Page 28 of Heartwood and Hardware
Whatever forces brought us together—matchmakers, friends, fate—I'm grateful. Because in Dean, I've found someone who sees me clearly, who values my intensity rather than being overwhelmed by it, who speaks my language even though our worlds are so different.
I hear him moving around in the kitchen, the domestic sounds somehow both novel and comforting. I stretch luxuriously, feeling more at home in my skin than I can remember feeling in years.
When Dean returns with a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, his smile upon seeing me still in his bed makes my heart flutter. He sets the tray down carefully before climbing in beside me, pulling me close with one strong arm.
"This is nice," I say, leaning into his warmth.
"Very nice," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Though I have to warn you—if you keep looking at me like that, the food's going to get cold."
I grin, deliberately running my gaze down his chest to where the sheet barely covers his hips. "I can think of ways to warm it up again."
Dean laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "Eat first. You'll need your strength."
As we share the simple meal, talking and laughing between bites, I realize something profound: for the first time in my life, I don't feel the need to calculate my words or monitor my expressions. With Dean, I can simply be.
And that—even more than the mind-blowing sex or the deep conversations or the shared understanding—might be the most precious gift of all.
EPILOGUE
DEAN
I watch Riley's fingers fly across her keyboard, marveling at how she translates my jumbled thoughts into clean lines of code. We're sitting in my workshop, her on the old leather couch I dragged in last week, me at my carving bench, alternating between shaping wood and answering her questions about website features.
"So if someone clicks on this bear sculpture," Riley says, turning her laptop toward me, "they'll see these three angles, plus the detail shots of the paws and face."
I lean closer, careful not to get sawdust on her equipment. The website mockup looks professional, nothing like the basic social media presence I've limped along with for years. "That's perfect. You're a genius, you know that?"
She blushes but doesn't deflect the compliment like she might have weeks ago. "I know. That's why you keep me around."
"One of many reasons," I say, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My hand lingers, tracing the curve of her cheek. "Though your brilliance with computers is definitely in the top five."
"Only top five? I'm wounded." She leans into my touch, her smile teasing. "What could possibly rank higher?"
I pretend to consider. "Well, there's your laugh. The way you explain complex coding concepts using forest metaphors so I actually understand. Your uncanny ability to know exactly when I need coffee." I move closer, lowering my voice. "And how you look wearing nothing but my flannel shirt."
Riley's cheeks flush deeper, but her eyes darken with desire. "That last one wasn't supposed to make the public list."
"There's nothing public about this conversation." I lean in to kiss her, tasting the mint tea she's been sipping all morning.
She responds eagerly before pulling back with a regretful sigh. "If we start that now, we'll never finish the website before the con."
"Would that be so terrible?" I murmur against her neck.
"Yes, because you promised Parker we'd have business cards with the QR code by Friday." She pushes gently at my chest. "Back to work, Evans. Plenty of time for distractions later."
I return to my bench with a grin, picking up my detail knife. Six weeks ago, I wouldn't have imagined this easy rhythm between us—working side by side, each focused on our craft but constantly aware of the other. It feels right in a way I'd stopped believing was possible.
"How's the new piece coming?" Riley asks, nodding toward the half-formed shape emerging from the cedar block.
"Getting there." I turn it in my hands, studying the curves. "It's different from my usual style."
"I like different. It feels more... I don't know. Fluid? Less constrained?"
I nod, surprised as always by her perception. "That's exactly it. I'm not overthinking each cut."
"Like me with my side project." Riley's been coding an app in her spare time, something about pattern recognition that sheexplains with such enthusiasm I can't help but be swept along, even when I understand only every third word. "Once I stopped worrying about making it perfect and just let myself play with the possibilities, everything started flowing."
"We're good for each other that way," I say, setting down my tools to turn in her embrace. "You help me loosen up, I help you slow down."
