Chapter 6
Dousing Flames
Wayne was losing his mind, and it was entirely Jess Hartley's fault.
Three days since Zoey Hayes had swept through talking about art fairs and collaborations. Three days of watching Jess throw herself into work with scary intensity, cranking out piece after piece.
Three days of trying not to stare at her like some kind of creep.
“Earth to Wayne. You still with us?”
Wayne jerked his attention back to Jake and Brandon at the fire station. They were supposed to be doing equipment inventory.
“Yeah, sorry. What?”
“I said, you coming to poker night Friday?” Brandon leaned against a rack of turnout gear. “Starting to think you're avoiding us.”
“I've been busy.”
“Busy with the hot glassblower?” Jake grinned. “When are you going to make a move?”
“I'm not going to make a move. She just needed workspace for the fundraiser demonstration.”
“Right. And I'm sure that's why you've been in such a good mood lately.” Brandon exchanged a look with Jake. “Almost smiled at Mrs. Brown last week.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You're full of shit,” Jake said cheerfully. “But whatever. We'll just sit back and watch you suffer.”
Brandon elbowed Wayne. “Ask her out.”
Wayne lifted both hands. “It's not like that.”
Brandon raised his eyebrows—a warning Wayne didn't quite catch in time.
“Hey, ángel!” Brandon shouted across the station. “Wayne says he's cool with you asking Jess out!”
ángel looked up from the equipment he was checking, confused. “What? I'm not—”
But Wayne had already jerked toward Brandon, the surge of possessive anger that shot through his chest answer enough. Both his friends caught it.
“That's what I thought,” Brandon said, grinning. “So what's the holdup?”
“It's complicated.”
“It's always complicated with you.” Jake's tone lost some of its teasing edge. “Look, I know Amanda did a number on you, but Jess isn't her. Ask her out.”
“Keep telling yourself she's just there for workspace,” Jake said. “But for the record? You're being an idiot.”
Tuesday afternoon found Wayne in his barn, attempting to focus on a decorative bracket. The metalwork required precision—curved elements that would mirror each other on the Winslow's gate.
Except he couldn't focus worth a damn.
Jess had arrived an hour ago and was currently working on what looked like her twentieth piece of the week.
She'd moved into winter motifs—snowflakes, frost patterns, delicate icicles in pale blue glass.
Just experimenting, she'd said, but Wayne could see her getting lost in the work. Creative. Efficient. Mesmerizing.
Wayne raised his hammer and brought it down.
Too hard. The angle went wrong.
“Dammit.” He plunged the piece into his quench bucket.
He pulled out fresh stock and returned to his forge. Focus. He'd been smithing for twenty-five years. He didn't suddenly forget basic technique just because there was a beautiful woman in his workspace.
He positioned the metal stock in his forge, watching it heat to cherry red. He pulled it out, positioned it on the anvil, raised his hammer—
And made the mistake of glancing at Jess.
She was stretching, arms over her head, working out kinks. Her tank top rode up, revealing a strip of skin. The afternoon sun caught in her hair.
She was stunning.
Wayne's hammer came down at completely the wrong angle.
The metal slipped. His hammer glanced off, sending the hot stock skittering across his workbench. It hit his pile of steel wool and a small flame sparked to life.
“Shit!” Wayne grabbed for the burning wool—
“Fire!” Jess's voice cut through his panic. “Wayne, move!”
She was already in motion, fire extinguisher in hand. She pulled the pin, aimed low, and squeezed. White powder erupted, smothering the flames in seconds.
“All clear,” she announced, setting down the extinguisher. Then she turned to look at him, amusement in her eyes. “So. That was exciting.”
Wayne stared at her. She'd moved without hesitation, knew exactly what to do, and executed it perfectly.
It was possibly the most attractive thing he'd ever seen.
“You okay?” She stepped closer. “You didn't burn yourself?”
“No, I'm—I'm fine. Thanks.”
“What happened? I've never seen you mess up like that.” Her gaze swept over his workbench. “Were you distracted?”
By you. Always by you.
“Just had a lot on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it?” She was close now, close enough that he could smell her citrusy shampoo.
This was dangerous. They were alone, and she was looking at him like she might actually care.
“Jess.” Her name came out almost like a warning.
“Wayne.” She matched his tone, but there was a challenge in it. A question.
The air between them crackled with tension. Wayne's hands curled into fists, fighting the urge to reach for her.
“We shouldn't—” he started.
“Shouldn't what?” She tilted her head. “Acknowledge that there's something here? That every time we're in the same room, it's like there's a live wire running between us?”
God, she felt it too. She felt it too, and she was brave enough to say it out loud.
“You're here for workspace,” Wayne said, but his conviction was faltering. “For the fundraiser.”
“Is that it?” She took another step closer. “Because I think we both know it stopped being just about workspace days ago.”
Wayne's control snapped.
He reached for her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other sliding around her waist. For one heartbeat, he gave her a chance to pull away.
Instead, Jess surged up on her toes and kissed him.
It was like touching fire. Her lips were soft but demanding, her hands fisting in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Wayne backed her against his workbench, deepening the kiss, tasting her gasp as his hands tightened on her waist.
She was all heat and want and yielding softness, and Wayne couldn't think of anything except the way she responded to his touch, arching into him, making these small sounds that were driving him crazy.
His hand slid up under her tank top, finding bare skin. Jess's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging. The workbench was solid at her back, and Wayne lifted her onto it without breaking the kiss, stepping between her legs.
“Wayne.” She breathed his name against his mouth, and something in his chest cracked wide open.
This was everything. She was everything.
Reality crashed back in.
What was he doing?
This was happening too fast. Too intense. The kind of connection that made you think it was different this time—right before it all fell apart.
Amanda had once kissed him like this too. Had fit against him just as perfectly. Had made him believe he was enough.
Until he wasn't.
Wayne pulled back so abruptly that Jess nearly fell forward. He caught her, steadied her, before putting distance between them again.
“I'm sorry.” The words came out harsh. “That shouldn't have happened.”
Jess stared at him, lips swollen, eyes dark and confused. “What? Why?”
“This is—you're here for workspace. I shouldn't have—we can't—” He was making a mess of this. “I'm sorry.”
Her expression shifted from confusion to hurt to something harder. “Right.” She slid off the workbench, straightening her clothes with sharp movements. “Of course. My mistake.”
“Jess—”
“No, you're right. Bad idea. Complicates things.” Her voice was brittle, fake-bright. “Let's just forget it happened.”
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door before Wayne could find words.
“I'll be back tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “For the demonstration practice. Professional only. Don't worry.”
The barn door slammed.
Wayne stood alone, surrounded by the lingering scent of her shampoo and the taste of her still on his lips.
He'd done the right thing. Pulled back before things got messy. Before he could get attached, before she could realize he wasn't worth the trouble.
He'd protected them both.
So why did it feel like he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life?