Chapter 23
Cole
We’d come so close the other night. At the rink, of all places. We’d goofed around and she’d shared some of her secrets.
And when she looked up at me and closed her eyes, I wanted to kiss her so badly. But I stopped myself.
Before I did it again, I had to be sure.
I was in deep.
I couldn’t shake the memory of her lips on mine, the way it felt to hold her. I could barely keep my head on straight most days, and every moment with her was torture.
The way she smiled. How she’d correctly answer Jeopardy questions. The short shorts she wore when we worked out. Her body twisting and bending into yoga positions. The warmth of her at my side while she read and absently twirled her hair between her fingers.
We’d had a very adult, very mature discussion. She was right on every point, of course. A physical relationship would be a terrible idea.
And yet…
My ability to resist her was waning
“Lover boy is lost in space again,” Bernice quipped. Our group was small tonight, mostly the die-hards as the weather had been terrible. These ladies had been friends for decades and had lovingly adopted me into their group, but still enjoyed hazing the new guy.
“Look at those stitches,” Erica said. “He’s knitting the wrong direction.”
“And not maintaining proper tension,” her sister Steph added.
“Oh, there’s tension, all right.” Erica snorted. She’d been the first female foreman at the lumber mill and was tough as nails. And she loved to give me shit.
I looked up, finding every eye in the place on me.
We were gathered in the community room at the Lovewell Library, me, along with the usual suspects with tote bags of yarn at their feet and gossip on their tongues. Nothing got by this crowd. I usually sat and listened and moved furniture when asked.
But now they were all focused on me.
Debbie smiled. “Lay off him, girls. He’s in love.”
That woman was a saint, but some of the others could smell blood in the water.
Bernice harrumphed. “You’re ruining that hat.”
I tucked my chin and assessed my work. Oh yes, I was absolutely ruining it.
Grumbling, I started to pull out the stitches I’d fucked up.
I was making matching crimson hats for all the girls on my team, and I was more than halfway through.
My fingers usually did the work while my mind wandered elsewhere.
But not tonight. Because Willa was taking up every single neuron in my brain.
“You better not be screwing it up already,” Bernice drawled, taking a hit from the flask Erica was passing around. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.”
Stopping my work, I glared at her. Although I was a fairly mellow guy, my glare usually shut people up. But not the knitting ladies of Lovewell.
“Flowers,” Steph said. “Steve always used to bring me flowers.”
“A date night. Somewhere nice. Go to Bangor,” Jodie added. She’d been my elementary school gym teacher and now single-handedly ran the town’s recreation department.
While they went on chattering and making assumptions about my marriage like I wasn’t even there, I focused on salvaging this hat. I listened this time, though. Because they weren’t wrong. There was tension. A lot of tension.
Although it wasn’t the kind they assumed it was, and it definitely wasn’t the kind I’d bring up to them.
It was the kind I worked out quietly in the shower after Willa left for work every day.
Because I couldn’t afford to take any more risks, especially when it came to the person who was quickly becoming my best friend.
But I couldn’t shake the affection that grew deeper every day. The awe overwhelmed me when I was in her proximity. And the attraction to her. Fuck. Most days, it was impossible.
Then there were the thoughts of more. Was it possible for us? Maybe it wasn’t logical, but it felt right.
“I’ll consider it,” I said, pasting on a fake smile. “And I’m doing just fine with my wife.” I gave Bernice a glare. “Loretta, have any new photos of your grandkids?”
That got them off my back instantly. Loretta Gagnon had recently welcomed several grandkids, including my nephew Thor, and had approximately one million photos of them on her phone.
All the ladies immediately reached for their glasses and soon they were cooing at photos and discussing who was cooking and hosting for the holidays.
Eventually, the conversation turned to some show on Netflix about murder they were all obsessed with.
I let my thoughts wander back to Willa.
This wasn’t a one-sided attraction. I saw how she looked at me. And there was no hiding the shock on her face when I’d told her that I wanted her. That expression, both surprise and interest, with a hint of heat? God, I had replayed it so many times in my mind, often in the shower.
But Willa wasn’t the type of woman to throw everything away on a whim. So I’d have to show her, prove to her that I was a stand-up guy. That I wasn’t looking for a shallow fling. That I could make her happy if she’d let me.
