Page 11 of Heartwood and Hardware (Zaftig Ever After #4)

DEAN

I watch Riley's fingers fly across her keyboard, marveling at how she translates my jumbled thoughts into clean lines of code.

We're sitting in my workshop, her on the old leather couch I dragged in last week, me at my carving bench, alternating between shaping wood and answering her questions about website features.

"So if someone clicks on this bear sculpture," Riley says, turning her laptop toward me, "they'll see these three angles, plus the detail shots of the paws and face."

I lean closer, careful not to get sawdust on her equipment. The website mockup looks professional, nothing like the basic social media presence I've limped along with for years. "That's perfect. You're a genius, you know that?"

She blushes but doesn't deflect the compliment like she might have weeks ago. "I know. That's why you keep me around."

"One of many reasons," I say, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My hand lingers, tracing the curve of her cheek. "Though your brilliance with computers is definitely in the top five."

"Only top five? I'm wounded." She leans into my touch, her smile teasing. "What could possibly rank higher?"

I pretend to consider. "Well, there's your laugh. The way you explain complex coding concepts using forest metaphors so I actually understand. Your uncanny ability to know exactly when I need coffee." I move closer, lowering my voice. "And how you look wearing nothing but my flannel shirt."

Riley's cheeks flush deeper, but her eyes darken with desire. "That last one wasn't supposed to make the public list."

"There's nothing public about this conversation." I lean in to kiss her, tasting the mint tea she's been sipping all morning.

She responds eagerly before pulling back with a regretful sigh. "If we start that now, we'll never finish the website before the con."

"Would that be so terrible?" I murmur against her neck.

"Yes, because you promised Parker we'd have business cards with the QR code by Friday." She pushes gently at my chest. "Back to work, Evans. Plenty of time for distractions later."

I return to my bench with a grin, picking up my detail knife. Six weeks ago, I wouldn't have imagined this easy rhythm between us—working side by side, each focused on our craft but constantly aware of the other. It feels right in a way I'd stopped believing was possible.

"How's the new piece coming?" Riley asks, nodding toward the half-formed shape emerging from the cedar block.

"Getting there." I turn it in my hands, studying the curves. "It's different from my usual style."

"I like different. It feels more... I don't know. Fluid? Less constrained?"

I nod, surprised as always by her perception. "That's exactly it. I'm not overthinking each cut."

"Like me with my side project." Riley's been coding an app in her spare time, something about pattern recognition that she explains with such enthusiasm I can't help but be swept along, even when I understand only every third word.

"Once I stopped worrying about making it perfect and just let myself play with the possibilities, everything started flowing. "

"We're good for each other that way," I say, setting down my tools to turn in her embrace. "You help me loosen up, I help you slow down."

"Balance," she agrees, rising on tiptoes to kiss me.

This time, I'm the one who reluctantly pulls away. "You're right about those business cards. Let's finish what we started."

Riley laughs, the sound still my favorite in the world. "Now who's being responsible?"

"Terrible influence, you are." I swat her playfully as she returns to her laptop.

We work companionably through the afternoon, breaking only for sandwiches and more coffee. By sunset, the website is ready for launch, and I've finished rough-shaping the cedar piece—a fox curled protectively around a small bear cub.

"It's us," Riley says softly when I show her.

"Yeah." I run my thumb over the still-rough surface. "Still needs detailing, but the essence is there."

She leans her head against my arm. "I love it."

The convention center buzzes with energy. Riley stands beside my booth, explaining the digital catalog she created to a group of interested customers while I demonstrate basic carving techniques.

"My girlfriend designed the whole interface," I tell the crowd, gesturing toward Riley with pride. "Makes it easy to commission custom pieces or purchase what you see here."

Later, during a lull, Riley brings me coffee in my favorite travel mug. "Three sales already, and it's only noon."

"All thanks to your website." I take a grateful sip. "The online gallery was brilliant."

"Partnership," she corrects, bumping her hip against mine. "Your art, my tech."

I marvel at the confident woman beside me, so different from the nervous coder who sought refuge at my booth all those weeks ago. She still gets overwhelmed sometimes, still needs quiet moments away from crowds, but she navigates it all with a self-assurance that makes my heart swell.

"What?" she asks, catching me staring.

"Just thinking how lucky I am."

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is pleased. "Such a sap."

"You love it."

A customer approaches, and we both straighten, professional smiles in place. But as the woman examines my newest bear carving, Riley catches my eye and mouths, "Code Green."

It's our private joke, born from that first day—our signal that one of us needs rescue, a break, or simply wants the other's attention. But today, with her eyes soft and lips curved in that special smile she reserves just for me, I know it means something else entirely.

It means: I'm happy right where I am. It means: You're my safe place.

It means: This is just the beginning of our story.