Page 5 of The Blacksmith's Heart
I should listen. I should walk away. But instead, I lean closer, my heart pounding. “What if I don’t regret it?”
His gaze snaps back to mine, sharp and searching. He looks like he’s on the edge of something—like we’re both on the edge of something—and I have no idea what’ll happen if we fall.
“Good night, Callie,” he says, his voice a warning and a promise all at once.
I stand slowly, my heart still racing as I head for the stairs. When I reach the top, I glance back to find him watching me, the note still clutched in his hand.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind is too full—of the past, the present, and the complicated man downstairs who somehow manages to be both infuriating and irresistible.
I replay our conversation over and over, the way his voice softened when he saw the note, the way his eyes darkened when I teased him. There’s so much he’s not saying, so much I want to ask. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell I ended up here—and why, despite everything, it feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Chapter Four
Liam
The hammer’s rhythm is a steady beat, a soundtrack of focus and precision as I shape the glowing piece of metal on the anvil. My workshop is hot, the air heavy with the mingled scents of smoke and iron. It’s a place I’ve always felt in control, where the chaos of the outside world fades away. But today, there’s a new kind of distraction.
Callie stands a few feet away, her eyes wide with curiosity as she watches me work. She’s biting her bottom lip, and I don’t know if it’s the heat from the forge or the way she’s staring at me that’s making my skin burn.
“That’s incredible,” she says, her voice cutting through the clang of metal. “How do you even know where to hit?”
“It’s about understanding the material,” I reply without looking up. “You feel it, read it. Metal’s not all that different from people. Push it too hard, and it’ll break.”
She laughs, soft and melodic, and it does something to me—something dangerous. “Are you saying you’re a metal whisperer, Liam?”
I glance at her, arching an eyebrow. “Something like that.”
Her smile widens, and damn if it doesn’t light up the whole workshop. “Teach me.”
I pause mid-swing, the hammer hovering above the anvil. “You want to try blacksmithing?”
“Why not?” She steps closer, her curiosity tangible. “I’ve always loved learning new things. Besides, it looks... cathartic.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” I warn, setting the hammer down. “It takes strength, precision?—”
“Are you saying I’m not strong?” She crosses her arms, mock offense in her eyes.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m saying it’s not yoga.”
“Teach me anyway,” she insists, that stubborn tilt of her chin both infuriating and irresistible.
I sigh, wiping my hands on a rag before grabbing a smaller hammer. “Fine. But if you smash your fingers, don’t blame me.”
I guide her to the anvil, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. Her scent—something fresh and floral—cuts through the heavy air, distracting me in a way that has nothing to do with the forge.
“Hold it like this.” I adjust her grip on the hammer, my hands brushing hers. Her skin is soft, delicate, and I wonder how someone so seemingly fragile can hold so much strength.
She shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat or my touch. “Okay, what next?”
I clear my throat, forcing my focus back to the task. “You strike here, at an angle. Gentle, at first. Feel the resistance.”
She takes a tentative swing, the hammer landing with a dull thud. “Like that?”
“Harder,” I murmur, stepping closer to guide her hand. “You’re not going to hurt it.”
Her second attempt is stronger, the clang of metal ringing out. She looks up at me, her face glowing with excitement. “I did it!”
