Page 4

Silas

The wood beneath my hands is smooth, the grain flowing like a stream under my fingers as I guide the chisel along the edge of the cabinet door. Large swirls merge together to form a delicate design. My knuckles ache from the pressure of each swipe, but it’s not a bad ache.

I’m one step closer to making a beautiful piece.

Across the workshop, Lily’s got her wrist stained as much as the arm of the rocking chair she’s working on.

I tell myself not to look up, not to take in her progress. Worst case, she fucks up the job bad enough that I have to go a shade darker myself. Best case, she’ll do a fine job, and I’ll be forced to listen to her excitement as I give credit where it’s due.

As if that’s a bad thing. Not bad, more haunting than anything.

Another curl of wood falls away from the cabinet door, floating toward the ground with the others. One perfect swipe, just like the others.

“ Shoot .”

Hearing her whisper her displeasure, I lift my gaze.

She’s got a blotch of stain on her knee now, and she’s grimacing at the brown patch that’ll take some scrubbing to get off. If she’s the one trying to remove it, being a novice, it’ll take days. If I were the one to do it…

No. Stop now before you get ahead of yourself.

Reaching over, I grab my small piece of sandpaper and rub against the curls, leaving them perfectly smooth.

“So, are your brothers going to join us?” Completely clueless to what I’m thinking, she dips the tip of her rag into the gallon-sized bucket before working on the other arm. “Seems like you can use all the help you can get. Especially if you’re relying on auctions to find employees.”

“They won’t be coming. They stop by throughout the week.” Curling my fingers, each digit feels like rusted metal. With each piece, they grow increasingly stiff. “You’re all I have this weekend.”

Does she need to know that I told Bradley and Coop to stay far away from the workshop? Of course not. They can enjoy their weekend, and I can go without worrying about my siblings getting distracted by the beauty.

Besides, from that large shirt she’s wearing, she’s probably got a boyfriend of some sort. It’s a university shirt, so he must be far away to let a bastard like me buy her out.

The thought annoys me, and the fine details of my work are the ones to take a hit as I nick the wrong spot. Cursing under my breath, I try to fix my mistake. The wood is no longer smooth.

Minutes pass, and I lose track of time as I move to the other door, trying my best to make both perfectly identical. It’s impossible, of course, and that’s what is best about my pieces. The flaws point out the beauty. Still, I’m feeling more agitated than usual.

Lily hums under her breath as she puts all her focus on her work. Whether she’s aware of it or not, I catch her smiling a little.

The knot in my stomach tightens even more.

“So, where is this chair going to end up?” She pulls back and swipes at her forehead, unknowingly making another mark on her skin. “I hope you sell this one. With how much stuff you gave Poppy, it may be a bad idea to give others free stuff, too.”

Grunting in agreement, I pull back and grab a cloth to dab at my own sweat. “A friend owns an antique shop on the edge of town. He lets me put in a few pieces. That’ll be one of them.”

Ready to get back to work, I frown when she sets her rag down before coasting over to the other side of my shop. Looking at the few finished pieces, I can see her curiosity forming right away.

Dropping my rag, I’m on the move.

Lily doesn’t hesitate—she reaches out, her fingertips hovering over the golden oak finish of a table I spent days sanding to perfection. She’s not trying to be trouble, but that doesn’t stop my gut from tightening, my pulse kicking up as I close the distance between us.

My hand snaps out, catching her wrist just before her stained fingers can ruin the wood.

She gasps out, caught off guard.

The second my fingers lock around her, I feel it—the rabbit-quick flutter of her pulse beneath my thumb. Her other hand flies to her chest, gripping that ridiculous, oversized shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Her eyes go wide, lips parting, cheeks flushing a shade of pink so warm it makes my teeth ache.

Pretty. The word lodges itself in my throat.

“Dry your hands before you touch things,” I mutter, forcing my voice low and steady. It takes every ounce of control I have not to let it crack, not to let her hear the way my breath wants to hitch.

Because I’m not angry.

I’m not even annoyed.

The only thing in my head right now is the image of bending her over the very table she’s so damn curious about and exploring how supportive it would be under our weight.

Fuck me. I’ve got it bad. Instead of addressing this issue, I’ve made it worse.

Like she doesn’t understand where I’m coming from, she glances down at the handprint she’s left over her right breast. The one I’m trying my damned hardest not to look at. “Oh.”

Releasing her, I bury my fingers through my hair and turn away. I’ve stopped her from causing more damage, so that’s good and all. Now, I need to walk away before I do something stupid.

Something I can’t take back.

