16. Leah Mae
LEAH MAE
I pulled up outside Jameson’s house and turned off the engine. I’d been at my dad’s place this morning and, on a whim, decided to swing by and see Jameson after I left. He’d told me more than once I could stop by anytime, and I still hadn’t seen his workshop.
It was just after lunchtime on Monday, and I hadn’t seen much of Jameson in the last week.
We’d texted back and forth a handful of times, but that was it.
I figured he was just busy. At least, I hoped that’s all it was.
I knew he had a lot to do on the piece he was working on.
He’d told me it was for a big client in Charlotte. I wondered if he’d let me see it.
His house was set back from the road with a long gravel driveway. The house itself looked small, but tidy, with a cabin-like charm. Next to it was an old barn that looked like it must be his workshop.
I tried the front door to the house first, but no one answered. Jameson’s truck was here, although I didn’t see Jonah’s car. I went over to the barn’s side door and knocked before opening it and peeking inside.
Jameson stood with his back to me, dressed in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans with a leather apron over the top. He held a small hammer in one hand, and his other was covered with a thick glove. It didn’t seem like he’d heard me knock—he didn’t turn around.
His head tilted to the side, and he shifted something in front of him.
The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he worked.
I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the way he moved was mesmerizing.
The hammer clinked against metal. He paused, seeming to look at what he was working on, then hammered again a few times.
Reaching up, he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.
I knocked again, louder this time, my head sticking through the door. Jameson glanced over his shoulder, wearing safety goggles that looked like sunglasses.
“Oh, hey there,” he said.
I’d been hoping to hear him call me darlin’ again—it was so cute when he did—but he just licked his lips and took off his glasses.
“Hey. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but you said I could stop by sometime.”
“Course,” he said. “Come on in.”
The air was warm inside the workshop, so I shrugged off my cardigan and draped it over my arm. I was wearing a tank top underneath with my favorite pair of cut-off jeans and low-top sneakers. Jameson’s eyes drifted down, then snapped back up to my face.
There was something in his expression—a hesitance. His brow furrowed slightly and the space between us felt charged with electricity. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t want me here, or if he was just surprised I’d come.
“I’m sorry, I should have texted you first. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“No, it’s all right.” He put down the large pair of tongs, then slipped off the glove. “Can I show you around?”
“I’d love that.”
He led me into the workshop and showed me the different pieces of equipment, explaining a bit about what they were used for.
The forge that heated pieces of scrap metal.
The anvil where he shaped them. He had shelves with hunks of metal, large and small—some smooth and shiny, others pitted with rust. Boxes and bins held smaller pieces—old tools and gears.
“Is this what you’re working on?” I asked, pointing to a large piece in the center of an open area.
“Sure is,” he said.
I walked around it, gazing at the shape.
From the back, it was difficult to tell what it was.
But from the front, I could see more. It was a woman, or perhaps an angel.
She had the beginnings of wings on her back, but they drooped low, hanging toward the ground.
Her head was bent, and she gripped what looked like bars.
She was huge, standing at least ten feet high.
“She looks like she’s in a cage,” I said.
“Yeah, she is,” he said. “Or she will be, when she’s finished.”
I started to ask who she was, but stopped, biting my lower lip. I felt silly for even thinking it, but I suddenly had the craziest notion that she was me.
Of course, that was ridiculous. Jameson wouldn’t make a larger than life sculpture of a woman based on me—especially one with angel wings.
Who was I? Just his friend. Maybe he had someone else in his life who’d inspired this.
For all I knew, she could be his mother.
Or a woman he loved that I knew nothing about.
As much as I hated that idea, I had to admit it could be true.
But there was something about her that felt familiar. She felt personal. Like I understood exactly what she was feeling. She wasn’t finished, but I could feel the anguish of her captivity. Her desire to be free.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, finally.
“Thank you,” he said, and exhaled a breath like he was relieved to hear me say that. “I still have a lot of work to do before she’s finished.”
“She looks so real,” I said, moving around to look at her from another angle. “So… alive.”
Jameson gazed at me. I could see him from the corner of my eye. “I hope so. That’s what I’m going for. Idea is for her to look more so by the time she’s done.”
