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Fuck, had I been touching him? My face caught fire as I snatched my hands back.
“That’s okay…I like the feel of you, too.” He squeezed me against him, and that flame licked at my core.
Dammit. The purge week apparently wasn’t enough to eradicate Davis from my system.
Gravel crunched under his feet as we cleared the side of the house and ventured to the large bay doors. A regular white entry door was positioned to the side, and Davis led us through it.
The sun shone down from the upper windows, casting a warm glow along the floor as we walked inside. Davis gently set me back on my feet. Flipping a few lights, the space illuminated, revealing an expanse of sealed floors, pallets, worktables, and wall to wall tools. Rolling toolboxes nearly as tall as Davis lined a few of the dividers, but the thing that caught my attention more than anything else were the light fixtures arranged along a few of the tables.
“Oh my gosh!” I darted toward the desk and ran a gentle finger along the designs etched into each piece of iron. “These are amazing.”
Davis stood silent next to me, picking up a few of the fixtures. “Yeah, the resorts around here, and a few hotels, have contracts to replace all their current accent fittings with a few of mine.”
I lifted my head. “You make them here, like out of nothing, and design them into these?”
I sounded ridiculous, but my brain couldn’t quite connect how talented he was. My dumb heart was falling back into obsession territory.
He chuckled, moving around the table. He looked so out of place with his bare skin and those running shorts loose on his hips.
“Yeah, I start with a solid piece of iron or metal, and I weld them into what you see around here. Each different hotel or resort usually has a few variations in their requests, depending on the theme of the room, but here in Oregon and Montana, most go for rustic.” He picked up a light fixture that looked like a pair of deer antlers.
My eyes rounded. “You deliver to Montana?”
His soft laugh went straight to my core and warmed it like a hot coal.
“Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and even Colorado.”
Pride swelled inside me so large that I worried it would suffocate me. Tears burned my eyes as I recalled how badly I wanted him to find who he was back when I was an obsessed teenager, planning my future with Davis. I used to hope that he’d find something that would make him feel complete.
Swallowing around all the words that flitted around my head, I blurted, “I want them all”—I stretched my hands over the creations—“in my imaginary home that I will one day have.”
I laughed, smiling up at him, but the way his eyes settled on me made me feel like he was seeing something else.
He seemed to shake out of it a moment later. “You think you could afford me?”
I perked up at that, liking this playful side of him.
“How much do you charge?”
He grinned, blushing a little. “Enough, but I’m commission based only. I don’t sell to any store fronts or anything yet. Well, except for one.”
“That’s a good problem to have, if you’re making it fine without having to expand.”
I walked around a few more tables, loving how organized everything was. There was a clear process of parts and assembly that he had set up along one wall, and then packing and distributing along the other.
“Yeah, it keeps me busy enough, and I have more money than I know what to do with from the commissions.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal.
His words reminded me that my parents were struggling financially, and I needed to get back and help them.
“Well, speaking of money…” I folded my arms, as though they could create a barrier between us. “I should probably get back and help my parents out. They mentioned that your orders have really been helping them, so uh…” I hesitated, nearly choking on the words. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I was so hard on you about everything.”
Davis gave me a slow and genuine smile. “They mean a lot to me. I wish they’d let me buy the building their diner is in; I know that would help them tremendously, because the owner keeps threatening to lease it to someone else.”
He moved past me, walking to the door, but this time, as I watched his back, I felt a tug behind my belly button, like he was the only connection I had to my parents. I followed after him, a little sad to be leaving his space so soon. I had a strange urge to dig through his work tools, organize them for him, and see what he needed help with. He was doing everything all alone. Surely there were things he could use an assistant for.
Heading back into the house, I hesitated and hung back on the porch, needing as much space from him as possible.
He noticed, then stuck his head out of the screen door, giving me a confused expression. “I have to find my checkbook. Might take a second, come inside.”
