Page 19 of No Axe to Grind (Ashwood Falls #1)

Tessa

T he snowmobile ride into town is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

I’ve never clung to anyone for dear life before, but now I know what a koala must feel like.

Gage doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’m pretty sure he chuckled once when I squealed going over a bump.

It was either that or he was growling at a moose.

Hard to tell with the wind screaming in my ears and my cheek plastered to his back.

By the time we reach Main Street, I’m pretty sure my face is frozen into a smile.

Not because I’m happy—though, okay, maybe I am a little—but because my cheeks have given up on functioning in normal temperatures.

Gage parks the snowmobile in front of the Ashwood Falls General Store and helps me off like I’m some dainty snow princess.

My legs wobble, and I nearly take out a wooden reindeer display.

"Graceful," he murmurs, catching my elbow.

"I meant to do that. Reindeer need love, too. And why is that out, anyway? It's not even close to Christmastime."

He rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches, and that counts as a win in my book. "Reindeer live all year long, Tessa. Not just at Christmas time." He smirks at me. "News flash. They don't fly either." He barks out a laugh.

"You should keep your day job. Comedian doesn't suit you." I sass back at him.

He chuckles. "I’m going to grab a few things from the outfitter and hardware store. Do you want to roam around on your own or do you want to come with me?"

"Yep! I'm good. I’ll pop into a few shops and meet you back here."

He nods once, kisses me on the forehead, and strides across the street like he owns the place. Actually, knowing Gage, he probably carved half of the town. The man is Alaska’s answer to Paul Bunyan with more brooding and better abs.

I head in the opposite direction, popping into a boutique that looks like it was curated by Pinterest and blessed by a woodland fairy.

The place is packed with hand-knitted scarves, artisan candles, and soaps that smell like a lumberjack who just chopped down a pine tree and then hugged Santa Claus.

The woman behind the counter beams at me, eyes twinkling like she knows all the gossip already.

"You must be Tessa," she says with a wink. "Word gets around."

She hands me a sample bar of soap that makes my hands smell like Christmas morning had a love child with Gage's flannel shirt. I practically swoon on the spot.

"I’ll take two," I say, tossing them onto the counter like I’m buying pure romance in bar form.

She beams at me. "Let me wrap that up for you." With the flair of someone who’s wrapped more bars of soap than I've eaten hot dinners, she folds the pink paper just so and tucks the soaps neatly into a cloth tote emblazoned with the store’s logo. It’s so perfectly packaged, it looks like it belongs in a Hallmark movie montage—almost too pretty to ever actually use.

My next stop is The Ashwood Café, a cozy, whimsically decorated little spot nestled between the bookstore and a boutique that smells like potpourri.

It has snow-dusted windows framed by twinkle lights, mismatched wooden chairs, and chalkboard menus with doodles of steaming mugs and punny drink names like "Espresso Yourself.

" The inside smells like cinnamon rolls, freshly brewed coffee, and small-town gossip steeped in sugar.

A fire crackles in a brick hearth in the corner, and soft acoustic music hums through the speakers.

I grab a latte topped with what I swear is a cinnamon heart and make small talk with the barista, who calls me "hon" and tells me to take a cookie for the road. I’m halfway out the door, toasty drink in hand, when I hear my name.

"Tessa?"

Oh no. Not now. Not here. Not him.I freeze mid-step, heart plummeting straight into my borrowed snow boots. Slowly, I turn and sure enough, it's him.

Kyle.Of course he’s here. I completely forgot he had a work trip planned for Ashwood Falls. In planning my surprise trip, I had planned a spa day for me while he’d be here. Of course, fate has a warped sense of humor.

He looks exactly like he did when I caught him cheating—smug, self-important, and wearing a Patagonia jacket so pristine it probably came with a 'Do Not Wrinkle' tag. The man’s never actually climbed a mountain, but he’s always dressed like he’s just descended Everest. Honestly, how did I not see through the flannel-clad fraud sooner?

"Wow," Kyle says, giving me a once-over that’s equal parts smug and surprised. "Didn’t expect to see you still here in town. Thought you’d have packed it up and headed back to your life by now."

"That makes two of us."

He gestures vaguely at the coffee shop like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"I was up here visiting some clients—you know, expanding my brand. Figured I’d reward myself with a decent coffee.

And a muffin. Cranberry. Not bad, but I’ve had better.

