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Willow
The Truth Sucks
After removing a hundred and fifty pound dog from my lap, I did manage to get some of the hot water. Also, Ransom’s version of washing my back was much better than my own.
We both had morning chores—taking care of the dog, letting him out, and checking in with Aidan. Apparently, they hadn’t any more luck on the screen name or the photo, just that it had been definitely taken in the distillery.
He was getting more bold. It took a lot of balls to set up a damn table and put it back.
Plus, we couldn’t figure out which one he’d used to try to get prints. Thirty tables were under those tarps and who knew how many chairs. But Aidan had agreed to send someone out to update the security so we didn’t have to bother Clay right now.
Ransom was just as annoyed as I was and had disappeared into his workshop.
I cooked us breakfast and used the crustless quiche recipe I’d found in a magazine as a video for my channel. The magazine had been fancy as hell and no one had an hour to cook breakfast, thanks. Unless you caramelized onions, that is. That pretty much was my only dealbreaker. Especially if you were making bacon jam.
I tried to put as much joy in my voice as possible, but I had a feeling I’d be doing a lot of editing after we ate.
With two plates in my hand, I knocked on the door with my foot, but Ransom’s music was blaring. I juggled the plates and and opened the door. He must’ve been even more pissed than I’d realized, since he never blasted music at this level.
I couldn’t blame him. This faceless coward was constantly a step—or more—ahead of us.
Sawdust was everywhere and it stuck to Ransom’s hair as he sanded the top of the most stunning desk I’d ever seen. Delicate inlays had been carved into the corners and the fronts of the drawers, but the piece had clean, gorgeous lines.
The style itched at the back of my mind. What did this desk remind me of?
“Ransom,” I called out over the sander.
He glanced over at me with his yellow protective glasses on. He was kinda cute all disheveled. Sawdust had even stuck to his rapidly growing beard.
Flicking off the machine, he pushed the glasses up on top of his head.
“Food.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot about feeding you.”
“Handily, I’m kinda good at that part.”
He twisted around as if at a loss for the wreckage that surrounded us. “Maybe we should go back in the house.”
“Nah. I want to see what you’re working on.” I held out a plate.
He brushed at his face before he pulled off his gloves and took it. “Thanks.” Then he groaned. “Smells amazing.”
“I raided your pantry. Sundried tomatoes and bacon seemed like a good combo to me.”
He forked up a bite. “Bacon works for everything.” Leaning on the workbench, he pointed to the desk with his fork. “Clay is having an office built for her while they’re on their honeymoon as a surprise. She keeps telling him she doesn’t need one, but…” He shrugged.
“She definitely needs one. I fear for their marriage if she doesn’t have her own space soon.”
He shoveled in another two bites and I tried not to laugh. For someone who liked to cook, he ate as if it was his job rather than for pleasure. “You get it.” He swallowed with a sigh. “And so does he.”
I popped in the last bit of my wedge of quiche in my mouth and set my plate on the end table tucked in the corner. “It’s beautiful. You’re a craftsman.”
“Thanks.” He set his plate down on his workbench and moved back to the desk to smooth his hand over the wood. “I’m just about done. I just need to stain and seal it.”
I noticed the dark piece leaning against the back of the garage. “Like that?”
He nodded. “Goes with the built-ins Clay ordered for her. I knew the desk needed to be a little more special than prefab.”
