“Um, Paige.”
He looks me up and down. “Paige who?”
“Paige from the candle shop across the street.”
He brushes dust from his shirt and steps around hisworkbench to get closer. “And what can I do for you, Paige from across the street?”
“Um, I just wanted to say hi—you know, since we’re neighbors now.”
His gaze drops down to the candle I’m holding.
“Right! I brought you this. I didn’t know what you would like, so it’s one of our scentless ones.”
His fingertips slide against mine as he takes it from me. The move is slow, like he’s savoring the contact. I know I am. His hand is rough but warm, and his eyes never leave mine as he brings the candle up to his nose and smiles.
“My favorite.”
I can’t help but stare. Jeans and a loose T-shirt, with a gray flannel thrown over top. Thick, dark hair pokes out from his backward baseball cap. A smile that says,I see you looking.
I tear my eyes away. “I like your place.”
His shop front is small, filled with his finished pieces. Empty frames of every size imaginable lean up against the windows and register, grabbing the attention of everyone who walks past. Getting mine as well. It’s a lot harder to catch sight of him though. Until a customer comes in, he’s always hiding behind the doorway I’m standing in.
All week, I’ve wondered what was back here, and now I know. It’s his workshop.
A large workbench takes up most of the room, and the walls are carefully organized. Power tools are separated from hand tools; wood is arranged by size andcolor; and the back wall is an endless sea of cans and tubes, everything labeled.
“Do you make everything yourself?”
“Yep.” It’s all he says, and I get it.
Not everyone is an open book, like Skye and me. Not everyone wants to pry under the polished surface ofhow are youandhave a good dayto know what you’re afraid of—me, falling; Skye, seagulls (it’s a whole thing).
Just because I want to know everything about him doesn’t mean I get to.
He watches me, leaning against the counter with his arms and ankles crossed. Not a huge talker then. Maybe we won’t be friends after all.
I turn to leave.
“I mostly work with custom pieces,” he says, stopping me. “But I like to have some ready-made stuff as well.”
Giddiness bubbles up inside of me.Keep him talking!
There’s no casual way to turn back, so I just do it and pretend I’m not blushing. “What kind of custom pieces?”
“Everything you can think of. Photos, paintings, concert tickets. I did a jersey once.”
“Wow.”
I steal a look at his hands. They’re strong, muscular. Well worked.
He follows me as I backtrack to the small storefront, admiring his handiwork. “These are really good.” Thecloser I look, the more detail I can see within the frame. Work that must have taken days. “You’re really talented.”
“It could be better.”
Hmm. He’s either modest or he hates compliments.
I want to stay and find out everything I can about him, but I promised Skye I’d only be a second. I don’t even need to look through the window to know she’s been watching this whole interaction. She’s going to be making fun of me as soon as I get back there.
