There it is. The spark I’ve only glimpsed before, breaking free.
I need more.
Chapter 9
Ellie
I’m not going to kiss him. I’m here to help. To get to know him better.
I repeat those words to myself as Caeo leads me to his mother’s shop. It’s on the way to the Kettle Maker, just past where the gray shambles of the outskirts turn into a bustling town of red brick and brown cobblestone, the squat building pressed between its much larger, gabled neighbors. According to Caeo, his mother inherited it from her previous employer, an elderly woman who still lives in the second-story flat. Horizontal bands of weathered wood mark each level.
He turns the doorknob, but it’s locked.
“That’s a good sign,” he mutters, dropping my hand to dig out his key.
A bell jingles as he pushes the door open, and a whiff of grease hits me as I follow him inside, likely from the cast-iron sewing machine bolted to one of the nearby worktables. A large window fills the cramped room with afternoon light, illuminating cubbies and shelves full of colorful fabric bolts and bundles of thread. Racks of dresses hang to the side, squeezed in wherever they can fit.
Two large wooden crates take up most of the walking space.
“Is that the delivery?” I ask, setting my bag on one of the tables.
Caeo snaps his head back to me. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. They must have dropped it off during class. I just need to find the crowbar…” His words drift off as he turns to the shelves. Once he finds it, he joins me at the crates. “You wanna do the honors?”
“I’ve never used a crowbar before.”
“It’s easy. Here.” He wraps his arms around me from behind as he threads it between my fingers. His clove scent and body heat pressed against me has the metal feeling slick in my palms. As we wedge it into the seam at the top, he says, “Rock it a bit for some more space, then push.”
The friction of his arms rubbing against me stokes a blaze with every brush. I’d never have guessed something as simple as opening a crate could be so sensual. Not kissing him will be harder than I thought.
I force myself to focus, ignoring how his breath grazes my ear. I grunt, pushing down. The nails squeak as they pop out of the wood.
Caeo pats my hip as he steps away, his fingers running along the lid. “You wanna get the other one while I finish here?”
“Sure.” I tear my gaze away from his hand and its imagined touch. It lands on a large crate made from slats of unfinished pine.
A loud crack startles me, and I turn just in time to catch Caeo prying the lid the rest of the way off the first crate, releasing the scent of woodchips into the air. His rolled-up sleeves show off the flexing muscles of his forearms, tightening and twisting with every motion.
He glances my way, then blinks. “Are you just gonna watch?” A smirk stretches across his face.
My lips twist as I hold back a smile. Somehow, I don’t feel embarrassed.
“I am helping.”
To prove it, I line the flat edge of the crowbar to the thin gap beneath the lid of the crate in front of me. Uncertainty flickers in my mind as my palms slide along the cool metal.
What was I—
I almost jump as Caeo’s hand lands on mine. “Move it here for better leverage.” He keeps it there as I push down. At this point, I don’t know if he thinks I’m helpless or is just looking for an excuse to touch me.
“I could’ve done it on my own,” I say, meeting his eyes.
“I know. But you don’t have to.”
A twinge of annoyance peeks through the warmth of his sentiment. “What if I wanted to?”
He pulls his hand away, holding it up in surrender. “Then have at it. You can even keep the crowbar. I’ll never open another crate without you.”
After a second’s hesitation, I chance answering that flirt with one of my own. “I think I’d rather watch you do the rest.”
