8. Sarah

8

SARAH

The sun was shining as my minivan pulled onto Harding Road. Coffee on an empty stomach had been a terrible idea – my body was tingling with anxiety as I searched for Bri's mailbox.

I hope she's even home.

I hadn't bothered calling – it was a sure way to get rejected. Knowing Bri, I understood this conversation had to happen face to face. If I could catch her off guard, there was a chance that she'd agree.

As I drove down Harding, the van crawling at ten miles an hour, I spotted the simple, metal mailbox that marked the end of Bri's driveway. Turning down the lane, I drove a few hundred feet before spotting the wood sculptures lining the entrance.

Every ten feet or so, an intricate wood carving faced the gravel.

"Wow." I couldn't stop the word from leaving my lips. It had been a long time since I saw Bri's work in person. After Cricket's, I had pulled up some searches of Bri's old pieces, the ones that had been sold from art galleries.

But in person, the sculptures were even more impressive.

I pressed my foot on the break, trying to stop myself from speeding past the work. Or worse: hitting one of them because I was too distracted by the others.

After a moment examining the wood grain of an abstract piece, I shook my head and turned my attention back to the road. I was on a mission.

Within a few seconds, I broke through the treeline to the small yard. A sense of calm washed over me as I scanned the property. The koi pond near the porch gurgled fresh water down a small, rocky waterfall. A small, raised-bed garden rustled in the late spring air. Bri had managed to create something so peaceful.

My eyes landed on her, standing across the property in her wheat-colored, steel-toed boots. She held the new ax over her head, the muscles of her biceps flexing as she swung it down. A loud crack echoed through the woods as a log split in half.

I put the car in park, trying not to get distracted by the sweat glistening on her body. God, why can't I look away from her? She lifted her head to squint at the car, unsure who had just pulled into her driveway.

When I opened the driver's side door, I waved to her. "Hey there."

Bri laughed as she tried to catch her breath, resting the ax on her shoulder. "Ma'am, have we met before?"

I shrugged as I walked closer, my eyes scanning her body. She wore an old flannel with ripped-off sleeves – also known as a country muscle tee. Her arms were bulging from the strain of chopping wood.

"Surely you have machines for that? Your services are wildly underpriced if you're chopping all of New Winford's firewood by hand." I teased, now within swinging range.

Bri set the ax against the stump and brought me in for a quick hug. "Sorry, I'm filthy."

Her scent washed over me, a natural musk that smelled like hard work and pine. I wasn't sure what was happening to me, but my body felt like it was on fire. Our skin stuck together for a brief moment as we hugged, a dirty image flashing in my mind before I pulled away.

Once we separated, Bri rubbed the back of her neck. "For the record, the stuff we deliver is machine cut. But I prefer to chop my own."

I let my gaze meet her green eyes, which reflected the newly unfurled leaves of the foliage around us. "Why is that?"

"It's a little silly."

I shrugged. "It's a good thing I've known you since… basically forever."

Bri wiped the sweat from her brow. "The machine cuts are too uniform. You end up with a bunch of medium logs, which is fine for fireplaces or campfires. But I use a wood stove."

Nodding, I finished her line of thought. "And wood stoves work better with thin wood to start and massive logs to maintain."

A massive grin took over Bri's face. "Sometimes I forget how much of a country girl you are."

It was true; Zoey and I had grown up with a construction worker father on a massive plot of farmland. We spend our summers helping our mother in the garden and our dad in the shed. Dorothy and William made sure that their two daughters were self-sufficient.

"It comes in handy." I blushed, enjoying how it felt to have Bri smile at me like that. I loved making Bri smile. It made my chest ache in a good but unfamiliar way. It had been years since I'd seen that grin, and I was just now realizing how much I'd missed it.

Bri clapped her calloused hands together. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sarah swallowed her nerves. "Why does there have to be a reason?"

Stepping a little closer, Bri raised an eyebrow. "After ten years of hardly speaking, you show up at my house asking questions about the way I chop wood? I know you have an agenda, Sarah Greenwood."