Page 13 of The Blacksmith's Heart
“I gotta hand it to you, Grayson,” Jack drawls, leaning against the workbench. “This mail-order bride of yours seems to have put a spark back in your step.”
I don’t bother responding, focusing on the hinge I’m attaching to the new steel-reinforced door. They’ve been at it all day—teasing, poking, prodding. I should be irritated, but their ribbing is familiar, grounding. And if I’m honest, Callie’s presence has changed something in me, even if I won’t admit it out loud.
“You keep acting like you don’t care,” Ridge adds, tossing a wrench in the air and catching it. “But I see the way you look at her.”
I grunt, tightening the screws with more force than necessary. “You seeing things now? Must be all that paint thinner you sniff in your shop.”
Laughter erupts, and Slate claps me on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Own up to it. You’re smitten.”
Before I can reply, Callie’s voice floats in from outside. Her laughter is light and carefree, cutting through the noise in my head like a balm. My hand stills, the wrench in my grip suddenly heavy.
Rune notices. “Yeah, you’re smitten all right.”
“Shut it,” I mutter, standing and wiping my hands on a rag. But my lips twitch despite myself, a half-smile threatening to form.
The house is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. The others left after dinner, full of beer and too much smugness for my liking. Now it’s just me and Callie in the stillness, and she’s nowhere to be seen.
I find her in the living room, curled up on the couch. Her shoulders are shaking, and the muffled sound of her sobs stops me in my tracks. My chest tightens, an ache settling low in my gut. Seeing her like this—so vulnerable, so unlike her usual sunny self—it’s enough to crack the walls I’ve spent years building.
“Callie,” I say softly, stepping closer.
She startles, swiping at her face as if she can erase the evidence of her tears.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, her voice trembling.
“Don’t,” I say, sitting beside her. “Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not.”
Her lip trembles, and she looks away. “It’s just... everything. My studio, my life before—all of it feels like it’s gone. Like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect. I’ve been there, in that place where everything feels lost, where you can’t see the way forward. I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes snap to mine, wide and filled with something raw.
“You’re not lost,” I tell her. “You’re here. You’re safe. And you’re not alone.”
She lets out a shaky breath, leaning into my touch. “Sometimes it feels like I’ll never find my footing again.”
I pull her into my arms, her warmth seeping into me like she belongs there. “You will,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ll make damn sure of it.”
Her hands clutch my shirt, her fingers twisting in the fabric like she’s holding on for dear life. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest, the rapid beat echoing my own. Her breath is warm against my neck, and every part of me is acutely aware of her—her softness, her scent, the way she fits so perfectly in my arms.
When she tilts her head back to look at me, her eyes are searching, vulnerable. “Liam,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?” My voice is rough, the words catching in my throat.
“Make me feel like I’m worth something again.”
Her confession undoes me. Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I lower my head and capture her lips with mine. The kiss is slow, deliberate, a claiming and a question all at once. She tastes like honey and fire, sweet and wild, and I’m powerless to resist.
She kisses me back, her hands sliding up to cup my face, her fingers threading through my hair. The intensity between us builds, a spark igniting into an inferno. I deepen the kiss, my hands roaming her back, pulling her closer, needing more.
But then she pulls back, just enough to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes are filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.
“Liam,” she breathes, her voice shaky. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to fix.”
“You’re not.” My hands cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the remnants of her tears. “You’re not broken, Callie. You’re the strongest person I know.”
She lets out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “You don’t even know half of me.”
“I know enough,” I say, my voice firm. “I know you’re brave and kind and stubborn as hell. And I know I want to be the one who stands beside you, no matter what.”
