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“You’re going to teach me?”

“If you truly wish to own them, you must learn how to use them.”

And if I’d like to design more of them, I should learn how to use them. Knowing how to throw the hatchets, or hold a sword, or swing any blade would teach me how they functioned. The benefits and drawbacks. The advantages and limitations. What they had in surplus and what they lacked.

And I’d learn to defend myself, which yes, wasn’t a half-baked idea. Socially, I could wipe the floor with just about anyone. Physically, not so much.

A knowing, masculine smile. “You’re staring at me again.”

“What can I say? You’re very stare-able.”

“Let us see if you are trainable.”

All sorts of giddy emotions collided as I raced to the bungalow, snatched my axes, and ran back to the glade.

With his hands on his hips, Aire inspected my night clothes. “Perhaps I should have advised you to change.”

“I’m not a pants or hose girl.”

“Then we shall deal with protective covering later. I’d merely like to begin with a few proper grips and stances.”

He asked permission to wield the axes, and when I handed them over, he admired them openly. “Rarely have I seen weapons that have stunned me, so majestic as to eclipse their presumed capabilities. Compact and of such base materials, yet they fly like the wind. Who crafted them?”

“You can thank me for that.” I shrugged. “It’s a hobby of mine. Or well, I’d like it to be more than that—designing weapons.”

No reason not to tell him. After all, a carpenter had been commissioned to build a fail-proof presentation container for the acorn, not a weaponsmith, or the mother of a weaponsmith.

And technically, I wasn’t practicing the trade anyway. Not yet.

Besides, I enjoyed the flabbergasted look on his face. “You have a splendid hand,” Aire complimented.

“I know,” I gushed, taking the axes and slipping past him while adding a sway to my hips.

Yes, that move had been deliberate. And yes, he noticed it.

My back faced him, but some gazes could be easily felt. Intensely felt.

But now that we were actually doing this, the giddiness shriveled into something timid and inadequate.

“A designer and crafter of arms. All the more reason for learning how to properly use them,” he said.

“Agreed. Okay, so war positions.” I turned, bent my arms, grasped my hatchets at my sides, and scowled. A ferocious expression leapt off my face, and my left eye squinted, because why not embellish?

“How’s this for tough?” I asked. “Grrrr.”

Aire’s lips quirked. “That’s not entirely what I had in mind.”

“Or this?” I raised the axes high above my head like a conqueror. “I’ll dub this my Warrior Bitch Stance.”

Acting silly was much more doable than looking like an amateur. But mostly, all I wanted in this orange, golden, and crimson world was to make him laugh. And it was working.

Motivated, I tried a series of positions, each one more ridiculous than the last. Aire’s head fell into his palm, his shoulders shaking with mirth when the sound effects began.

“Haaaar.”

“Heeeeh.”

“Hiiiii-yahhhh.”