Rhys’s phone lit up with message after message until he finally excused himself to call the mysterious sender five minutes ago. We’ve officially been dating for a few weeks, and I still can’t believe my luck that Rhys was my match on Luna’s app.
He’s everything I would’ve wanted in my dream guy and then some. From his texts to check in on me to the physical command he has over my body and hormones, Rhys is myheart spark, I know it. The problem is he doesn’t believe in the town legend or really anything that has to do with romantic love, which logically I think I’m fine with because like Shannon said, he shows me how he feels everyday.
But a part of me—the insecure girl who never heard a word of praise or encouragement—is thirsty to hear words of commitment from him. Words of adoration.
You’ve been reading too many romance novels.
Probably, but does that mean I can’t dream of a guy declaring his love for me?
“Everything’s fine.” Rhys’s tone warns against pushing for more details, but my mouth has a mind of its own and questions him anyway.
“Really? Because you kind of seem in a bad mood, and all those messages seemed urgent. You can tell me what’s going on. As much as I love that we can joke around, I want us to be able to talk about the serious stuff, too.” I try to squeeze his forearm in support, but he backs away, heading for my front door.
“It’s just my dad. He heard that my mom will be in town for Hearts Ablaze.” He rips his jacket off the coat hanger and shrugs it on, tension vibrating in the air around him.
My brows furrow in confusion. “Why does it matter? Haven’t they been separated for years?”
“Pretty much my entire life, but he’s still hung up on her. Fuckingheart sparks, my ass.” I know he’s pissed over his mom abandoning them and his family trauma, but it still pierces the bubble of happiness I’ve been living in with Rhys.
There’s that need of mine, rearing its greedy head again, despite proof that Rhys doesn’t believe in love like me.
“I’ll see you later. I need to go talk to him in person.” At least he drops a quick kiss on my forehead before hurrying out the door, but it still feels off somehow. Flipping the lock behind him, I sink against the hardwood and stare unseeing into my apartment.
Will what we have now be enough for me?
Can I really just accept actions without words?
I don’t know.
***
Standing outside Rhys's forge the next afternoon, I channel the spirit of every romance heroine I've ever read, relying on their courage and strength to help me through my plan of seduction.
Hell, Tessa Dare wrote an entire story about a girl falling for a blacksmith with hot sex to boot! I'm just here to live it out in my modern life, right?
Fingers crossed.
This grand idea of seducing Rhys occurred last night when I should’ve been sleeping, but I couldn’t shake the doubts plaguing me about our relationship, especially after hearing his disdain forheart sparksagain. So, I made a plan.
Rhys and I have fooled around a lot—lord, is he good at it—and my body tingles at just the memory of his touch. But he’s always initiating things, and it’s time I take charge of my destiny, show him how much I want him, care for him.
Somehow in my mind, I’ve decided this will help him realize thatheart sparksare real, and I’mhis. A flawed thought process, I’m sure, but one I’m going to follow through on, nonetheless.
Because what have I got to lose?
Deep breaths of fresh mountain air fill my lungs, and my feet quickly carry me forward before I lose my nerve. A loud clanking sound travels from the back of the building as I enter, sparks flying from where Rhys is hammering a piece of metal into the perfect shape.
Sweat glistens on his face as shadows from the fiery kiln dance across his large form. He's completely covered in protective gear—long sleeves, safety glasses—but I imagine the bulge of muscles beneath the fabric slick with sweat from the hard labor of his work, and my own body dampens in anticipation of rubbing against this mountain of a man.
My man.
Blowing out a determined breath between my pursed lips, I rub clammy palms down my pink dress and saunter forward as if I really am the confident heroine of my story instead of scared to death Rhys will find me silly rather than seductive.
“Hey!” Rhys doesn’t react to my greeting, so I try again, practically shouting to be heard over the banging of his hammer.
He stops immediately, his chin jerking in my direction, and I flush under his startled gaze. Not quite how I imagined catchinghis attention—shouting like a fishwife—but at least he’s aware of my presence now.
“Willow?” His tools clank to the table as he removes his headgear, swiping a forearm over his gleaming forehead. “What are you doing here?”
