How he wished he could chase her sorrow away.
How I wish I could tear a strip off this Tito person! His bear gnashed his teeth, hating to see their mate upset.
Violence is never the answer, Nero reminded his bear.
Don’t be too sure, his bear muttered.
But Nero certainly did not want to dwell on violence now, not when he was about to show his mate his workshop.
Because showing her his workshop and sharing his work with her would reveal a part of himself to his mate.
It would give her a glimpse of the man he truly was, the man beneath the waistcoats and awkward smiles.
“Come on,” Nero said, leading Sophie toward the workshop. He balanced the coffee cups carefully as he reached for his keys, anticipation fluttering in his chest.
The heavy wooden door swung open with a familiar creak. Nero stepped inside and flicked the light switch. Warm amber light bathed the space, revealing a room that looked like it had been plucked from another century.
Sophie gasped audibly as she followed him in.
Wooden workbenches, polished by years of use, stood in orderly rows.
The walls were lined with apothecary-style drawers, each labeled in elegant script—“Silver Findings,” “Gold Filigree,” “Emerald Cuts.” Antique tools hung from pegs, while modern precision instruments were carefully arranged on leather mats.
“Oh my goodness,” Sophie breathed, slowly turning a full circle. Her eyes widened as she took in every detail from the brass scales to the jeweler’s loupe hanging from a velvet cord, and the small forge in the corner. “This is incredible. I had no idea.”
Nero set their coffees down on a side table and watched her as she ran her fingers reverently over the worn edge of his main workbench.
“You like it?” he asked.
Sophie turned to him and nodded. “This is wonderful. I never expected it to be so...”
Nero arched a questioning eyebrow. “Old-fashioned?” he supplied, used to that reaction from visitors.
“No,” she said, tugging her brows together as if searching for the right words. “So you .”
Nero felt heat creep up his neck at her words.
Is that a compliment? his bear asked with a rumble.
I’m honestly not sure, Nero admitted.
Sophie continued her exploration, pausing over a collection of sketches spread across a long wooden counter. Her gaze caught on one drawing. “What’s this?” she asked, leaning closer. “‘From My Heart to Yours’?” She read the words he’d scrawled in the margin.
Nero stepped forward quickly and gathered up the drawings before she could look too closely.
“Just something I’m working on,” he said, feeling suddenly vulnerable as he stowed them in a drawer.
If she saw it now, would she understand?
Or would it scare her away? He cleared his throat. “Here is the bracelet.”
He reached for Norman’s piece, laying it gently on a velvet cloth. The restored bracelet gleamed under the light, the emeralds throwing soft green sparks.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophie murmured, leaning closer.
“These are the emeralds I replaced.”
“They look identical to the others.” Sophie leaned in to take a closer look, her hair brushing his hand, and the temptation to stroke her cheek was overwhelming.
“Close,” Nero replied.
She looked up at him. “You’re a perfectionist.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said with a sigh.
“It’s nothing to be guilty of,” Sophie assured him. “You take pride in your work, and I am sure that’s why people come to you. You are authentic.”
“Authentic,” Nero repeated the word.
I thought the only authentic things in this workshop were the precious metals and the jewels, and our love for our mate, his bear said happily.
“Yes, that’s what people like on social media, people who are authentic, who are not afraid of being their true selves.” Sophie nodded toward the emerald bracelet. “So, what’s the story behind this piece?”
“Oh,” Nero said, flustered at her nearness. “This was a wedding gift from Norman to Hilda. They are about to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary in a couple of days.”
Sophie shook her head. “Fifty years...can you imagine loving someone for so long?”
“I can,” Nero said quietly, his eyes meeting hers.
“You were saying,” she murmured.
“Oh, yes.” He looked down at the bracelet because if he looked at Sophie any longer, he would definitely kiss her.
“Hilda lost the bracelet. She was heartbroken, but Norman managed to find it…down a storm drain.” He skipped the part where it was actually Norman’s bear who sniffed out the bracelet, even though it sure enhanced the story.
“A storm drain.”
“Yes,” Nero went on. “But it had been damaged. The clasp was broken, and these two emeralds were missing.”
“So he asked you to repair it?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, he came to see me yesterday at the wedding expo,” Nero explained.
“Really?” Sophie asked. “Is that why you left so suddenly?”
She noticed we left, his bear said happily.
“Yes. The deadline’s tight, but I worked through the night to get it done. It means so much to Norman and Hilda,” Nero said.
“You are quite the romantic, aren’t you?” Sophie said and then cleared her throat as she straightened up. “So, how did you learn to do this?” she asked, gesturing to the workshop around them.
Nero relaxed into the familiar territory of discussing his craft.
“My grandfather’s best friend, Paulo, taught me the basics when I was just a boy.
I would sit right here,” he patted the worn stool beside his main workbench, “watching him transform raw metal and stones into something magical. I knew back then that this is what I wanted to do.”
“Not the vineyard?” Sophie asked.
“No, I never had the skill for tending the vines or for blending the wine.” He shrugged. “My brothers all found their own paths, but this… This is mine. This was always where I belonged.”
“Teach me,” she said.
“Okay.” He pulled out a small piece of silver wire and his pliers. “Something simple,” he said, his hands moving with practiced ease as he began to shape the metal. “A basic ring setting.”
