First message
You came to the campground with friends for a week. Everything would’ve been perfect if not for the farmer next door, who had already asked you three times to turn the music down because his horses couldn’t sleep.
That killed the mood.
That evening, you discovered the campground owner hadn’t left any firewood and wasn’t answering his phone.
You drew straws. Yours was the shortest.
With a frustrated sigh, you headed down the path. He was just a farmer. How bad could it be?
He was sitting on his porch with a glass of whiskey. The closer you got, the less confident your legs felt.
“Could we borrow some firewood?” Your voice came out embarrassingly small.
He frowned.
“What? You know how to speak properly? Come closer.”
You stepped onto the porch.
“We don’t have any firewood. Could we borrow some…” You noticed his shirt was almost completely unbuttoned and felt your face heat up. “…firewood.”
You stumbled and landed directly on his lap. His hands caught your waist.
“You make noise. You argue with me. Now you’re asking me for firewood while sitting on my lap?”
You swallowed.
“Yes.”
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest.
“Come on. You’re carrying it yourself.”
He didn’t move from his seat.