And while I wasn’t entirely sure how to accomplish that, I was certain it would take time. The last thing I could afford to do was rush. If I did, she’d shut me down hard, just like she had that night at the lake.
No, I’d have to chip away at her defenses. Maybe then she’d be ready to take the next step.
We were cleaning up, resetting the chairs and packing up the snacks, when Loraine Gagnon approached me. She was a lovely woman, but I’d felt strange around her since the moment we found out my father was responsible for her husband’s death.
It was one of those wounds that would never heal. The shame would haunt us for all time.
“You’re doing great..” She patted my arm, smiling up at me. “Don’t listen to the old biddies. They’ve forgotten what it was like in the early days. It took years of training before Frank stopped leaving his socks on the floor.”
I gave her a nod, uncomfortable speaking to her one-on-one. Even being in the same room had taken time to get used to.
She gave me a warm smile. “And remember, play to your strengths.”
Frowning, I studied her. I wasn’t sure I understood.
“If you’re a great dancer, put a record on and twirl her around the house. If you’re the poetic type, write her a love letter. That kind of thing. Trust me, keeping the magic alive is work, but it’s so worth it.”
“Thank you.”
“Never stop reminding her of why she fell in love with you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I sounded stupid. Positively asinine. But I had no other words.
She waved her hand. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re a good boy. I know because I raised four hooligan children who still keep me on my toes. Now go home to your wife.”
I finished cleaning up and headed to my truck, replaying the conversation the whole time. Loraine gave my family more grace and compassion than we deserved.
But her words stuck in my mind.
Play to my strengths.
In the strength department, I was lacking. Especially when it came to impressing Willa.
I opened my trunk, and as I stashed my tote bag full of supplies, I caught sight of the splitting maul Jude had given me a week ago.
Huh.
I’d written off his suggestion of chopping wood as silly.
But my mind was spinning. She certainly didn’t mind when I picked her up and carried her around. And she’d complimented my beard several times.
I’d been using the products Jude had given me and worked on trimming it properly.
Maybe playing to my strengths meant going full lumberjack.
I guess there was only one way to find out.
After a lot of deliberation and a couple of shitty nights of sleep, I’d decided it was time to pull out all the stops.
The knitting gals were right. I had to step it up in the romance department. They didn’t know the particulars, but the general sentiment was correct. Keeping a woman like Willa took effort.
And while I was trying hard to keep a lid on my feelings, every time I caught her checking me out, it gave me a thrill.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if maybe Jude had been right all along. Considering he lived like a monk, I hadn’t put much stock in his advice, but all this pent-up energy and tension gathering inside me needed an outlet.
So I went to the garage and grabbed the splitting maul from the back where I’d stashed it after knitting club.
Then I dragged a few logs over to the side of the house.
I chose the spot because it was level, but also because Willa could clearly see it from where she spent Saturday afternoons sitting at the kitchen island drinking tea and reading medical journal articles.
The air was frigid, but my cheeks warmed in the bright winter sun. I felt mildly ridiculous, going to all this effort, but the cottage did have a small fireplace, and we had used it a bit lately. So splitting firewood wasn’t implausible.
As I set up, I surreptitiously glanced inside.
Sure enough, she was reading and sipping tea, looking adorable with a yellow highlighter stuck into her ponytail and wearing a faded UMaine T-shirt that kept slipping off one shoulder.
I yanked my phone from my pocket and took a quick photo of her.
It was a total stalker move, but she looked so beautiful in this natural light.
After a few trips, I had a dozen or so thick logs ready to split. Jude had taken pity on me and given me wide pine, which would be easy to split.
I used the planks in the garage to create a stable base, then lined up the first log. For a few minutes, I stretched my shoulders out, walking around the grassy area that led to the rocky path to the lake and noting how perfect the spot would be for a patio, maybe an outdoor fire pit.
I could see hosting cookouts here in the summer, enjoying the shade of the tall oaks between dips in the lake to cool off.
Shaking off the thought, I focused on the task at hand. Before I could daydream about that kind of stuff, I had to impress my wife.
So, maul in hand, I staggered my stance as Jude had taught me, and swung, focusing on creating an arc with my shoulders and using my core to bring the axe down.