Chapter 8: Cleaved Wood and DoughThis time, when the sound of wood splitting echoed outside John’s house, he didn’t drop his pen—maybe because he wasn’t holding it, but still. He finished changing the font on the banner he was working on before he got up from his desk and went to the window.
Zachary was wearing a blue plaid shirt today, the fabric stretched equally taut over his shoulders as it had when he’d worn the red. He swung the axe; one precise hit, and the log broke in two. John watched him do it again and again. He studied him as he stopped to pause and wipe some sweat from his forehead. His full beard glowed an almost coppery colour when the sun hit it at a certain angle.
He was beautiful and terrifying.
Why was he there? No one chopped wood for fun.
The chill spreading insid