Reminding myself that she’s probably got someone waiting for her back at home, my feet remain glued to the ground. I don’t think my boots have ever felt so heavy.

“I didn’t think about that, I’m sorry.” She sighs behind me, apologizing for something she really doesn’t need to. “You’re just really good at what you do. It’s hard not to appreciate your stuff.”

For giving me a compliment, she sounds grouchy about it.

When I glance over my shoulder, a mistake, of course, I see she’s still flustered. She’s poking and prodding at that shirt.

I told her to bring clothing that isn’t important. Something worth losing.

“That shirt important to you?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, fingers flexing at my sides like I’m still fighting the urge to reach for her again.

I don’t owe her an apology—but I did startle her, and now there’s a smear of dark stain streaked across the faded lettering. There’s no saving the fabric.

She blinks, slow and dazed, like she’s still catching up. Then her fingers twist nervously in the material, tugging it away from her skin just enough that I catch a glimpse of collarbone, the delicate hollow of her throat.

“Oh, it’s from a few years ago, back when I attended school. It’s not—no, it’s just comfy, I guess.” Her words trip over themselves, soft and flustered, and something hot coils low in my gut.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard through my nose.

It’s hers.

Not some boyfriend’s. Not some other man’s. Just hers, worn thin from time, from use, from her body curled up in it.

The realization shouldn’t hit me this hard.

I need air. Space. A minute to wrestle back the stupid, reckless thoughts flooding my head—because it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

She could still have someone. She should have someone.

I shouldn’t be standing here, staring at the way the fabric clings to her just a little where the stain’s soaked in, wondering how much darker it’d be if I pressed my palm there.

“I’m gonna step out,” I mutter, already turning before she can see the way my jaw ticks. “Get back to work and finish that chair.”

My voice is steady. My hands aren’t. They’re itching to touch her. Itching to map out her body and see everything that shirt is covering.

She clicks her tongue, frowning at me like a switch has been flipped.

“Does it kill you to be nice?” Her voice is sharp, cutting through the thick air between us.

I need to walk away.

Lily doesn’t let me escape before I can.

She steps forward, deliberate, slow—like she knows exactly how much it unravels me to breathe in the same air. Her frown mirrors mine, but there’s fire in her eyes, a defiance that makes my pulse hammer against my ribs.

When I breathe in deep, it’s not just the scent of the woodstain filling my lungs. It’s my shampoo clinging to her that makes my head spin. Makes me think she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she knows what to do to push me over the ledge.

“You bought me at that auction,” she says, jabbing a finger into my chest. The contact burns, even through my shirt.

“But you act like I’m some kind of burden.

Like you can’t stand the sight of me. So what’s your deal, huh?

Why am I here if all you’re gonna do is glare at me like I’ve pissed you off just by existing?

I get it, you spent way too much money to call it a loss, but why are you putting us both through this? ”

Every word is a spark, igniting something raw and reckless inside me. My control is fraying, snapping thread by thread. My blood is rushing everywhere but my head. Not that it matters.

I can’t think. Not about anything but her. She’s haunted me from the moment I laid my eyes on her.

I catch her wrist before she can poke me again, causing her breath to catch in the back of her throat.

“You want to know why?” My voice is rough, barely more than a growl.

She feigns her bravery, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t yank out of my grip. “Yeah. I do.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

I don’t bother thinking anymore. Convincing myself not to be reckless isn’t on the table.

I yank her against me, my other hand tangling in her hair, tilting her head back. There’s no hesitation, no gentle lead-in—just hunger, sharp and consuming.

Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing, lips bruising. She gasps into the kiss, taken by surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. No, she lets my tongue explore and invade, moaning like she’s wanted this as much as I have.

The kiss is not sweet. It’s not soft.

I back her into one of my workbenches, wood creaking under the force, and her hands fist my shirt like she’s torn between shoving me away and dragging me closer. I don’t give her the chance to decide.

My tongue swipes deeper into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her, like I’ve been starving for this for my entire life and she’s the only thing that can fill me.

She whimpers—a sound that goes straight to my cock—and I swallow it greedily.

This is why.

Because she’s infuriating. Because she pushes me. Because I’ve never wanted anyone this much, this badly, and it’s been eating me alive since the moment I laid eyes on her.

She called me out on my dreams, noticing with ease what I wanted. A family big enough to fill every room.

The only problem is that a woman has never jumped out at me. Never made me want to sink to my knees and beg her to accept me.

Lily makes me desperate, and I don’t know what in the hell to do with these foreign feelings. So I kiss her, over and over, until she’s breaking away for air. And then?

I kiss her again.