Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Her smile widens, and damn if it doesn’t light up the whole workshop. “Teach me.”
I pause mid-swing, the hammer hovering above the anvil. “You want to try blacksmithing?”
“Why not?” She steps closer, her curiosity tangible. “I’ve always loved learning new things. Besides, it looks... cathartic.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” I warn, setting the hammer down. “It takes strength, precision—”
“Are you saying I’m not strong?” She crosses her arms, mock offense in her eyes.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m saying it’s not yoga.”
“Teach me anyway,” she insists, that stubborn tilt of her chin both infuriating and irresistible.
I sigh, wiping my hands on a rag before grabbing a smaller hammer. “Fine. But if you smash your fingers, don’t blame me.”
I guide her to the anvil, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. Her scent—something fresh and floral—cuts through the heavy air, distracting me in a way that has nothing to do with the forge.
“Hold it like this.” I adjust her grip on the hammer, my hands brushing hers. Her skin is soft, delicate, and I wonder how someone so seemingly fragile can hold so much strength.
She shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat or my touch. “Okay, what next?”
I clear my throat, forcing my focus back to the task. “You strike here, at an angle. Gentle, at first. Feel the resistance.”
She takes a tentative swing, the hammer landing with a dull thud. “Like that?”
“Harder,” I murmur, stepping closer to guide her hand. “You’re not going to hurt it.”
Her second attempt is stronger, the clang of metal ringing out. She looks up at me, her face glowing with excitement. “I did it!”
I can’t help but smile, a rare thing these days. “Not bad for a beginner.”
“High praise coming from the metal whisperer,” she teases, her grin infectious.
The moment stretches, charged with something unspoken. Her laughter fades, and her gaze lingers on mine, searching for something I’m not sure I can give.
Then, a clap of thunder shakes the walls, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the darkening workshop. The rain starts as a patter, quickly escalating to a relentless downpour.
“Well, looks like we’re stuck inside for now,” I say, glancing at the storm outside.
Callie doesn’t seem bothered. She leans against the workbench, her hair slightly damp from the humidity and heat of my workshop, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Could be worse.”
“Could it?” I counter, crossing my arms.
She smirks. “You could be stuck here alone.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Fair point.”
We settle near the fire, the warmth of the hot coals cutting through the chill of the storm. She pulls her knees to her chest, her oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, and I have to look away before my thoughts betray me.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” she says after a while.
“Didn’t think I needed to,” I reply, my tone half-teasing. “You do enough talking for both of us.”
She chuckles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fair enough. But maybe I talk so much because I’m trying to fill the silence.”
Her vulnerability catches me off guard. “Silence isn’t a bad thing,” I say carefully. “Sometimes, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
She looks at me then, really looks, and it’s like she’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had. “Has it always been like that for you?”
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “Since the military,” I admit finally. “It changes you.”
She nods, her expression softening. “I can imagine.”
“Can you?” I meet her gaze, and for once, I don’t hide the weight I carry. “Because I don’t think most people can.”
Her hand brushes mine, tentative but firm. “Maybe not. But I’m here. I’m listening if you want to talk.”
The rain pounds against the roof, a steady rhythm that matches the beating of my heart. Her presence is both comforting and unsettling, and when she leans closer, her warmth seeps into me in a way that feels dangerous.
“I’ve never done this before,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“Done what?” she asks, her voice soft.
“This. Talked about my time in the desert. Talked about the nightmares and the dark days that feel like a cloud just hanging.” I gesture between us, my cheeks burning. “Callie…I want you to know…I’ve never been with someone. Never had a relationship–never been with a woman…”
Her eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face. “You mean...?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling exposed. “Figured you should know.”
She doesn’t laugh or pull away. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing my jaw. “You think that changes anything?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it’s the truth.”
Her smile is tender, her eyes shining with something I can’t quite name. “Then here’s my truth: I’ve never done this before, either.”
I freeze, the weight of her words sinking in. “You’re serious?”