“I’m sure she will,” I said. “She already looks amazing.”
“Thanks.”
The tension between us was still there, and I wondered if I should leave. After all, I’d interrupted him while he was working.
“So…” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck, then put his hands in his pockets behind the leather apron. “I was going to head out in a bit to go scrap hunting. If you aren’t busy, would you like to join me?”
“Scrap hunting?”
“Sure,” he said. “I mostly use scrap metal. People dump things out in the woods sometimes. I take my four-wheeler out on the trails and see what I can find.”
I met his eyes and smiled. “I’d love to come. But am I dressed okay?”
His eyes flicked up and down. “Yeah, you’re fine. Might get a little dirty, though.”
“That’s okay.”
He took off his apron and hung it on a hook, then led me out to the side of the barn. He had a four-wheeler with a small trailer attached behind it .
“I don’t go real fast when I’m pulling the trailer.” He grabbed two helmets and handed one to me. “But we’ll wear ’em anyway.”
“Sounds good.”
I put on the helmet. It covered my whole face, but it was lighter than I expected. Jameson got on, straddling the seat, and I climbed on behind him.
“Hold on,” he said.
I put my arms around his waist while he started the engine. His body was warm. The four-wheeler lurched forward, and I held on tighter, gripping his shirt with my fists.
“You’re all right,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
We drove forward and turned behind his house, heading for the woods.
I scooted closer so I could hold on. My body pressed against his and my hands rested on the ridges of his abs.
It made me wonder what he’d look like with his shirt off.
Reminded me of the Fourth of July when we’d done the obstacle course.
He’d come out of the lake dripping wet, his shirt plastered to his lean, muscular body.
I’d pointedly ignored the way he’d made me feel that day, reminding myself repeatedly that Jameson and I were just friends.
Things were different now—for me, at least. I was no longer engaged to someone else.
But I hadn’t told him about leaving Kelvin.
Scarlett might have, but I wasn’t sure. I’d meant to bring it up today, thinking I’d rather talk to him in person than send him a text.
But now that I was with him, it felt awkward.
Like it would show on my face that at least part of the reason I’d broken off my engagement was him.
Because that was the truth, and I felt it more keenly than ever, with the warmth of his body against mine. Even if Jameson and I hadn’t reconnected the way we had, I wouldn’t have married Kelvin. But Jameson and I had reconnected, and I had to admit, I had a bit of a crush on my friend.
Okay, it was more than a bit of a crush. I was crushing on him hard .
But god, how could I not? He was far and away the sweetest man I’d ever met. A perfect gentleman. Fun, and easy to talk to. And sexy—god, so sexy. I shifted my grip on his waist, just to feel the lines of his body.
Jameson was gorgeous. I’d always thought so, although I’d been very adept at stifling my attraction to him.
When we were younger, I’d certainly noticed.
He had those brilliant blue eyes and that shy smile that melted me inside.
As a teenager, I’d secretly wished for him to like me.
Maybe even kiss me. But he never had, and I’d always assumed it was because he didn’t see me that way. We were just friends.
I was sure that was still the case, now.
And the last thing I wanted to do was ruin what we had together.
If I said too much, or let him see what I felt, I risked our whole friendship.
And that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
Not now, at least. Everything in my life was in chaos, but Jameson was solid.
He was sure, and true, and I couldn’t lose him.
So for now, I hugged him tight, relishing the physical contact—loving that I had an excuse to keep my arms around him. I hoped we’d drive a long way, so I wouldn’t have to let go.
We crossed into the woods, bumping along the trail. It was pleasantly warm, even in the shade of the trees. Jameson leaned to the side as we turned a corner, and I moved with him, still holding his waist.
The land sloped up and we kept climbing. I didn’t know if he had a destination in mind, or if he was just driving. I assumed he’d know how to get us home. He probably knew these trails like the back of his hand—certainly drove as if he did.
We came to a clearing and he slowed, finally bringing the four-wheeler to a stop.
Reluctantly, I let go and we both stood to take our helmets off, then put them on the seat. Jameson’s had left his hair messy, but it looked so adorable, I didn’t say anything.