Page 11 of Keep Me, Knox
She goes to the knife immediately, not even bothering to push the wet strands of hair off of her face. She studies the rippling pattern in the steel without touching it.
"Knox," she breathes. "This is incredible."
The blade is taking shape. Eight inches of flowing Damascus steel, the layers creating patterns like water over stone. I've spent weeks folding and forge-welding the metal, building up hundreds of layers. It’s going to be a real beauty when I’m finished.
"The steel tells you what it wants to be," I say, moving to stand beside her. "You just have to listen to it in the fire."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Tinkering since I was a kid. My uncle taught me basic blacksmithing. But seriously, since the divorce. Turns out heartbreak makes for good forge time."
She looks up at me, wine glass forgotten in her hand. "Were you in love with her?"
The question should catch me off guard, but it doesn't. Maybe because I've been asking myself the same thing for ages.
"I thought I was," I say finally. "But looking back... I think I was in love with the idea of being the man she wanted. Problem was, that man wasn't me."
She nods slowly. "That's the worst kind of loneliness. Being with someone who doesn't really see you."
"Yeah," I say quietly. "It is."
We stand there in the warm light of the forge, surrounded by the smell of coal dust and oil, and I realize this is the first time I've talked about my marriage without feeling bitter about it.
Maybe because she gets it. The loneliness. The pressure to be someone you're not.
"Thank you," she says softly.
"For what?"
"Letting me see this. Your work. It's... it's like getting to see inside your head."
Thunder rumbles outside, closer now, and the lights flicker. She moves closer to me instinctively, and suddenly we're standing too close again, just like in the kitchen.
But this time, I don't step back.
"Sage," I say, her name rough in my throat.
"I know," she whispers. "I feel it too."
When the lights flicker again and stay off, plunging us into darkness, it feels like a sign.
Like the mountain itself is telling us to stop fighting this thing between us.
Chapter 8
Sage
Thewindhowlsanda roll of thunder sounds in the distance.
“The wind has picked up enough to knock out the power,” Knox says. “I think we should run back to the house before the weather gets worse. We have a nice fire going in there.”
“Okay,” I agree.
Knox opens the door, grabbing hold of my hand. The touch of his skin on mine makes me forget how wet and cold I am. I’m suddenly warm from head to toe.
“On three,” he says. “One… two… three!”
We sprint together, hand in hand, toward the house. The wind hurls the raindrops at us, stinging our skin.
