Chapter 3 Heat Between Them
Trying to Fit In
By the third morning, Eli had learned two important things about Blackthorn Brickworks.
The first was that no amount of preparation could make the heat easier to endure.
The second was that earning the respect of the workers would be much harder than finishing his research project.
Neither realization was particularly encouraging.
He parked his car beneath the same patch of shade he had claimed since arriving and stepped out into the already warming morning air. The sun had barely risen, yet the familiar scent of clay and dust lingered across the property.
Somewhere in the distance, machinery roared to life.
Workers moved between buildings carrying tools and equipment.
Another day had begun.
Eli adjusted the strap of his camera bag and headed toward the main yard.
As he walked, several workers nodded politely.
Others ignored him completely.
The hostility he'd sensed during his first days hadn't disappeared, but it seemed less obvious now.
Still, the distance remained.
He wasn't one of them.
Everyone knew it.
Including him.
The challenge was figuring out how to bridge that gap.
He found Mason near a shipment area reviewing paperwork with one of the foremen.
The older man glanced up as Eli approached.
"Morning."
The greeting was simple.
But it was more than Mason had offered on the first day.
Progress.
"Morning."
Mason finished his conversation before turning toward him.
"You bring enough water?"
Eli lifted his bottle.
"Two liters."
"Good."
"You're starting to sound concerned."
"I'm starting to sound tired of carrying you when you pass out."
Eli laughed.
A tiny smirk tugged briefly at the corner of Mason's mouth before disappearing.
The moment lasted only seconds.
Still, it felt like a victory.
For reasons he didn't fully understand, Eli valued those rare glimpses beneath Mason's rough exterior.
The man guarded himself carefully.
Every small crack in that armor felt significant.
The morning passed quickly.
Mason spent most of it handling operational issues while Eli continued documenting different stages of production.
He filled pages with observations.
Interview notes.
Questions for later.
Everything was going well until he noticed several workers unloading materials near one of the drying sheds.
The task looked simple enough.
A group of men transferred stacks of clay molds from a transport cart onto storage racks.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing dangerous.
Just work.
Normal work.
The kind of work everyone else seemed capable of doing without difficulty.
An idea formed immediately.
Maybe that was exactly what he needed.
Instead of standing around taking notes like an outsider, maybe he should help.
Not because anyone expected it.
Because he genuinely wanted to understand.
Research wasn't just observation.
It was participation.
Experience.
Connection.
At least that was how he justified the decision.
Looking back later, he would realize it wasn't one of his better ideas.
Eli approached the group.
One of the workers looked up.
"Need something?"
"I was wondering if I could help."
The man blinked.
Then laughed.
Not maliciously.
Just surprised.
"Help?"
"Yeah."
The worker exchanged a look with his coworkers.
Eli immediately recognized skepticism.
Still, nobody told him no.
"We're just moving molds."
"Perfect."
The worker shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
Before common sense could intervene, Eli stepped forward and grabbed one side of a stacked tray.
The moment he lifted it, he understood his mistake.
The thing weighed far more than expected.
His arms strained instantly.
The muscles in his shoulders protested.
Several workers noticed.
None offered assistance.
They simply watched.
Eli stubbornly kept moving.
One step.
Then another.
The tray shifted unexpectedly.
His grip slipped.
Panic flashed through him.
The entire stack tilted sideways.
Several clay molds slid free.
One hit the ground.
Then another.
Then three more.
The sound echoed across the yard.
Silence followed.
Eli froze.
His stomach dropped.
The broken pieces scattered across the dirt like evidence from a crime scene.
For a moment nobody said anything.
Then someone groaned.
Another worker muttered a curse.
Embarrassment flooded Eli so quickly he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
"Sorry."
The apology sounded weak.
Useless.
The workers exchanged looks.
Nobody seemed angry.
Which somehow made it worse.
Disappointed was harder to endure.
One older employee sighed heavily.
"Those took all morning."
Eli closed his eyes briefly.
Fantastic.
Three days in town and he was already destroying things.
"Sorry," he repeated.
The word felt increasingly inadequate.
A few workers crouched to gather the broken pieces.
Others returned to work.
Conversation resumed.
But now there was an unmistakable edge to it.
An awareness of his failure.
His incompetence.
His inability to perform even the simplest task.
Eli stepped backward.
Humiliation burned through him.
He knew these men already doubted him.
