Page 15 of No Axe to Grind (Ashwood Falls #1)

Tessa

" I still can’t believe you actually have electricity all the way out here," I say, wrapping my fingers tightly around the warm mug of hot chocolate Gage just handed me. The warmth seeps into my hands, chasing away the chill in my bones. I’m standing in the kitchen, watching the snow swirl in the wind outside the window like confetti shaken inside a snow globe.

It's not snowing anymore, but the wind howls like it's got something to prove.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest like he’s posing for a rugged survivalist calendar, and raises one eyebrow. "I’ve got a generator behind the barn. I’m not a caveman, Tessa. I don’t club my dinner or communicate exclusively in grunts."

I snort into my mug. "Debatable. I still haven’t ruled out the grunts part."

He gives me a look that’s somewhere between amused and exasperated, as if he’s reconsidering all his life choices that led to letting me into his house.

Then again, I haven’t exactly made things easy for him.

Not everyone gets snowed in with a walking, talking rom-com disaster who tried to chainsaw vandalize his property.

"You run around the woods with a chainsaw, don’t have high speed internet, and talk to your dogs more than people," I add. "You’ve got serious ‘frontiersman off the grid’ vibes. If the flannel fits…"

He deadpans, "Next time the generator dies, I’m making you churn the butter and chop the wood."

I grin wide. "Do I get one of those pioneer bonnets? Because I could totally rock that look."

That twitch of a smile shows up again, and this time, he doesn’t hide it as quickly. That’s a win in my book.There’s something about him—not just the smile, but the way he doesn't hide it. I like it more than I should.

Which is the real problem, isn’t it?

Because I do like him. A lot.

Even when he’s being frustrating or gruff or staring at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve—which, let’s be honest, I probably am.

Especially then. But I’m not completely delusional.

We live on opposite sides of the country.

I came here for closure, for symbolic revenge on a tree, to cry into the snow and then fly home a newly empowered woman.

I did not come here to catch feelings for a grumbly, glacial-eyed, flannel-wrapped mountain man who carves trees for fun and smells like lumberjack fantasies. I didn’t. I swear.

And yet... here we are. Because of course we are. Blame the altitude. Or the snow. Or my obviously broken romantic radar.It's got to be just because I've got a broken heart... right?

I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

He’s stirring something on the stove, probably another round of rugged-man stew, and pretending to be entirely uninterested in my existence.

Except he’s terrible at pretending. Every thirty seconds or so, he sneaks a glance in my direction like I’m going to spontaneously combust or maybe juggle the mugs.

It’s endearing in a broody, ‘I don’t know what to do with my feelings’ kind of way.

He’s got the emotional subtlety of a brick wrapped in flannel, but those sidelong peeks?

They say more than a dozen grunts ever could.

I see you, Gage Bennett.

I sigh, trying not to read too much into the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

I set my mug down and shuffle toward the couch where I left my phone charging.

The screen lights up as I pick it up, and I stare at the top corner like I can manifest a miracle.

Come on, little signal bar. Do your thing. Still nothing.

Then—wait.

One flickering bar.

I freeze. Then a second bar pops up for half a second, vanishing like it’s taunting me.

I spin in place like I’m some kind of human antenna, waving my phone around in the air like a lunatic trying to catch an invisible Wi-Fi fairy.

"Don’t you dare ghost me now," I mutter. "I know you’re out there, LTE."

Wait—

One bar. Flickering. Then two.

"Oh, my God. Finally!" I do a little victory dance on the spot—which is more of a weird hobble-hop considering the toe situation—and jab the call button for the only person I know who will answer without launching into a lecture or asking if I joined a cult.

Mom.

She picks up on the second ring. "Tessa Leigh Renner, are you alive?!"

My eyes sting the moment I hear her voice, that familiar blend of worry and warmth that only a mom can pull off.

I press the phone tighter to my ear and try not to sound like I’m about to cry.

"Hi, Mom, yeah. I’m okay. I’m sorry it took so long—there was no service until now.

It's been...a wild couple of days, but I’m fine. "

"Where the hell are you? We’ve been worried sick. And don’t apologize—just tell me you’re safe. And not with that lying, good-for-nothing sack of hair gel."

