Chapter 22 Heartfire #2
“I'm sure I will.” But his eyes were focused on my mouth instead of my words, and the intensity of his attention made my knees feel unreliable.
“And Dad actually seems to like you, which is a miracle considering—”
Evan kissed me.
It was sudden and soft and tasted like coffee and possibility, cutting off my nervous rambling with the kind of efficiency that suggested he'd been thinking about doing it for a while.
I made an embarrassing sound somewhere between surprise and relief, my hands finding their way to his chest where I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
“Sorry,” he murmured against my lips, not sounding sorry at all. “You were spiraling.”
“I was not spiraling,” I protested, then promptly proved him right by diving back in for another kiss, deeper this time, with the kind of desperate hunger that came from weeks of careful restraint finally cracking open.
Evan's hands found my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us, until I could feel the heat radiating through his shirt and the careful strength in the way he held me. Like I was something precious and breakable, even though we both knew I was tougher than I looked.
“We should probably—” he started, but I cut him off by threading my fingers through his hair and kissing him like the world was ending and this was the only thing that mattered.
Because maybe it was. Maybe this moment, surrounded by the smell of sawdust and the sound of wind through the rafters, was exactly what I'd been looking for without knowing it.
That's when the office door slammed open with the subtlety of a sonic boom.
“Evan, I need those invoices for—oh, for fuck's sake.”
Daniel stood in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing the expression of a man who'd just walked in on something he really didn't want to see. Which, considering his son was currently pressed up against me like we were trying to merge into one person, was probably accurate.
We sprang apart like we'd been electrocuted, Evan's face going red enough to power the mill's lighting while I tried to remember how to breathe like a normal human being.
“Dad,” Evan managed, voice cracking slightly on the single syllable. “We were just—”
“Working on inventory,” Daniel said dryly. “I can see that. Very thorough approach to counting lumber.”
“It's not what it looks like,” I said, which was possibly the stupidest thing I could have said considering it was exactly what it looked like.
“Really? Because it looks like my son was about two seconds away from defiling my place of business.” Daniel's tone was perfectly deadpan, but I caught the hint of amusement lurking behind his Alpha authority. “Should I be concerned about the structural integrity of my workbenches?”
“Dad,” Evan groaned, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“Right. Well.” Daniel cleared his throat with the air of someone determined to pretend this hadn't happened. “Invoices are on my desk. Try to finish them before dinner, and maybe save the romantic interludes for somewhere that doesn't smell like industrial lubricant.”
He disappeared back into his office, leaving us standing there in mortified silence while the echo of his laughter drifted through the thin walls.
“That was...” I started.
“Humiliating,” Evan finished, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Absolutely humiliating.”
“Your dad seems to be taking it well, though.”
“He's probably going to give me the safe sex talk again. At dinner. In front of your parents.”
The thought made me laugh despite my lingering embarrassment. “Hey, at least we know he approves.”
“Small mercies,” Evan muttered, but he was almost-smiling when he said it.
“So, dinner at six?”
“Wouldn't miss it. Just... maybe we should work on our timing.”
“Definitely,” I agreed, then grinned at him. “But for what it's worth, I really like your approach to inventory management.”
The laugh that escaped him was bright and free and exactly the kind of sound I wanted to spend the rest of my life trying to earn.
Even if it meant occasionally getting caught by his father in compromising positions.
Some things, apparently, were worth the embarrassment.
The grocery list crinkled in my pocket as I walked down the back road toward town, Mom's careful handwriting listing things we needed for tonight's dinner: flour, fresh herbs, the good olive oil from the market that cost twice as much as the regular stuff but made everything taste like it belonged in a magazine.
I'd volunteered to handle the shopping run, partly because Mom was busy cleaning the house like the health inspector was coming for dinner, but mostly because I needed some air.
The morning at the lumber mill had left me feeling pleasantly worn out, muscles I'd forgotten I had reminding me that I was definitely more suited to holding cameras than hefting two-by-fours.
