I turn back to the forge, trying to shake it off. But it’s too late. She’s already gotten under my skin.
And I have a feeling this is only the beginning.
Chapter Two
Perry
The heat in the forge is relentless, thick and stifling, even in the early afternoon. The sound of Knox’s hammer rings through the space, rhythmic and steady, like a pulse that keeps the whole place alive. I stand a few feet away, watching him with fascination as he works the molten metal into shape. Every swing of his hammer sends sparks flying, and I can’t help but admire the sheer power he radiates. His forearms flex, muscles taut, glistening with sweat under the dim light of the forge.
“Careful, Petal,” he grumbles, barely sparing me a glance. “This isn’t exactly a safe space for daydreaming.”
Petal. The way he says it, like it’s both a compliment and a warning, sends a shiver down my spine. He’s right, of course. I’m out of my element here in his world of fire and iron, but I’m not about to let him see that. He might be brooding and tough, but I’ve handled my share of hard men before. I just have to break through his walls, and I’ll be fine.
“I’m not daydreaming,” I reply, with a smile that’s half sweet, half challenge. “I’m just admiring your... craftsmanship.”
That gets his attention. He pauses mid-swing, finally turning those dark eyes on me. They flicker with something hot, something simmering beneath the surface, but just as quickly, he masks it with a grunt.
“Grab those tools,” he orders, nodding toward a nearby table. “I’m not cuttin’ you any slack just because it’s your first day on the job. If you’re going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
I can tell he’s reluctant, that he doesn’t really want me in his space, but I’m not backing down. I stride over to the table and pick up the heavy tongs he pointed to, doing my best to look like I know what I’m doing. I can feel his gaze on me, assessing, and it only makes me more determined.
“So, what exactly are we working on today?” I ask, holding up the tongs.
He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps hammering the metal into submission. The clang echoes around us, and I catch myself biting my lip, watching his hands, his broad shoulders. Focus, Perry.
“Your granddad’s truck,” he finally says, voice gruff. “The parts I need to fabricate are going to take time. A lot of time.”
I nod, trying to seem unbothered by his roughness. “I’m patient.”
“We’ll see about that.” There’s a challenge in his voice, one I can’t help but rise to.
Knox might be stoic and distant, but there’s no mistaking the chemistry between us. It’s there in every glance, every brush of his arm against mine as we work. He keeps his distance, but it’s like he’s tethered to me by an invisible line, one that pulls us closer every time we speak.
The air grows thicker—not just with the heat of the forge, but with something else. Something charged. I notice the way his eyes flick toward me when he thinks I’m not looking, andthe way he clenches his jaw, like he’s holding back from saying something he shouldn’t.
“So why Copper Mountain?” he asks, his voice softer now, as if he’s trying to break through the wall between us. “Why leave wherever you were?”
I pause, unsure how much to reveal. Knox doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to pry, but his question feels personal, more than just small talk. “It was time for a change,” I say, keeping it vague. “My flower shop in the city wasn’t doing great, and I... needed a fresh start.”
He watches me closely, eyes narrowing like he can tell I’m holding something back, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.
“Sounds like there’s more to the story. Got an ex you’re hiding from out here?” he asks, his voice low. “That’s usually why the pretty ones stay out here on the mountain.”
I stiffen slightly. How much does he know? “He’s... out of the picture,” I say, forcing a smile. “Or at least, I hope he is.”
Knox doesn’t respond, but his expression darkens, his jaw tight. He knows there’s more to the story, but thankfully, he doesn’t push. Instead, he focuses on the metal in front of him, his hands working with practiced precision. I can tell by the way his fingers grip the hammer and tongs that there’s a protectiveness in him, something fierce and unyielding. It’s like he’s not just shaping metal, but guarding something—or someone.
“Doesn’t sound like you’re convinced he’s out of the picture,” he mutters, eyes narrowing on the iron as he pounds it into submission.
I shrug, not wanting to give too much away. “I’m starting over. That’s what matters, right?”
He grunts, clearly unsatisfied with my answer, but he lets it go. For now.
The forge falls quiet again, except for the crackle of fire and the rhythmic clang of iron. Despite the tension in the air, there’s something oddly comforting about being here with him. Maybe it’s the steadiness of his presence, the way he moves with purpose. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for all his gruffness, Knox seems like the kind of man who knows how to protect what’s his.
I shake the thought from my head. He’s not mine. I’m just here to get the truck fixed.
“Here,” Knox suddenly says, stepping closer. He hands me a piece of metal, still warm from the forge. His fingers brush mine, and I swear, the heat that sparks between us is hotter than the fire. “Hold this steady.”