They should really consult me about the menu. "

"Good for you," I say flatly, my tone dry enough to sand wood. As if I’m supposed to be impressed that he’s still the same self-centered blowhard who once thought picking the right Instagram filter was a personality trait.?

He narrows his eyes, clearly not used to me being this short. I used to bend myself into emotional pretzels for his approval. Not anymore.

"You look... different, Tess. Rough around the edges. Are you okay?"

I blink. "You mean because I’m not caked in six pounds of mascara, Botoxed into oblivion, and pretending not to see your phone blowing up with Tinder notifications like it’s a discount fireworks display?"

Kyle stiffens, his voice sharp and wounded. "You don't need to be such a bitch, Tessa. We were engaged."

I flash him a saccharine smile. "Exactly. Were . Past tense. Just like your loyalty, your honesty, and your hairline."

Kyle flinches, visibly taken aback. His hand instinctively rises to his forehead, brushing self-consciously against his hairline like he’s trying to confirm it’s still there.

His mouth opens as if he’s going to fire back something equally cutting, but nothing comes out.

Just air. And maybe regret. But I’m already turning, walking away with my head high and my latte warm in my hand, leaving him speechless in my wake.

I spin on my heel—almost slipping on an ice patch but recovering like a champ—and head toward the general store. I don’t look back. Not when Kyle mutters something about me being dramatic. Not when I hear a chuckle from a nearby table. And definitely not when someone murmurs, "Good for her."

Inside the general store, it's like stepping into a hug. The scent of cinnamon, pine, and old cedar floorboards wraps around me like a blanket. Shelves groan under the weight of mason jars filled with homemade jam, hand-labeled pickles, and a suspicious number of moose-shaped cookie cutters. There’s a bulletin board near the entrance crammed with handwritten notes—babysitter wanted, fresh eggs for sale, community potluck next Friday.

The bell above the door jingles, cheerful and tinny, just as a kid barrels toward me, dragging a plastic sled twice his size. I sidestep at the last second, heart still thudding with leftover adrenaline from my showdown with Kyle.

But instead of anxiety, I’m riding a high. An I-just-walked-away-from-my-douchebag-ex-fiancé-like-a-boss kind of high. I feel light. Like I finally peeled off a heavy coat I didn’t know I was wearing. Like I reclaimed a piece of myself.

"Sorry!" the kid yells, and disappears into the snack aisle.

I exhale hard, pressing my hands to the counter. My heart is still thudding, but I feel good. No, great . I stood up for myself. No tears, no backpedaling. Just a solid mic-drop moment. Gage is going to be so proud. Or amused. Maybe both.

The clerk, a petite woman with silver-streaked hair and a name tag that reads "Marnie," smiles as she rings up my purchases. "Where are you from, hon? You don't sound like you're from around here."

"Hibiscus Harbor," I say, setting down the raccoon plushie with a sheepish grin. "Florida."

Marnie's eyes widen. "Florida? What in the world are you doing all the way up here in Ashwood Falls?"

I lift a shoulder and lean in like we're trading secrets. "Unloading some deadweight."

She lets out a bark of laughter. "Now that’s a story I want to hear sometime. You planning to stick around or head back south?"

"As soon as the airport’s open again, I’m flying home."

Marnie taps her chin thoughtfully, then suddenly perks up. "Hang on a sec... I might have an idea."

Before I can ask what she means, she scurries into the back room like a woman on a mission, leaving me standing there surrounded by moose-themed oven mitts and beef jerky.

"You Tessa?" comes a gravelly voice from my left.

I turn to find a man in his sixties with a flannel shirt, a weather-beaten face, and bright blue eyes."Depends on who’s asking."

He chuckles. "Name’s Marvin. I fly bush planes. Marnie mentioned you were stuck out here during the storm and waiting for the airport to reopen."

My brows arch with playful suspicion. "Oh, the Marvin? Legendary bush pilot with the questionable safety record?" I tease, a grin tugging at my lips. I've never actually heard of him before today, but he’s got that rugged grandpa-meets-backwoods-wisdom vibe, and honestly, I couldn’t help myself.

"Ha! That was one time—and in my defense, the elk started it," he shoots back with a crooked grin. "Besides, I think he had it out for me since the salt lick incident of '03."

I laugh. I like Marvin.

He leans closer. "I’m heading back to Juneau in the morning to drop off the US mail and pick up some supplies for some of the shops around town. I've got room in the back if you need a lift."