“He says you walk heavy but have a nice aura,” she translated.
“I walk heavy? Is he calling me fat?” I gasped and pretended to be offended.
“Och, please, like you have an ounce of fat on you.” I glanced over to see Liora’s cheeks pinken.
“Do you like thinking about my body, Liora?” I asked, knowing she got flustered when I was explicit with her.
“Me? I hardly think of it.” Liora put her nose in the air.
“Oh really? Not at all? Not even when I lift you over my shoulder and throw you down on the bed.”
Liora tripped on a root, and I caught her arm and laughed as she waved a hand in front of her face. “Damn it, Torin.”
“I’d say that I’m sorry, but I can’t, since I can’t lie. I love how much you enjoy my body.”
Liora whirled on me, her lips rounding in an O.
“You can’t say … I mean I do … but?—”
“But what? It’s true, isn’t it? You seem to love touching me…everywhere.” I looked down, pointedly, at where her hands were absentmindedly stroking my abs.
“Oh my God.” Liora whirled and stomped up the path. I took a moment to admire the view, and then followed, wisely keeping my laughter inside.
We reached a stand of pines marked with orange tape. The forester in me clocked the signs automatically—the thinning needles, the fungus at the roots, the slight lean toward the path where tourists loved to wander in summer.
“They’re beautiful,” Liora said softly, laying a hand on one of the trunks. “But sad.”
“Aye,” I said. “They’re done. Might take a year or two, but the next big storm will finish the job if we don’t. Better to bring them down controlled than let the wind do it.”
She nodded, serious now. “Like letting go of something before it falls on your head.”
I huffed a laugh. “Something like that.” I put my chainsaw down to assess the situation. I didn’t have to take them all down, just the worst one, and hopefully the others would stand a chance. Gesturing Liora over, I showed her what I’d be doing—where I’d cut, how the tree would fall, and where she needed to stand to be safe.
“I mean it,” I said, catching her gaze. “If I tell you to move, you move. No arguing, no questions. You go where I point and you stay there. Aye?”
“Aye,” she said, sobering. “No heroics. I promise.”
Bracken chittered sharply at her shoulder.
“He understands to stay clear.”
I started the saw, the familiar roar vibrating through my bones, and fell into the rhythm I knew best. Woodchips flew, sharp and resin-scented. The tree shuddered, groaned, then began its slow, inevitable fall.
I stepped back, guiding it with the cut, heart steady.
It hit the ground with a heavy thud that echoed through my ribs.
When I turned, Liora stood exactly where I’d put her, eyes huge, mouth hanging open.
“That was…” She shook her head. “Weirdly hot.”
My mouth twitched. “It’s just tree work, lass.”
“Aye, but you’re so competent,” she said earnestly. “It does things to me.”
Heat shot straight to my gut. “Don’t say things like that while I’m holding power tools.”
She laughed, delighted, and moved in to help me limb the branches once I killed the saw. She wasn’t very efficient—kept stopping to talk to the trees, or apologize to them, or inspect a patch of moss as if it held the secrets of the universe—but she was willing, and she listened when I corrected her grip or her stance.