Sophie moved closer, watching intently as his fingers worked the silver. The wire curved and twisted under his guidance, taking shape with seemingly effortless precision.
“You make it look so easy,” she murmured.
“Years of practice,” Nero said, acutely aware of her proximity. Her warmth seemed to radiate toward him, and he wanted to hold her in his arms and make love to her here in his workshop.
“It’s not unlike cooking in some ways,” she said, and he swallowed down his desire. This was not the right time.
“In what way?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.
“The attention to detail, the balance of elements, knowing when something needs more time and when it’s perfect as is.”
Nero considered her answer. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Both require patience and respect for the materials.”
“And both bring people joy,” Sophie added softly.
Their eyes met across the small piece of silver, and Nero felt his heart skip. The workshop around them seemed to fade away, leaving only this moment, this connection.
“They do,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sophie’s cheeks flushed pink, and she stepped back slightly, breaking the spell. “I should let you get back to your work,” she said, though she made no move toward the door.
“You’re not bothering me,” Nero said quickly. “I mean, if you’d like to stay while I finish the bracelet...”
“I’d like that,” she admitted.
“Would you like to try?” he asked suddenly, holding out the polishing cloth.
Sophie blinked in surprise. “Me? I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“I’ll show you,” Nero said, moving to stand beside her. “It’s simple, really. Just gentle, circular motions.”
He guided her hand, his fingers warm against hers, his skin tingling as they polished the bracelet together. The emeralds seemed to glow brighter under their shared touch, as if responding to the energy flowing between them.
“See?” Nero said, his voice low near her ear. “You’re a natural.”
Sophie turned her head slightly, their faces now inches apart. “I have a good teacher,” she murmured.
For a breathless moment, Nero thought she might lean in closer. His bear stirred with anticipation, urging him forward.
But then Sophie stepped back, clearing her throat. “Our coffee will get cold.”
“Of course.” Nero placed the cloth down on the bench and fetched the coffees.
“Thanks,” Sophie said, not meeting his gaze as she accepted the cup and took a sip. “Will you show me more of your work?”
“What do you want to see?” Nero asked, relaxing a little as he looked around.
“Do you have a favorite piece?”
Nero’s gaze flickered involuntarily to the drawer where he’d hastily stashed his sketches of the heart-shaped pendant he’d been working on through the night. The piece was meant for her, inspired by their first meeting. His heart crafted into metal and gems.
But showing it now would reveal too much of his soul, too soon.
“This,” he said instead, raising a finger and moving toward one of the antique drawers across the room.
He pulled it open with practiced ease and carefully extracted a bundle wrapped in soft, faded cloth.
Unwrapping it with reverent hands, he revealed a diamond and ruby necklace of extraordinary craftsmanship, though clearly damaged.
The gold was tarnished and worn in places, with several empty settings where diamonds and rubies had once glittered.
“I found it behind some shelves a couple of months ago,” Nero explained, holding it where the light caught the remaining stones. “It must have belonged to Paulo, but I don’t recall ever seeing it before.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sophie breathed, reaching out to touch the damaged necklace with gentle fingers. “Are you going to repair it?”
“I hope to,” Nero said, watching her face as she examined the piece. “But the rubies are hard to match—they’re of a particular hue. See? Deep, almost blood red.”
“Surely someone must have missed a piece like this,” she said, her fingers lingering on the damaged gold.
“I think that’s what intrigues me the most about it,” Nero admitted, dragging his focus back to the necklace. “I want to find out where it came from, who it belongs to.” He glanced down at the ground and gave a soft chuckle.
“What?” Sophie asked, looking up at him with curiosity in her eyes.
“Do you know that’s what I like best about my work?”
She tilted her head, intrigued.
“The stories,” Nero said, gesturing to the drawers and tools. “Everything here has a story.”
“That’s what I love about recipes,” Sophie said with a grin. “The way they become part of someone’s memory. Part of their life.”
“You give people those stories,” Nero said, watching her. “They cook your food, and it becomes…more. A birthday memory. A first date. A comfort meal after a hard day.”
She looked away, a little shy. As if she weren’t used to receiving praise.
“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with gentle fingers. “Be proud. You give people something real.”
Their eyes held for a moment until she pulled away. “I should get back to those recipes. They won’t cook themselves.”
“Of course.” He carefully wrapped the necklace again. “And I need to finish Norman’s bracelet.”
Sophie hesitated, then smiled. “That bracelet has a beautiful story. Fifty years of love. That’s rare.”
If only she knew, his bear sighed.
She will, Nero replied silently. Soon.
“Come with me,” he said aloud.
“Come with you?”
“To deliver the bracelet. Norman’s giving it to Hilda tomorrow, for their anniversary. So, I’ll finish it up and then take it back to them this afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be,” Nero assured her. “He’d love to meet you. And watching the joy the bracelet will bring—well, it’s the best part of the job.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Like when someone tastes your food for the first time and their eyes light up.”
“Exactly,” Nero said. “We both make joy.”
Sophie checked the time. “But my recipes, I have so much to do…”
“The kitchen’s not going anywhere,” he said with a grin. “And we’ll be back within the hour. You might even find inspiration along the way.”
She studied him, as if trying to read more than he said aloud. Then she nodded. “Okay. I’m ready when you are.”