Page 108 of Lana Pecherczyk

Not wanting his attentiveness to end, she returned her focus to her wrist and asked, “Can you make the tattoo bigger?”

“Sit on this one for a while. Decide what you really want because now that you’re connected to the Well, mistakes last a very long time.” He cleaned her finished artwork with gentle strokes. “And so does regret.”

Maybe that explained why he delayed Blake’s turn to control the needle. Instead, he gave a pointed look at her massacred meal waiting on the counter.

“Come on,” he said, abandoning the tattoo supplies to rescue her culinary disaster. “Help me clean this up. We’ll start fresh, and I’ll guide you through proper cutting techniques.”

She joined him at the kitchenette, and the moment the old mess was cleared, he positioned himself behind her.

“Hold the blade like this,” he demonstrated, his chest pressed against her back, hands covering hers. “Let the knife do the work. Don’t force it.”

Heat bloomed where their bodies connected. His voice vibrated against her spine as he answered her endless questions about mana stones powering the stove, about how fae had adapted without metal or plastic. Everything ran on mana. The plumbing. The lighting. The heating and cooling. If supplies dwindled, they’d be fucked.

After they’d eaten, River insisted on washing dishes while she tackled the bench repair challenge.

Safety first was her motto in her workshop, so she fixed her topknot and borrowed one of River’s shirts to cover her midriff. She tied the tails around her waist to prevent dangling bits from catching in imaginary power tools. She even slipped on shoes, picturing dropped hammers or errant nails.

The bench seat awaited her attention. The leather was split, and feathers spilled from its guts. The wood frame was completely cracked in half from where River had tested his blade. Blake assessed the damage, mentally cataloging eachrequired step. Without thinking, she angled her body as if positioning for an invisible camera.

Laughter burst from her throat when she realized what she’d been doing.

River glanced over from the kitchenette. “What’s so funny?”

“Almost started talking to a nonexistent audience.” Heat crept up her neck. “This used to be me job.”

“Talking to yourself?” He arched his brow as he placed his dish in the cupboard.

“Sort of. I was a social media influencer back home.”

He frowned. “Influencing? Like a type of power?”

“Some would say.” Blake smiled, remembering the rush of connecting with thousands of strangers. “I had a large following—people who valued me opinions. I called the segment Hidden Gems.” At his blank expression, she added, “Like a film? A show?”

Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“I’d find old furniture,” she continued, running her fingers along the bench’s damaged seam. “Or I’d hunt for broken objects at markets that others overlooked.”

“Like how you mentioned putting something shiny in the cracks.” River set the dish towel aside.

Something fluttered in Blake’s chest. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything you tell me.” His gaze held hers, unwavering. “And I understood what you meant. About the cracks.” He studied his palms, tracing a thin scar that bisected his right hand. “You think resilience is what makes something beautiful, that drawing attention to damage can transform it.”

Tears pricked behind Blake’s eyes. She turned quickly to the bench. “I’d restore them and make them stronger. I’d show me followers how to do it themselves.”

“These followers,” River cleared his throat. “They all just stood and watched?”

“Sort of. From their own homes, though. Remember me phone that you stole?” She shot him daggers.

He showed his palms. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“They’d watch from a screen. I guess it’s like one of your Obi-Wan water spells.” She tried framing an imaginary shot with her hands. “Hard to explain without a phone to demonstrate.”

“So show me anyway.” He leaned his hips against the counter, arms folded across his chest, biceps popping. “Pretend I’m one of your followers.”

Heat crawled up her neck. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Come on, Sparkles.” Something softened in his face … genuine curiosity. “Show me how you work your magic.”