“I thought I’d get too hot. What storm?” Caspian pauses mid-shovel, looking up at me with confusion. “I’m just clearing the driveway so I can get out. I have a couple of orders to pick up for the coffee shop.”
“Caspian,” I say gently, “there’s a snowstorm warning. Nobody’s going to be out today. The whole town’s probably going to shut down.”
His face falls slightly. “Oh. I didn’t realize…” He looks down at his phone, pulling up the weather alert I’d seen earlier on mine. “Wow, that’s…that’s a lot of snow predicted.”
I step closer, unable to resist reaching out to brush some snow from his shoulder. “Welcome to Vermont winters. First big storm?”
“That obvious, huh?” He laughs, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes. “I should probably call Mac, figure out what the protocol is for days like this.”
“Or,” I say, my hand still resting on his shoulder, “you could come inside where it’s warm, and I can makeyousome coffee for a change.”
The smile he gives me is bright enough to melt snow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I take the shovel from his hands, propping it against the side of his house. “Besides, we should probably talk about last night.”
A blush that has nothing to do with the cold spreads across his cheeks. “Probably should.”
We make our way through the deepening snow to my front door. Inside, Caspian immediately starts shedding layers, and I try not to stare at the way his sweater rides up as he pulls off his jacket. “Your house is so warm,” he sighs happily.
“Wood stove,” I explain, hanging up our coats. “More efficient than regular heating, especially during storms.”
“So,” he says at the same time I go, “So…” We laugh awkwardly at our simultaneous start, and when I turn around, Caspian is leaning against my counter, looking both nervous and impossibly attractive in my kitchen.
“You first,” I offer, focusing on measuring coffee beans to keep my hands busy.
“I was actually wondering…” he starts, then pauses. I glance over my shoulder to find him fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “Would you show me your workshop? I mean, if that’s okay…”
The request catches me off guard. I’d been bracing myself for a conversation about last night’s kiss. “You want to see my workshop?” I ask, momentarily thrown by this unexpected direction.
“Yeah,” he says, straightening with renewed enthusiasm. “I’ve never met anyone who makes things by hand like that. Plus, after what Addy said about the bowls you made for her birthday when she came to Special Blend the other day…”
I feel my cheeks warm at his interest. “Let me get this coffee started first.”
While the coffee brews, Caspian tells me about his plans for the children’s book section at Special Blend, his hands moving animatedly as he talks. I watch the way his expressions shift, remembering how those same lips felt against mine last night.
“Here,” I say, handing him a steaming mug once the coffee’s ready. “Workshop’s through here.”
I lead him through the door connecting the kitchen to what used to be a garage. The space is organized chaos—tools hanging on pegboards, various pieces of wood sorted by type and size, and several projects in different stages of completion scattered across workbenches.
“Oh wow,” Caspian breathes, turning in a slow circle. “This is amazing.”
I watch as he gravitates toward a shelf displaying finished pieces—bowls, cups, and some decorative items. His fingers hover over a small maple box with intricate leaf patterns carved into the lid.
“You can touch,” I tell him. “Everything’s finished and sealed.”
He picks up the box carefully, examining the design. “You made this one too?”
“Yeah. That wood had been seasoning for months, waiting for the right project. The grain pattern reminded me of falling leaves, so it seemed fitting.”
“I love the pieces I’ve seen inside and Lottie’s gifts, but this is exquisite. You’re so talented.”
Caspian’s fingers trace the carved pattern, and something warm unfurls in my chest at the careful way he handles my work. He moves along the shelf, examining each piece with genuine interest, asking questions about the different types of wood and techniques.
“What’s this over here?” he asks, moving toward the back corner where my current project stands partially covered.
I hesitate for a moment before moving to join him. “It’s, uh… It’s actually something I’ve been working on recently.” I pull back the drop cloth, revealing the unfinished furniture. “A bookcase.”
“It’s beautiful,” Caspian says, running his hand along one of the smooth shelves. The maple wood is a light cream with smooth grain I’ve left intact along the sides. “The craftsmanship is incredible. These curves here…” He traces the organic line of the wood. “It almost looks like it grew this way naturally.”
