Leslie should have declined, but after all, shewaspaying for the ironwork and had a perfectly legitimate reason to check in and see how things were going. And there was that chance he might even be shirtless andsweaty.
The two of them dashed through the pelting rain, Leslie holding an umbrella and following Stephanie, who not only didn’t have a jacket but ignored theumbrella.
The workshop was a separate outbuilding about the size of a garage. Even over the sounds of pelting rain, she could hear music blaring from inside—Ben Folds Five. As Ben demanded the return of his black t-shirt, she recognized “Song for the Dumped” and nodded to herself.Yep. I canrelate.
Stephanie opened the door and they burst into a room smelling of burning coal and melting metal. Unusual smells, both, and the heat was pretty intense, but Leslie didn’t really take much notice of either once she sawDeclan.
Holycrap.
It was like her romantic fantasy come to life, but in a little more modern setting. No, he wasn’t shirtless, but he didn’t need to be for Leslie’s mouth to go dry and her stomach to flutter.To think I had that body all plastered up against me the othernight.
He had a pink bandanna tied around his forehead, and his face and throat were damp with sweat that ran in rivulets down into the opening of his shirt. His dark auburn hair, now wet, appeared almost black, and it stuck up and curled around the bandanna like wild little fingers. He wasn’t actually hammering on anything at the moment; in fact, it looked as if he were cleaning up for the day, for he wasn’t wearing any sort of smock or apron, and she saw a pair of long, heavy leather gloves resting on the counter next tohim.
The shirt he wore was little more than a second skin, wet and clinging to every smooth muscle: from broad shoulder to round, bulging bicep to smooth, scarred, and freckled forearm. So he might just as well have had it off,really.
“My friends ogle him like that too,” Stephanie said, laughing. “But he’s my dad, so, well, you know, I don’t really noticeit.”
Leslie’s face rushed to hot, and she said, “Well, I don’t want to disturb him,so—”
But Stephanie wasn’t listening. “Hey, Dad, the Deltons are going to be here any minute now,” she shouted over the blastingmusic.
He looked up in surprise, his eyes bypassing his daughter and going immediately to Leslie. He snatched up a towel and wiped off his face as he walked over to turn down themusic.
“I didn’t want Stephanie to bike home in the pouring rain,” Leslie said, absolutelyrefusingto feel awkward. “Sorry to disturb you—I thought I’d just see how things were going while I was here. Not that I expected you’d be working on my project; I know you have other things on your schedule.”Okay, now shut up. You’re on the verge of babbling, and Leslie Nakano doesn’tbabble.
“Right,” he said. The expression on his face was inscrutable, and that made her edge toward the awkward end of the scale, despite her determination not to. “I actually was working on a piece of it today. Here, you can see what I’ve been doing; it’s had a chance to cooldown.”
He picked up an iron rod that had been about fifteen feet long until he started to force it into a spiral near the top. Now it was only about eleven feetlong.
On a roomy worktable, Leslie saw a large piece of heavy paper with a drawing on it. When she and Declan moved closer—him on one side, she on the other—she saw that it was a life-sized drawing of the main design of herrailing.
He laid the iron rod down over the drawing, matching it to one of the sketched rods that ended in a swirl near the top, and as she watched with interest, he eyed it, checking to be sure the curve was exactly right. “Needs a little more smoothing right there,” he said, mostly tohimself.
“It’s looking really good,” Leslie said, unable to keep her eyes from his strong, deft hands and forearms, freckled and solid with muscle and tendon. They were powerful arms, talented hands, marred with burns and fresh cuts. And they had been all over herbutt.
It was really quite warm in the workshop, she realized suddenly. Uncomfortably warm. She glanced around and realized Stephanie wasgone.
A large fire roared in a brick oven, and she saw a few rods sitting half inside. There was a massive machine that rose several feet above Declan’s head, and had a steel cylinder the circumference of a salad plate that appeared to be a sort ofpiston.
“That’s an air hammer,” he said, noticing her looking at it. “It’s an easier, more automated way to hammer on a larger piece that doesn’t need as much finesse as something like this.” He gestured with the curved rod. “I use it more for breaking up rods, or forging shorter onestogether.”
“Forging them together? How does thatwork?”
“You put two fired ends on top of each other, stacking them right where they’re red and glowing, and the hammer sort of beats the shit out of them until they merge together. It can be done by hand, of course, but when I’m working with two rods at a time, I have to clamp one of them, and the other I can hold while the hammer does its work.” He paused, glanced at her as if he were about to say something, then turned aside to shove the spiral rod into a long metalcanister.
“You do amazing work,” Leslie said, for she’d turned to see photos and other partial pieces of decorative iron all over one wall of the workshop. “It’s hard to believe something as strong as iron can be forced into such delicate, smoothshapes.”
“Thanks.” There was a pause, and then he said, “So, no more break-ins?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sure it was a couple of teenagers, like Captain Longbowsaid.”
“Right. Probably. Look,I—”
They both turned toward the door at the sound of voices. It was Stephanie, doing her job as tour guide and bringing her friend and Emily Delton out to see her father’sworkshop.
Skimming even further along the awkward scale, Leslie smiled at Declan and said, “Just let me know if you need anything else. It looks like it’s coming alonggreat.”
“Right. All right, yes, I’ll see you soon,” he saidvaguely.
