Page 2 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Lumberjack
The voice comes from behind me. Deep. Flat. The kind of voice that doesn't waste words because it doesn't have to.
I turn around.
And I have to tilt my head back. Way back.
He's tall. That's the first thing. Not just tall, fucking tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair. Thick beard. And eyes, gray eyes that look like a storm deciding whether or not to break.
He's staring at the washer kit in Frank's hand like it personally offended him.
"What's not right?" I ask, because apparently my mouth doesn't care that the rest of me is still processing the fact that this man is enormous.
Those gray eyes flick to me. Just for a second. Then back to Frank.
"That's for a compression faucet," he says. "She said it's dripping from the sink. If it's the base, it's the O-ring. If it's the spout, it's a cartridge issue."
Frank blinks. "Could be a washer."
"Could be," the man says. "But it's not."
There's a pause. I look between them. Frank looks mildly embarrassed. The tall man looks like he's already regretting speaking.
And I… I grin.
"I didn't know the hardware store came with a grumpy expert," I say.
His eyes cut back to me, and for a second, I see something flicker there. Surprise, maybe. Or confusion. Like he's not entirely sure what to do with me.
Then he turns and walks away.
Just, walks away. Down the aisle, past the paint cans, and straight out the front door without another word.
I stare after him.
"Well," I say, turning back to Frank. "He was delightful."
Frank snorts. "That's Eli Cross. He doesn't come into town much."
"I can see why. Does he hate people, or just me specifically?"
"He doesn't hate people," Frank says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "He just…keeps to himself."
I glance toward the door, where the man—Eli—has already disappeared. "How long has he lived here?"
"Six years, give or take. Bought some land out past the ridge. Works as a lumberjack. Keeps his head down."
"Is he always that chatty?"
Frank grins. "That was chatty for Eli."
I let that sit for a second. Then I look back at the washer kit in Frank's hand, then toward the door again.
"I'm going to need to know everything about him," I say.
Frank laughs. Actually laughs. "Good luck."
Frank is still grinning at me like I've just announced I'm planning to climb Everest in flip-flops.
"What do you mean, 'good luck'?" I ask.
