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Some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Two small repairs. Then I need to check everything at the Factory before we open.”

“Okay. Put me to work.”

For the first time since I’d walked in, his expression softened.

Duncan crossed to the worktable and pulled a stool out for me. As I came around beside him, his hand settled briefly at the small of my back to guide me past the crowded edge.

It was an ordinary touch.

It didn’t feel ordinary anymore.

Especially when I remembered that Sienna wasn’t coming home tonight.

Chapter Four

Goldie had been on the stool for less than a minute before she started sorting the loose fasteners beside my hand into neat groups.

She didn’t know which ones I planned to reuse, but she’d watched me work enough over the last day to keep matching pieces together and leave the obviously damaged screws by themselves. I slid the magnetic tray closer to her and brought the task lamp over the first of the two repairs.

“What do you want me doing while you handle that?” she asked. “I can sort parts, hold the light, keep notes, or run back to the Factory if you realize we left something there. Just tell me what actually saves you time.”

That sounded like Goldie. She didn’t pretend to know more than she did, and she wasn’t interested in standing around while somebody else worked.

I showed her the two sizes of washer I needed kept separate, then turned the small guide assembly beneath the lamp. A rubbed line along one edge showed me where it had started catching. I loosened the plate and worked the guide back and forth while Goldie continued sorting beside me.

The workshop was familiar around us: tools arranged above the benches, old molds and castings on the shelves, larger pieces covered along the far wall. The heater pushed back the October cold that had settled into the concrete, and the air carried its usual mixture of wood, rubber, metal, and old paint.

My phone lay faceup near the edge of the bench. Lori had already texted that Sienna was fine, and I left it alone. Sienna and I would talk when she came home. Following her into a sleepover with another conversation wasn’t going to improve either of our moods.

Goldie passed me the washer I needed before I asked for it.

Our fingers brushed.

Last night, in this workshop, she had curled her hand into the front of my shirt and told me she was going to want more than one kiss.

I looked over at her.

She was watching my hands work, close enough that I could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume beneath the sharper workshop scents.

Finishing two repairs suddenly seemed considerably less interesting.

I set the washer down before I lost it among the other parts.

Goldie noticed where I’d put it and looked up. “Did I give you the wrong one?”

“No. You gave me exactly what I needed.” I turned toward her on the stool. “I’ve just been thinking about something else since you walked in.”

Her smile grew. “Something involving the Factory?”

“Not remotely.”

I leaned down and kissed her.

Goldie caught the front of my shirt, much as she’d done the night before, and drew me closer. Her mouth was warm and inviting, and she tasted faintly of the peppermint she’d been chewing when she arrived. I rested one hand against the edge of the bench beside her, careful not to crowd her into the assortment of metal pieces spread across the work surface.

She made a pleased little sound when I kissed her again, then slid her hand along my neck into my hair.