[Legs]:If you're around.
[Legs]:See the shop… officially?
I stare at the message, half-convinced it’ll vanish if I blink. I never thought I’d be invited into her space. Not the shop. Not the center of the world she built with her own two hands.
Yeah, I want to see it. I want to seeherin it.
My hand tightens around the phone. I’m already standing, grabbing my keys like I’m sixteen and she just asked me to sneak out.
Fuck yes, I want to see her shop.
[Hex]:You sure? I don’t want to distract you while you’re doing important arts and crafts.
[Legs]:Don’t disrespect my profession, Alvarez.
[Hex]:I would never.
[Hex]:You know I’d love nothing more than to watch you work with your hands.
[Hex]:I’d let you paint every inch of my body if you wanted to.
[Legs]:I think you may have it bad.
I smirk, already moving toward the door.
[Hex]:If this is bad, baby… I hope I never feel good again.
She doesn’t respond right away, but I can picture her reading it. Probably biting her lip, trying not to smile too wide.
Sable is opening the door.
And I’m walking right through it.
[Hex]:If this is bad, baby... I hope I never feel good again.
The words are still lingering on my phone screen, and I’m still hot from reading them when I hear it—
The low, unmistakable growl of a motorcycle rolling up outside.
My chest lifts. My pulse kicks up.
He’s here. So quick.
I smooth the front of my shirt, completely aware that I’m not exactly dressed to seduce—dust on my leggings from sanding earlier, a fitted tee that’s seen better days—but that doesn’t stop the rush running through me. There’s something about Hex that short-circuits every reasonable thought in my body.
Excited. That’s the word. I’m excited. To see mymurderer boyfriend, apparently. The one man who has made my life infinitely less terrifying just by existing. The juxtaposition that thought brings to my attention cannot be ignored.
The second I see him, my throat goes dry. I unlock the door just as he swings a leg off the bike.
He’s wearing a slate gray T-shirt, snug across his chest, sleeves hugging just enough to frame the angel wing tattoo that arcs over his bicep. The muscles underneath look indecent. Black jeans hug thick thighs that I have very vivid memories of clutching. Worn boots. Heavy steps. That cocky smirk that says he already knows what I’m thinking.
“Hey,” I manage, moving aside to let him in.
Hex steps into Thorne Revival with quiet purpose. His pace unhurried, as if my space has earned his respect. His gaze moves across the room, taking in the furniture, the soft light pouring through the front windows, and the paint-stained drop cloth I keep forgetting to fold.
“You did all this?” he asks, voice low, a little awed.
I nod, proud despite the nerves kicking around in my gut. “Yeah. The front room’s mostly finished pieces for sale. The pieces I find on the side of the road or specifically buy to flip. No one sees potential in them until I drag them home and work my magic.”
