Page 36 of Deck the Hauls

“It was, actually.” Better not to mention my head injury, especially since I seemed to be on the mend. It would just worry her. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Just busy.”

Lucia’s voice was flat. Was there something going on with her?

“Is everything okay? You sound tired.”

“Yeah. There’s just… there’s a lot happening right now. Sorry Em, I’ve got to run to my pilates class. Perhaps we could talk more later this week?”

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Lucia hung up, and I frowned. Was she okay?

At least I’d see her at Thanksgiving. Hopefully in person she’d be willing to open up to me. But for now, I needed to solve my Dana problem.

I jumped into my car, pulled on my seat belt and tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel. What did Dana need help with? She was a self-sufficient person. The only thing I knew she struggled with was Christmas.

Christmas.

That was it!

I dialed Dana’s number. It went to voice mail. She must be out of range. I was so close to her place, I might as well see if she was home.

I turned on the ignition and started to drive.

—

At Dana’s cabin, I knocked, then listened for the sound of footsteps. Nothing.

Perhaps she’s gone out. It is a Sunday, after all. Or maybe…maybe she was chopping wood?

I headed around the side of the house. I couldn’t hear any wood chopping, but Dana could be taking a break. An image of Dana sitting on the chopping block, grasping an axe, her chest rising and falling from exertion, damp tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail, made me pick up my pace.

What would she do next? She’d throw down her axe, pull me to her, and kiss me.

I blinked. The wood-chopping related fantasies really were getting to be a bit much.

Dana might not even be queer. Although, all her friends were, so perhaps that made it more likely? That, combined with the flannel, the wood chopping and her general vibe… I shook my head. I was making a lot of assumptions based on stereotypes and wishful thinking. Just friends, Emily. Even if she was interested in women, nothing could happen.

Despite my head injury, it had been nice last night, hanging out with all her friends. They were so comfortable being themselves—being queer and showing affection in public—that I’d felt a little envious. Had they grown up listening to church services saying same-sex relationships were immoral, unnatural and sinful and witnessing classmates being taunted for being gay?

I walked into the clearing, my shoulders sinking. The chopping block stood in the middle of the grass. There was no sign of Dana. I sighed, turned on my heels and started back toward my car.

“Emily?”

I twirled around. Dana had emerged from the shed, wearing dark-green work pants and a navy jacket with a black backpack over it, her hair tied back in her usual ponytail. Instead of the axe I’d fantasized about, a large metal cage was in her hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “How’s your head?”

“Hi!” Heat rose in my cheeks. “I’m feeling much better today, thank you. Sorry to intrude. I tried calling and thought you might be out here, chopping wood.” My eyes darted to the chopping block and another image of Dana—this time pulling off her tank top, muscles flexing, her gaze intense, while I sat on the woodblock watching—flashed into my mind. I swallowed. “I—I just wanted to thank you for looking after me last night and everything else you’ve done for me this week. I really appreciate it. So I… I wanted to come around and offer my services.”

Dana tilted her head. “Offer your…services?”

Heat rushed to my face. That came out wrong.

“I thought I could help you set up for the Christmas market. I’ve got the afternoon off on Friday, and...well, you know how much I love Christmas. So if that timing works, I thought it could be a win-win situation.”