This certainly wasn't helping.
"Trying to become a brickworker now?"
The voice came from behind him.
Eli turned.
Mason stood several feet away.
For one horrifying second, Eli expected criticism.
Maybe irritation.
Maybe another reminder to stay out of the way.
Instead, Mason looked almost amused.
Almost.
"I was trying to help."
"That obvious?"
Eli groaned.
"Please don't."
A surprising chuckle escaped the older man.
Not a full laugh.
But close enough to count.
The sound caught Eli off guard.
He wasn't sure he had ever heard Mason laugh before.
"It looked heavier," Eli admitted.
"It always does."
"That's not helpful."
"No," Mason agreed. "But it's true."
Eli rubbed the back of his neck.
The embarrassment remained.
Unfortunately.
"I probably just proved everyone's point."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Mason's expression shifted slightly.
"What point?"
"That I don't belong here."
For several seconds, the older man studied him.
Really studied him.
As if considering something.
Then Mason surprised him.
"Nobody belongs here on day three."
Eli frowned.
"What?"
"You think any of those guys knew what they were doing when they started?"
Mason nodded toward the workers.
"Most of them were worse than you."
"I find that difficult to believe."
"It's true."
The older man crossed his arms.
"I broke an entire pallet my first month."
That caught Eli completely off guard.
"You did?"
"Yep."
"You?"
Mason rolled his eyes.
"I wasn't born knowing everything."
The image felt impossible to picture.
Mason seemed so capable.
So confident.
The idea of him making beginner mistakes almost felt absurd.
Yet something about the confession eased the knot in Eli's chest.
"Nobody told me that."
"Nobody tells those stories."
A brief silence followed.
Workers continued moving around them.
The sounds of the brickworks filled the air.
Machinery.
Voices.
The distant roar of the kilns.
For the first time since dropping the molds, Eli's embarrassment began to fade.
Mason glanced toward the damaged pieces.
Then back at him.
"You wanted to help?"
"Yeah."
"Then help."
Eli blinked.
"What?"
Mason pointed toward the scattered fragments.
"Pick those up."
A reluctant smile tugged at Eli's mouth.
"That's your advice?"
"Pretty much."
The simplicity of the answer made him laugh.
This time the sound felt genuine.
Not forced.
Not nervous.
Just real.
He crouched beside the broken molds and began helping clean the mess.
A few workers glanced over.
Some looked surprised.
Others simply returned to their tasks.
Nobody mocked him.
Nobody laughed.
They just watched him work.
And as Mason joined him without another word, kneeling beside him in the red dust, something subtle shifted.
The distance between them felt smaller than it had yesterday.
Not gone.
But smaller.
For the first time since arriving in Blackthorn, Eli felt the beginnings of something he hadn't expected to find.
Trust.
Fragile.
Incomplete.
Yet undeniably real.
And somehow, knowing Mason was willing to stand beside him through a simple mistake mattered more than Eli wanted to admit.
The Wrong Kind of Attraction
Mason had made a mistake.
Not a major one.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing that would cost anyone money or put workers at risk.
Just a small personal mistake.
The kind he should have recognized sooner.
He was starting to like Eli Bennett.
The realization annoyed him far more than it should have.
For most of his life, Mason had trusted his instincts when it came to people. Years spent bouncing between foster homes, surviving bad decisions, and rebuilding himself from the ground up had taught him how to read others quickly.
Usually, his first impressions were accurate.
When he'd first heard Harold Bennett's grandson was coming to Blackthorn, he had expected entitlement.
Arrogance.
The kind of privileged confidence that came from never worrying about rent, bills, or whether there would be food on the table next week.
Instead, he'd gotten Eli.
A kid who thanked people for answering questions.
A kid who carried a notebook everywhere.
A kid who spent more time listening than talking.
And somehow that was worse.
Because it made disliking him impossible.
Mason stood near the loading yard reviewing delivery schedules while workers moved pallets across the property. Around him, the usual rhythm of the brickworks continued uninterrupted.
Forklifts beeped.
Engines growled.
Voices carried across the dusty air.
Yet despite everything demanding his attention, he remained aware of exactly where Eli was.
That fact alone irritated him.
The younger man was standing near one of the drying racks, interviewing an older worker named Pete.
From this distance, Mason couldn't hear the conversation.
He could only see Eli listening.
Really listening.
Most people waited impatiently for their turn to speak.