She stepped over a dirt floor coated in a fine layer of coal dust and dotted with scrap metal.
A workbench lining one wall was covered in unfinished pieces, a few displays at the front showcasing horseshoes and other carefully crafted items that she assumed were for sale.
And there, in the middle of it all, was the man who had taken up her every thought since she had spoken to him last night.
A long leather apron covered him from head to toe, durable trousers and a simple white shirt peeking out from the back. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, tanned forearms that she couldn’t help but admire, his hands dirty from the metal forge. She tried to note his expression, but it was hard to see his face under the flat cap.
She certainly heard him, however. His mouth was open as he sang in that beautiful voice that had shaken her to her very core the night before. She hadn’t known how to tell him how affected she had been. He’d likely thought her as dumb as the fish he had told her she looked like, but she had been so taken off guard by his actions, his questions, his proposal, that she had struggled to respond.
But after a sleepless night, she had come to a decision.
She watched him as she waited for him to see her, as he turned the metal, holding it in the fire until it was red hot before placing it in front of him and shaping it with a hammer and an anvil. Watching him work was mesmerizing, although she wondered how long she should do so without his notice.
He finally came to the end of his song, and without looking up, he said, “I don’t usually put on shows without pay, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
She let out the smallest “eep!” of surprise before she stepped forward, into his line of sight.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to startle you.”
He looked up, his lips quirking into a grin. “I’m just jesting. Look away. I’ve been called many things, but shy is not one of them.”
“I believe that,” she said, wandering through the room, closer to him. “So, this is where you work.”
“This is it,” he said with a nod.
“Do you work alone?”
“No, I’m still an apprentice, although hopefully not for long. The blacksmith doesn’t work much anymore, althoughhe’s here on the odd day I play football. We have an understanding.”
There was more he wasn’t saying, but she would leave it for now.
“Did you have a good rest of your night?” he asked as he continued to work. Minnie couldn’t help but watch how adeptly he moved his hands. She had never considered blacksmithing a craft, but she could see the artistry in his work.
“I had a lot on my mind,” she admitted. “And my parents were not too pleased when I returned home, as I hadn’t told them I was even leaving the house.”
“Did you come here alone today?” he asked, peering around her toward the door.
“I brought a footman, but he is waiting outside,” she said, lifting her chin in challenge. “I’m not an idiot. I know to look after my safety.”
“Never said you were,” he responded easily, and she was instantly chagrined. He had never questioned her, at least not in that way, and she was directing her anger and frustrations at the wrong person.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he shook his head.
“Not a problem. You’re probably used to being told what to do.”
“I am.”
She took a deep breath. She had been waiting for him to ask her again if she had come to a decision, but it seemed that he was going to leave that up to her.
“I’ve thought about your offer,” she said, unable to call it a proposal. “Does it still stand?”
“Of course it does,” he said, furrowing his brow, as though annoyed that she would question him. “I’m a man of my word.”
“But do you want this? Do you really, truly accept this?”
He stopped what he was doing, apparently finishedwith the piece as he inspected it, nodded in satisfaction, and then set it down.
He walked across the room to where she stood by the front counter, fisted his hands, and then set them down on either side of her, his face closing in. He smelled like charcoal, leather, and the earthiness of working in the shop with the dirt floor.