Plus, there was something satisfying about having concrete plans. Evan was coming to dinner tonight—the first official family meal since I'd learned that my boyfriend could bench press a truck when the mood struck him. The thought made me grin despite the October chill that nipped at my cheeks.
The air was crisp enough to bite, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and dying leaves that made Hollow Pines feel like a postcard from someone's idealized childhood.
Mist clung to the edges of the Evernight Forest, turning the treeline into something soft and mysterious, like the world was wrapped in gauze.
I was maybe halfway to town, mentally debating whether Mom's “good cheese” directive meant the expensive stuff or just not the plastic-wrapped singles, when I noticed him.
A man standing at the edge of the forest, perfectly still in that way that made my photographer's eye take notice. At first glance, he looked like any other local—tall, wearing a long coat that swept nearly to the ground, dark hair that caught what little light filtered through the mist.
But there was something wrong with the picture. Something that made my steps slow and my pulse kick up in warning.
Maybe it was the way he stood, too motionless, like he was a photograph that had been pasted into the landscape instead of actually existing in it. Or maybe it was how the mist seemed to curl around him differently, like even the weather was giving him space.
Whatever it was, every instinct I'd developed during my years away was screaming at me to cross to the other side of the road and pretend I hadn't seen him.
Instead, like the brilliant decision-maker I was, I kept walking straight toward him.
The man lifted his head as I approached, and I got my first clear look at his face. Sharp features that belonged on a Renaissance sculpture, pale skin that looked like it had never seen sunlight, and eyes that seemed to glow faintly green in the shadows cast by the forest canopy.
Beautiful, in the way that predators were beautiful. Dangerous in the way that made you want to step closer even when your brain was screaming warnings.
“Beautiful afternoon for a walk,” he said, and his voice was silk wrapped around steel, carrying an accent I couldn't place and harmonics that seemed to resonate in places voices shouldn't reach.
I forced a casual nod, trying to ignore the way his presence made my skin crawl. “Just running errands for my mom. You know how it is.”
The man smiled, and it was the kind of expression that looked right but felt wrong, like someone had taught him the mechanics of human emotion without explaining the feelings behind them.
“Strange, isn't it?” he continued, taking a step closer that put him directly in my path. “How quickly things change in a small town. One day you're just another face in the crowd, the next you're at the center of stories that have been decades in the making.”
The words sent ice sliding down my spine, because there was something in his tone that suggested he knew exactly what stories he was talking about.
“I'm sorry, do I know you?” I asked, my grip tightening on the grocery list.
“Not yet,” the man said, and there was something in his tone that made it sound like a promise. “But I know you, Nathaniel Harrington. I know you've been asking questions, learning truths about this place that most people spend their whole lives never seeing.”
The use of my full name made my mouth go dry. Because I hadn't told him my name, had never seen him before in my life, and the only people who called me Nathaniel were my parents when they were seriously pissed at me.
“Look, I don't know what you're selling, but I'm not interested,” I said, taking a step back and trying to remember if I'd passed any other cars on the road, any witnesses who might notice if I disappeared into the mist.
The man's smile widened, showing teeth that were too white and too sharp.
“I'm not selling anything,” he said. “Just offering perspective. You've learned so much recently, haven't you? About the family you've chosen to align yourself with. But there's so much more you don't know. So many questions you haven't thought to ask.”
My heart was hammering against my ribs now, because there was no way this stranger could know about Evan, about what I'd witnessed and accepted. Unless he'd been watching. Unless he was something more than human himself.
“What do you want?” I asked, abandoning any pretense of casual conversation.
“To open your eyes,” the man said. “The Callahans have ruled this place for generations, but power like theirs comes with a price. And that price is usually paid by people like you—outsiders who get caught up in games they don't understand.”
Before I could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, headlights swept across the road. A pickup truck rumbled past, and I turned to wave at the driver, hoping they might slow down and offer some human company.
When I looked back, the man was gone.