"That’s never been one of my strengths," I say, a little breathless.
He huffs a quiet laugh, and I catch the faintest smile in his reflection on the polished metal.
When the glass has cooled, he says, “Now, we have to break it off the rod… without shattering the ornament.”
I reach out, expecting the metal near the top to be safe to touch, but the heat travels farther than I thought. Before I realize what's happening, my fingers brush too close to a warm spot.
Pike reacts instantly, dropping the punty and reaching for my hand. I hear the metallic clang and the shattering glass as everything hits the floor. The ornament we’ve just created is destroyed, but Pike doesn’t seem to notice. He grips my hand in his, and his palms are warm, callused, and surprisingly gentle.
"Careful," he says. His voice is low but firm, the kind of tone that sends heat spiraling through my chest. "Everything in here can hurt you before you even notice the danger."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know." He lifts my hand closer to the light to check my skin, turning it gently. "You're fine. You didn't burn yourself."
His thumb sweeps lightly across my knuckles, inspecting them. He's so focused on my hand that he doesn't realize how close we're standing. I'm not sure either of us is breathing properly.
For a moment the workshop goes still.
Just the furnace's low rumble.
His hands on mine.
And something between us that feels more dangerous than fire.
“Your ornament,” I say softly. “It’s ruined. I’m so sorry.”
He lets my hand go slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers lingering a beat too long. “It’s part of the job. Glass breaks. But maybe we should take a break.”
I nod, unable to make my voice work. When he turns back to the furnace, his shoulders look tense, as if he's trying to put his guard back up.
But when his eyes flick back to mine, the look he gives me is anything but guarded.
Chapter 4
Pike
Bythetimewestep back into the cabin, the storm has grown heavier again. Snow slants past the window in thick curtains, and the wind carries a low, steady moan through the eaves. It's the kind of weather that usually calms me. A barrier between me and the world.
But with Emory here, the silence feels different. Charged. Expectant. Like something is building in the space we're sharing.
She moves toward the fireplace and unwraps the blanket, draping it over the back of the couch to warm. Her cheeks still hold a faint flush from the workshop heat. Her hair is slightly mussed.
I shouldn't notice any of that. I do anyway.
"You okay?" I ask.
She looks back at me. "Yes. Just… taking it all in."
"Most people don't like being in the warehouse. Being that close to so much heat."
"I liked it," she says quietly. "I liked seeing you work.”
Her answer pulls something taut inside my chest. She isn't afraid of fire. Or quiet. Orme.
It's been a long time since someone fit into my space without overwhelming it.
I pull myself away from that thought and check the woodpile. "I’ll need to bring in more logs soon."