A smile tugs at my lips, despite everything. That’s my mom. Zero filter, maximum loyalty. She might not have been able to chase Kyle off with a broom, but she’d have tried. And probably aimed for his knees.

I let out a watery laugh. "No, I'm not with Kyle. He’s ancient history now."

She sighs so loudly I imagine she’s collapsed into a kitchen chair. "Thank God. I never liked him. His shoes were always too clean."

I laugh out loud. "Seriously? That's your metric? Clean shoes?"

"Yes, and I was right, wasn't I?" I can hear her laugh.

I smile, but I don’t tell her about the toe. Or Gage. Or that I’m currently snowed into a cabin with a man who’s rapidly becoming a very confusing part of my emotional life.

"Mom, I’ll catch the next flight home once the roads clear. I promise."

"Okay, baby. I’ll tell Patrice you’re okay—she’s been texting me nonstop looking for information on you."

Patrice. My best friend since junior high. Basically, my second mom—and Mom’s partner in crime when it comes to overreacting with love. If I sneeze in a text message, Patrice shows up with soup and a thermometer. And probably a backup thermometer just in case the first one has trust issues.

"Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I can.

" The line crackles. I glance at the signal. Flickering. One bar. "I love you, Mom—" I rush to say, but I’m not sure if she hears me. The call drops before I can even exhale. I stare at the phone in my hand, heart thumping. For a second, I just stand there in silence, then a smile breaks through. It’s small, but real. Mom’s voice, her unwavering love, her vendetta against clean shoes and Kyle’s existence—it all wrapped around me like a blanket.

Even though the call ended abruptly, I feel steadier.

Stronger. Like I’m not as lost as I was five minutes ago.

Gage steps into the room quietly. "Everything okay?"

I nod, still holding the phone in my hand like it’s a lifeline. "Yeah. Just my mom. Signal’s crap, but I got through."

His brows lift just a little. "That’s good."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "It really is. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear her voice until I did.

She went full mom-mode, of course—panicked, overprotective, and threatening Kyle’s dignity.

But... it made me feel better. Like maybe everything isn’t falling apart. At least not entirely."

Gage says nothing, but his expression softens, and I swear there's the tiniest flicker of a smile in the corner of his mouth before he turns away.

The temperature plummets the moment the sun slips behind the thick curtain of trees.

Frost crawls along the inside of the windows like icy fingers, painting delicate patterns.

When I breathe near the front door, a puff of visible breath fogs the air, swirling and disappearing almost instantly.

It’s like winter just remembered it’s not done with us yet.

"The generator’s running low," Gage says, fiddling with the thermostat next to the kitchen. "Gotta conserve what’s left until the roads are clear enough for the gas company to make it up here. So tonight, we’re bundling up like burritos in a freezer aisle.

" He glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow, like he's bracing for dramatic objections and diva-level complaints.

I stare at him. "You mean... no heat?"

"We’ll use the fireplace in the living room and the bedroom," he says, his voice low and a little sheepish. "But it won’t heat the whole place. We’ll just have to get creative with the blankets and dog-shaped foot warmers.

" He offers a crooked smile that says he knows it’s not ideal but he’s trying to make it bearable.

There’s something sweet in the way he says it, like he’s trying to take responsibility for a snowstorm Mother Nature clearly didn’t run by him first.

What he actually means, without saying the words out loud, is that we’re sharing the bed again—he doesn’t say it, he just looks at me with those steady eyes, like he’s waiting for me to freak out.

But I don’t. Not because I’m cool about it, but because I’m.

.. weirdly okay. Terrified of what this might stir up in my already tangled feelings, but okay.

I nod. "Fine. But the dogs need to sleep with us again, too. I’m not negotiating with the night freeze without backup."

He chuckles. "Deal."

We lie facing each other, the only light coming from the flickering fire across the room, casting a soft amber glow that dances across the walls and blankets us in a kind of quiet magic.

The heavy layers of blankets cocoon us in warmth, their weight oddly comforting in the stillness of the night.

I can feel his presence—his warmth—beneath the covers, humming just inches away from mine.

There’s space between us, sure, but not enough to stop the electricity from crackling in the air, sparking between breaths and glances and unspoken things neither of us seem ready to voice.