Page 27 of No Axe to Grind (Ashwood Falls #1)

Gage

S ummer finally shows its face in Ashwood Falls, like it just remembered we exist. The snow’s gone, the air smells like pine and warm dirt, and the sun actually sticks around past dinner. These types of days are what make tourists fall in love with the place and locals remember why they never left.

I’m busy sweating my ass off setting up the carved archway for the Solstice Festival.

It’s a joint project, something the whole town's been buzzing about for weeks. Usually, I don’t do joint projects.

I’m a one-man show. Always have been. But the festival committee practically strong-armed me into making something everyone could walk through and take selfies under.

So here I am, covered in sawdust, muscles aching in my back, and a muttered string of swear words under my breath as I hoist this heavy-ass arch into place.

I’ve been keeping busy, real busy, since she left.

When you’ve got an empty cabin and an emptier bed, you throw yourself into work.

I finished every damn commission on my list, and even added some new ones.

Carved wildlife panels, a few benches, even a new bear statue that’s currently scaring toddlers outside the diner.

I also started making trinket boxes. Not like hers.

Hers was special. One of a kind. But still, people seem to like them.

Maybe they can feel the heartbreak in the grain.

Maybe they’re just suckers for locally made goods.

Doesn’t matter. It's kept my hands busy while quieting my mind.

I sleep on my side of the bed now. Haven’t rolled into the middle since she left.

Rocco and Toby still sleep at the foot like they’re waiting for her to come back.

I haven’t had the heart to wash the flannel shirt she wore.

It’s still draped over the chair like a ghost of what we had.

Like it's waiting for her to return and put it back on.

I miss her. Dammit, I miss her.

I think about her laugh when she tripped into the snow during our snowball fight.

The way she crinkled her nose at my coffee but drank it, anyway.

How she looked standing in my shirt, barefoot, poking at the fire like she belonged there in my space.

Hell, I even think about her broken toe and hope it’s not still purple.

I hope she didn’t lose her job because of all the chaos.

That wouldn’t be fair—not when none of it was her fault.

I hope she’s eating something besides cupcakes and vending machine snacks, maybe even using a vegetable or two.

I hope Florida’s being kind to her, giving her sunshine and peace and whatever it is she needs.

I hope it’s better to her than I ever was.

But, damn, I miss her.

I’m still lost in my own head, mind tangled with the scent of sawdust and the echo of memories I can’t seem to shake, when the crunch of gravel cuts through my thoughts.

Footsteps follow—tentative, slow—and a soft throat-clear snaps me fully back to the present.

I glance up, wiping sweat from my brow, and time doesn’t just stop—it sucker punches me straight in the chest and steals the air from my lungs.

She's standing a few feet away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she’s not sure if she should even be here.

Her fingers twist the hem of her shirt, and her smile wobbles, betraying nerves she’s trying hard to hide.

Her voice trembles just slightly—uncertain, but threaded with hope and determination. "Can I help?"

Tessa.

Her voice hits me like a sledgehammer—a sharp, unexpected jolt that knocks the wind out of me and rattles everything I thought I had under control.

It slices clean through the noise in my head, through the hum of summer and the clang of tools, and lands right in the center of my chest like it owns the place.

She’s wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt layered under a zip-up hoodie that’s a little too thick for the temperature.

Sunglasses are perched on her head, and she’s got on wool socks and hiking boots like she’s bracing for a blizzard instead of the mild Alaskan summer.

A nervous smile tugs at her lips, and for a second, I swear I’m hallucinating from the heat—or maybe from the sight of a Florida girl dressed for an Arctic expedition in June.

"Hey," she says softly, voice wavering just enough to betray the nerves she’s trying hard to suppress. Her gaze flicks to the archway, then back to me, like she’s second-guessing every choice that brought her here.

She clears her throat, forces a shaky smile, and adds, "I, um… I brought a chainsaw. Figured maybe you’d need to borrow one. "

I drop the mallet I’m holding. It thunks against the ground uselessly."You’re here."

