His eyebrows rise slightly. “By yourself?”
“By myself.” I set the notebook on the kitchen table. “I wrote.”
He looks at the notebook, then at me. His face softens in a way that tells me he’s been waiting for this and didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.
“Yeah?” he says quietly.
“Seven pages. They’re mostly terrible.” I smile. “But they’re there.”
He crosses the kitchen and kisses me. Just that. Arms on my waist, anchoring me. Gentle, warm, and proud without making it bigger than it needs to be.
“Good,” he says. “That’s good,tesoro.”
And he’s right. It is.
CHAPTER 14
The gate commission for a ranch property outside Tucson is late. Twelve custom wrought iron panels with a desert motif, the kind of project my father would have cleared his entire schedule for. I quoted six weeks, and I’m at seven, only half done.
I don’t regret a single lost hour. I’d lose a hundred more.
Sadie’s been staying with me for four days. Four days of her in my space, her coffee mug on my counter, her books scatteredacross my coffee table, her presence filling every corner of my house in ways that make it feel more like home than it ever has.
And four damn nights of her sleeping in my bed, in my arms, and wanting her so badly it’s driving me insane, but stopping myself from doing more.
It’s pure torture, but I want her fully present. Not running from fear or anger or Owen’s poison.
I bring the hammer down harder than necessary. I’ve been out here for hours, burning off the restless energy that’s been building since Saturday night when I kissed her in my kitchen and forced myself to stop.
The door to the workshop opens.
I look up.
Sadie stands in the doorway, her curves accentuated by her leggings and one of my flannels over her close-fitted tee. She holds a plate with a sandwich and a glass of what appears to be cranberry juice. Seeing her in my clothes does things to me that aren’t helpful when I’m trying to maintain control.
“Lunch break,” she announces. “You’ve been out here for five hours.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Yes.” She sets the plate and glass on my workbench, carefully avoiding the tools. “And you need to eat.”
But she doesn’t leave after setting it down. She leans against the workbench, arms crossed, watching me finish the piece I’m shaping. I should stop, eat, talk to her. But something about the way she’s looking at me—quiet, unhurried, no crisis driving her here—makes me want to let this moment last.
So I keep working. And she keeps watching.
The hammer falls in a steady rhythm. The metal glows and cools and glows again. And Sadie stands in my forge like she belongs here, like she’s always belonged here.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just like watching you work.”
I set down my hammer and pull off my work gloves. “I like you watching,tesoro.”
The nickname still makes her flush pink. She reacts every time I say it.
“How’s the gate coming?” She leans against the workbench, watching me with those eyes that see too much.
“Slowly.” I glance at the plate she brought me. She does this now. She shows up with food when I’ve been working too long, like she’s been keeping track of the hours even when I haven’t. “I keep getting distracted.”
