And smiling.
Hurrying back to the bakery, Eli felt warm in a place he’d considered permanently cold. What filled him, however, was an odd tangle of hope and terror.
This isn’t the boy you drew.
This is a man who could break your heart.
But beneath the fear came another thought, quieter, but impossible to ignore.
Maybe he could heal it, too.
Chapter Eight
By the timeNoah got home from the community center, his fingers were still numb and there was glitter embedded in places no glitter should logically reach.
He flipped the switch in his workshop, filling the space with warm, golden, familiar light, and set his gloves on the radiator. The place smelled like pine shavings and varnish, the scents grounding him instantly. He breathed in, breathed out.
Today had been… a lot.
Eli Winters had been a lot.
Noah leaned both hands on his workbench, bowing his head and letting the adrenaline taper. He could still feel the ghost-pressure of Eli’s shoulder brushing his. And then there was the quiet, thoughtful way he said things. The sight of Eli’s faint smile whenever Noah accidentally flirted filled him with warmth.
Which probably happened more often than I’d like to admit.
He straightened and rubbed his eyes.
Get a grip, Carter.
A tap on the window froze him, and he frowned. Late visitors were rare unless something was broken, frozen, or on fire. Then he saw Mark Sullivan’s face through the dust-smeared glass.
Noah smiled. “Hey, stranger.” He unlocked the workshop’s outer door.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here.” Mark was bundled in a red puffer coat, his cheeks pink, his reddish beard dusted with snow.
“Duh. Where else would I be, this time of year? What areyoudoing here?”
“Dinner,” Mark announced, stepping inside. “You’re coming. I’m kidnapping you. Okay, it’s all very consensual, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Noah laughed. “What are you talking about?”
Mark grinned like a man who’d set his mind to something. “Liam’s made pot roast. And by ‘Liam’s made pot roast,’ I mean I bullied him into cooking something other than pasta. You’re joining us.”
Noah arched his eyebrows. “It’s a Monday.”
“Pot roast doesn’t care what day it is,” Mark said. “Also, neither do we. Go get your coat.”
Noah stared, suspicion dawning. “Did Elsie call you?”
Mark widened his eyes in innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You never could lie for shit,” Noah said with a groan. “What did she tell you?”
“That you were vibrating today,” Mark said cheerfully.
“I don’tvibrate.”
“Not according to her. You wereabsolutelyvibrating.”