"Yeah. Surprise." Her voice lifts in that familiar singsong way, but her hands flutter nervously in front of her like she's trying to fan away the tension. There's a hopeful smile on her face, but I can see the worry flickering just beneath it—like she’s waiting for me to say something, anything, that tells her she didn’t make a huge mistake coming back here.

I can’t speak. My mouth’s dry. My heart’s trying to climb out of my chest and do a damn tap dance. But before I can form an actual sentence, Trace comes walking up, of course, grinning like he just won a bet.

“Well, well, look what the solstice dragged in,” Trace says, smacking me on the back so hard I lurch forward and almost headbutt the arch.

He gives Tessa a once-over, grinning like he just saw Bigfoot walk into town with a latte.

“Knew she’d be back. This town’s like glitter—you think you’ve gotten rid of it, and then BAM! It’s in your socks and your soul.”

Trace picks up the mallet I dropped and twirls it like he’s auditioning for the Ashwood Falls baton-twirling team.

"I got this, man," he says with a mock-serious nod. "Why don’t you take your girl to get some coffee or do whatever it is lovebirds do—make googly eyes, whisper sweet nothings behind the firewood stack. I don’t care. I don’t judge.

The rest of the town might, but I’ll be here, front row, pom-poms in hand, cheering you on like it’s the damn romance championship. "

I shoot him a glare sharp enough to splinter wood, but Trace just grins, completely unfazed, and grabs the mallet like he’s starring in a construction-themed musical.

With a theatrical twirl, he hammers the arch into place, whistling like he's got a full pit orchestra backing him up.

Because of course he does... in his head.

"Go," he says, winking at Tessa. "We’ll finish the arch. You go fix the other thing you broke."

I reach for her hand, and she takes it without hesitation. It feels so right to have her hand in mine. So natural.

We walk in silence down Main Street, our fingers laced together like we never stopped—like maybe the universe hit the pause button just for us, gave us a minute to screw up, get scared, and come back to something that matters.

Every step feels like a reset, like we’re rewriting the ending we almost messed up.

The coffee shop is nearly empty, everyone too busy prepping for the festival to linger over lattes.

I step up to the counter and order her drink before she even has to ask—maple-vanilla latte, extra foam, a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

The barista gives me a knowing look as she hands over the to-go cup with Tessa's name scrawled across it.

When I pass it to her, she grins and inhales the steam like it's her first real breath in weeks.

"You remembered," she says, her voice soft with surprise and something like relief.

"Of course I did," I reply.

She smiles wider, both hands wrapped around the cup like it's anchoring her to this moment.

We sit in the corner booth. The same one where Trace once teased me about 'Never going to find love living alone in my cabin.' He said that just before I found Tessa in my woods. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet it was less than a month ago.

"You came back," I finally say, voice rough.

She nods. "I had to."

"Why?"

"Because leaving you was the dumbest decision I've ever made in my life," she says, her voice cracking under the weight of it.

"And believe me, I've made some real boneheaded choices—like that time I tried to cut down a tree with no wilderness skills and a cupcake-fueled vendetta—but walking away from you? That tops the list."

I take a slow breath, rubbing the back of my neck like that’ll help me sort the words trying to tangle their way out.

"I wanted to call. I swear I did. Every damn day. But we never exchanged numbers, and after you left… I figured maybe you didn’t want to hear from me.

That maybe I was just a pit stop on your way back to normal.

" I glance down, then meet her eyes again.

"But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once."

"I did want to go back to whatever normal was," she says, then her expression softens. "But it wasn’t my life anymore. I screwed up by leaving. I panicked. I thought I had to go back and glue all my old pieces together—my job, my apartment, everything I was before Kyle. But standing there in Florida, I realized... I don’t want that life anymore, Gage. I want something else entirely."

"What do you want, Tessa?" I ask, voice low and raw.

I want to believe I already know, but with her?

She keeps me guessing—like a riddle wrapped in sass.

My pulse is hammering, chest tight, every part of me bracing for whatever she says next.

With Tessa, it's never simple. And it’s never been more important than right now.