Page 62 of Not Just Gal Pals

“A medical fund, hmmm?” Amanda raised an eyebrow as my cheeks started to heat. I’d avoided any mention of Blake, but Amanda had clearly made the connection.

“What?”

“Nothing... That’s very noble of you, and I’m sure it’s completely unrelated to our mutual friend, Blake. I could suss out whether the school band could give a performance. They did a medley of pop songs a few weeks ago that was really fun. Something like that would be perfect.”

I clapped my hands. “That sounds amazing! If you could ask, that would be great.”

* * *

As I was walking home, I pulled out my phone. Two new messages from Serena. I read the latest one first.

PS: Who’s this Blake guy you’ve been putting on your photo credits lately? Did you find your hot flannel-wearing lumberjack for a fling after all? Maybe you should post a picture of the two of you, or at least send me one of him so I can live vicariously through you.

I laughed. Serena was almost spot on. Blake was basically my hot, terribly distracting, flannel-wearing lumberjane.

I scrolled down to Serena’s next message, and my heart beat a little faster.

Hi Jenny! Just wanted to let you know I’ve got a few new potential sponsorship opportunities for you I’m exploring. Hopefully have news soon. x

I fervently hoped one of Serena’s leads came through.

With slightly more spring in my step, I continued walking down Main Street, past trees already losing their leaves, the smell of smoke from log fires in the air. I’d just reached the turn-off to my parents’ house when my phone pinged. I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket and smiled. It was my lumberjane.

Hi. Are you free this afternoon? Feel like helping prune Mrs. Harding’s damn tree? I don’t want her injuring herself but wouldn’t mind moral support in case she quizzes me about bowel movements and tries to force cod liver oil down my throat.

I chuckled at Blake’s carefully punctuated message and at the memory of last night. I still couldn’t get over the fact that, of all the people to knock on Blake’s door while she was tied to a bed naked, it had been Mrs. Harding. But strangely, despite the situation, for once I hadn’t found her intimidating. Seeing her out of her teacher’s outfit, in tan slacks and a cozy knit sweater, make-up free with her hair in a loose bun, she suddenly looked like any other woman in her sixties rather than an intimidating figure of authority. Perhaps exposure therapy only helped get over fears, rather than attraction.

Because while I no longer found Mrs. Harding terrifying, the more time I spent with Blake, the more I enjoyed listening to her bad dad jokes and hilarious takes on the often-terrible movies we were watching, the warmth and compassion hiding under her sometimes gruff exterior, the way she did that thing with her tongue… Her text messages were still shockingly terse, but now I knew that was just how Blake texted, they made me laugh.

Castor, not cod liver, oil. I’ll be there for both moral and physical support 😘

As I continued my walk home, it hit me just how strange a turn my life had taken. Six months ago—hell, even three months ago—if someone had told me I’d be looking forward to an afternoon of helping Blake Mitchell and Mrs. Harding prune a tree, I would have assumed they were high and quickly excused myself from their company. But now, if the lightness in my chest were any indication, I was genuinely enthused at the prospect. I shook my head, laughing softly to myself. Life was full of surprises.

But don’t get too used to this. Blake doesn’t want a long-term relationship, and I don’t want to be broke.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JENNY

“You should go on without me,” I gasped dramatically through pained breaths as we passed the general store.

“I’m not leaving you, you turkey.” Blake slowed her jog to my pace, which could—aptly—at best be described as a trot. “It gets a lot better once we get up Main Street. This is the hardest part.”

“I never realized Main Street was so steep before,” I puffed, my lungs burning as I inhaled the freezing November air. Yes, it may have looked like it was only on a slight incline, but when you were running up it, it was a whole other matter.

Blake chuckled, showing no signs of exertion.

We were jogging-slash-trotting up Main Street with about half of Sapphire Springs and residents from the surrounding towns, for the annual Sapphire Springs Turkey Trot. Amanda, Peter, and Maya had passed us a couple of minutes ago, as had—to my embarrassment—my mom, who’d been training with her friend Becky for weeks. The other half of Sapphire Springs had turned out to cheer us on.

Familiar faces lined the street, yelling words of encouragement. An image of my warm bed momentarily flickered in my mind, making me wistful for my fluffy duvet. But a cheer from Dan, his wife, and his daughter standing outside Builders Arms, refocused my attention on making it up Main Street. I was pleased to see the posters Dan had let me put up outside Builders Arms advertising the fundraiser hadn’t fallen off or been pasted over—yet. Fingers crossed we’d get a good turnout on Saturday night.

Distracted with admiring my handiwork, I nearly tripped over my own feet, a jolt of fear sending my stomach skyrocketing, before I managed to right myself. Blake shot a look at me. “Are you sure your ankle is okay?”

“It’s completely fine. Just got a little distracted.” My thighs, lungs, and heart, on the other hand...

In retrospect, perhaps I should have just cheered Blake on from the sidelines instead of running with her. But since the village board had generously agreed to donate the profits from the Turkey Trot to the medical fund, I’d wanted to fully participate in the experience. We’d gone out for a few slow jogs together over the past two weeks to prepare, but that clearly hadn’t been enough.

We were almost at Novel Gossip, and George was out front in a warm puffer jacket and beanie, holding a sign and cheering at us. I temporarily forgot the pain when I got close enough to read it. ‘Go Blake! Go Jenny!’