swings the dangling axe. “Just make sure to tuck your fingers so, you know, I don’t cut off a thumb or something.”
All moisture zaps from my mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Nope,” she says with a wide smile.
I slam my hand across my heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack. I’m all for a good adrenaline rush, but this is not what I had in mind.”
And now Colby’s smile grows even more. Oof, she has such a great smile.
I’ve noticed being with her that even though she has a kind, gentle humor, overall, Colby’s a pretty serious woman.
And to see her face light up with a grin makes me feel like there’s something in me, something special, that elicits this from her.
Colby tugs off her jacket, down to the flannel, hat, gloves. She palms the log again, balances it against the stump, then holds her hand out like she’s pushing me away. “Stand back,” she says and raises the axe high. With a hefty grunt, she slams the blade on the wood, and it splits on contact.
Holy shit, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.
I don’t care if right now I am a full-on walking stereotype—seeing her tucked in a stocking cap and flannel, the strength and precision it took to split it like that, the glorious sound of the cracked wood…
Yum. No wonder her back muscles are so firm and tight.
She tears the rest of the wood apart and throws it in the trailer.
None of this is lost on me that we don’t need to be out here.
Colby has what looks to be a year or two’s supply of split logs lined outside of her house, and another one under tarps on the side of the shed.
But I think she sensed that I needed to do something but crochet or watch TV, and this is her offering.
She’s doing this. For me. And that urge to pull her into me, rest my head on her shoulder, thank her, consumes me again.
Colby tosses her grip on the handle to grab it from the middle and holds out the wooden edge. “Want to give it a try?”
I almost laugh. Sure, this morning I’ve been slowly getting back to my roots and appreciating nature a bit more. But chopping wood might be taking it too far. “Pretty sure I don’t want to lose a limb today. Besides, I’m nowhere near as strong as you are.”
“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”
Those words spark me with a bit of fuel.
Leo has said this before. Zoey used to say this to me.
Of course, it didn’t have anything to do with chopping wood, but the sentiment is the same.
Throughout my life, I have underestimated myself.
Maybe now is time to flip that switch. I pull my lips in between my teeth and nod.
The axe is heavy, much heavier than I thought, and drags my arm to the earth.
“You’ve never chopped wood before, right?” Colby asks as she tugs back on her jacket.
“No, not really. I mean, not like this,” I say. “When I was younger, my dad used to take me camping and I’d ‘chop wood,’ but that basically consisted of me thinking I had magical superpowers and cracking wood chunks over my knee.”
Yet another memory flashes of him, but I shake it away. I’ve given my dad enough of my mental energy today.
“Okay, so this is how you do it,” she says. “Stand with your hands and legs shoulder width apart, raise your arms high, aim, and think of everything that has pissed you off this last week.”
I laugh to cover up the terror ripping through me.
I’m not normally a paranoid person, but visions of the axe slipping from my grip and flying into my head, or Colby’s head for God’s sake, or my stomach, or the blade cutting me…
So many terrible scenarios. For the first time in my life, I’m regretting my horror-movie fascination as a child, which seemed to revolve around at least one head getting split open from an axe.
Okay, okay. I can do this. It’s just a damn axe and a piece of wood.
The cold air pierces my lungs as I pull in full breath.
I raise the axe high above my head, aim it at the log that Colby placed upright, and heave.
“Owww!” Shit, that hurts. Hitting the wood—in what I’m assuming is absolutely not the correct manner—sends an electric vibrating jolt up my arms, like when you jump off something high, land a little too hard, and it shocks your system.
Colby grits her teeth. “So, perhaps, I should’ve warned you that if you don’t hit it right, you might get that jarring vibration. Sorry. I didn’t want to freak you out.”
She’s one hundred percent right. Had she put that in my head, I think it would’ve been worse.
Not only did I not crack the wood, but the axe blade is wedged, hard.
I jiggle, I tug, I make some grunting noises that I don’t recognize, and nothing.
My heartbeat kicks against my chest. Did I ruin it all?
Break it? Let’s just add a new axe to the long list of things that I owe Colby.
“Sorry, it’s stuck.” I try again for good measure, then give up. “What do we do?”
“Now you lift the whole thing at once and smash it again,” she says with way too much calmness to her voice. “Do you want me to do it for you?”
As much as I’d love to see Colby chop wood again—because seriously—I shake my head.
I’ve skydived before. I’ve swum in shark-infested waters.
I’ve ice-skated on barely frozen lakes. I can certainly cut wood.
But God, it’s really heavy. And the idea of getting that electric jarring ransacking my nerves again doesn’t sound pleasant.
“Good news is that you already split it a little, so you’re making progress,” Colby says as she tugs her hat a little lower on her ears. “You shouldn’t get that shock again.”