Page 51 of Axe-Rated Lumberjack

I smiled and reached across the table for his hand.

“I think I could manage that. Especially if you’re willing to continue supervising the apples.”

We finished breakfast while going over the day’s recording schedule. The Heartwood ritual would be our principal challenge, and I needed to send the latest finished material to Folio with enough time for review before Sunday’s handoff.

Hudson offered to wash the dishes while I checked my notes. Afterward, he gathered his jacket and boots, kissed me thoroughly beside the front door, and promised to return as soon as he’d changed.

I watched his pickup disappear down the gravel drive, then went back inside to get dressed.

For the recording session, I chose a soft-blue blouse, dark trousers, and a brown cardigan that was comfortable without looking as though it belonged to somebody’s elderly literature professor. I secured my hair with a clip, cleaned my glasses, and made sure the microphone and workstation were ready.

The final portion of A Bond of Bark & Flame could wait until Sunday, but we had a particular challenge waiting for us this morning.

Drake Cinderhide was about to participate in an intimate magical ritual involving an ancient tree, glowing sap, and an appalling disregard for the laws of nature.

I was looking forward to Hudson’s professional opinion.

Hudson returned wearing a clean charcoal flannel shirt and jeans, carrying a reusable travel mug that smelled wonderfully of coffee. He had the good sense to leave his boots beside the cottage door before coming down the hallway.

“How’s my favorite narrator?”

“Prepared to commit an act of botanical violence. I assume you’re ready to assist?”

He glanced at the marked pages I’d arranged beside the microphone. “Is this the tree that lights up when somebody gets naked? Because I’ve been thinking about that one, and I have questions.”

“The very one. And I’m certain you do, but I’d appreciate it if you saved your questions until after we’ve managed a clean take.”

Hudson gave me an entirely unrepentant grin as we settled into our recording positions.

By now, he’d learned to keep his movements quiet, and I no longer needed to remind him to hold his script at an angle that wouldn’t create distracting paper noise. The microphone stood between our chairs, with both copies of the manuscript positioned so we could read without leaning awkwardly across each other. Sunlight reached only a narrow strip of the carpet beneath the curtains, leaving the little room pleasantly dim.

We’d grown accustomed to the remarkable intimacy of sharing the equipment, too. Hudson’s shoulder rested near mine, and when he turned to speak, his voice reached me through my headphones and from only inches away.

I was getting much better at distinguishing professional appreciation from wanting to climb into his lap.

Mostly.

“The next passage begins with Isadora and Drake entering the hollow Heartwood,” I explained, showing him the appropriate page. “The tree is supposed to recognize whether they’re destined mates.”

Hudson studied the description, his eyes narrowing as he turned a page.

“Peyton, is that thing supposed to have bark or skin? Because the author seems to be using both, and I’ve never encountered a tree that needed a dermatologist.”

I burst out laughing.

“The Heartwood is enchanted, which apparently gives it considerable freedom where anatomy is concerned. But let’s see if we can get through the scene before you recommend a specialist.”

He grinned, adjusted his headphones, and waited for my cue.

The opening exchange was surprisingly beautiful. Beneath the ridiculous magical premise, Isadora was afraid of discovering that Drake’s affection was nothing more than the result of an ancient enchantment. She wanted him to choose her regardless of whatever the Heartwood declared.

Hudson understood that part immediately.

“So he’s not asking the tree to decide for him,” he said after reading the paragraph. “He already knows what he wants. He’s trying to convince her to stop worrying about the rest.”

“Exactly. She needs to hear him say it, and she needs to believe he means it.” I made a small pencil mark beside Drake’s next line. “Let’s give that one a little room to breathe.”

I started recording.