“So,” Caspian says around a mouthful of pancake, “what do you usually do on snow days?”
I shrug, cutting into my own stack. “Work on some of my woodworking projects,” I say, gesturing toward the workshop door. “Days like this are perfect for it. The snow muffles everything outside, makes it feel like you’re in your own little world.”
“Could I watch you?” Caspian asks, eyes bright with interest. “I’d love to see you at work.”
My heart does a little flip at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course. If you want to.”
CHAPTER 20
CASPIAN
After finishing our pancakes, I follow Nate to his workshop. I spot the two abandoned cups of coffee from earlier sitting on a side table, and heat rises to my cheeks as I remember what followed after we were last here. The memory of Nate’s hands on my skin, his lips on mine, sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.
I’m enveloped by the rich scent of wood and varnish. It hits me then. This is the scent that clings to Nate’s clothes, the one I caught hints of when we were close and still remains in the coat I borrowed. No wonder it feels so familiar and comforting already. It’s become synonymous with him in my mind: earthy, natural, and somehow both rugged and refined.
Nate moves with purpose through the space, examining pieces of wood laid out on a shelf.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, watching him run his fingers over various pieces.
“Something with the right grain pattern,” he murmurs, his focus never wavering. “Each piece of wood has its own character. You just have to find the one that fits what you want to create.”
When he finally selects a piece, handling it with surprising gentleness, I sit on his workbench, crossing my legs and settling in to watch. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he studies the wood, turning it over in his hands. It’s beautiful.
I think back to how this day has unfolded. This morning, I was just planning on clearing my driveway, opening Special Blend for a few hours, and then working through my soft-opening to-do list.
And now? Now I’m staring at the man who is coming to mean something to me while trying to reconcile the circumstances of how we first met.
Does he go to Burlington for hookups often, or was that night just a happy accident? Despite everything I’ve come to know about my past since my mom died, I’m still a romantic at heart. Maplewood, with its LGBTQ+-friendly small-town charm, is the perfect place to find someone to share my life with. But what if the person I want isn’t looking for the same thing?
Stop it, Caspian. You’re overthinking things.
“What are you making?” I ask, trying to peek around his shoulder at the piece he’s working on.
“You’ll see,” he murmurs, totally focused on his work. His hands move with practiced precision, each stroke of the tool deliberate and sure. Wood shavings curl away from the piece, falling to the floor like delicate ribbons.
I watch, mesmerized by the way his forearms flex with each movement. The comfortable silence between us feels intimate, broken only by the soft scraping of his tools against the wood and our steady breathing.
Time seems to slow, and I find myself studying the way the winter light streaming through the windows catches in his hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown. The concentrated furrow of his brow makes me want to reach out and smooth it with my finger.
Finally, Nate sets down his tools and turns to me, holding out his creation. “It needs a finishing coat, but…” He trails off, suddenly seeming uncertain.
I take the piece from his hands, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s a beautifully carved coffee bean, about the size of my palm, split in half to reveal intricate details inside. But what makes my heart skip a beat are the words carefully etched into the surface:Special Blend, and beneath it,Caspian Lane.
“Nate,” I whisper, running my fingers over the delicate lettering. “This is…incredible.”
Without thinking, I slide off the workbench and move to straddle him where he sits on his stool. He smiles, his hands resting lightly on my hips, steadying me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, carefully setting the carving aside on the workbench. “No one’s ever made me something like this before.”
“It’s nothing,” he says gruffly, but I can see the pleased flush on his cheeks.
“It’s everything.” I lean in and kiss him.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. His lips are urgent and demanding, and he tastes faintly of coffee from earlier. One of his hands slides up my back to cradle my head, and I melt into him, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.
Our mouths move in perfect sync, tongues tangling. Heat pools low in my belly.
I break the kiss, panting. “Fuck, Nate. I want you so bad.”
