21. Chest Hair’s Hot as Hell
Chest Hair’s Hot as Hell
Blaze
“Well, I take it back,” Gerty chimes in, “this conversation just got interesting.”
“You broke the bed?” Eliza gasps in shock.
“What does a bed have to do with any of this? We were speaking of babies,” Georgia interrupts.
“Hush,” Helena snaps at her youngest daughter before spinning toward the oldest. “So, you are with child?”
“I just knew that posterior was muscular,” Gerty chirps. I drag a hand down my face. This old bat is going to be the death of me.
“Ladies, please!” George begs, his hands creeping along his neckline to grip at his ears.
Everyone is standing and talking over one another—that is, except Jo. She is still in her chair, staring holes through her plate and brushing her skirts to the point I’m afraid she’s going to wear through the fabric. Why isn’t she saying anything?
“For fuck’s sake, will everyone just shut up?
” I holler. I can’t take it anymore. “Whether or not Jo is pregnant is none of your damned business until the moment she decides to make it your business. My wife is more than a womb and, I repeat, owes me nothing. And Mrs. Dashwood, for the love of all that is holy in this world, find a better way to teach your children about sex!”
“How dare you raise your voice at my wife?” George demands, slamming his hands on the table.
“Oh, you’re as perfectly suited for each other as could be. Neither of you seems to have any sense of how polite society should be navigated! The spinster and her vulgar, jobless husband.” Helena presses her hand to her temple before falling dramatically back into her chair.
“I see now, this passion explains the bed,” Gerty sighs wistfully, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands.
I hear a scoff beside me, and then Jo is standing in front of me. “Enough!”
The room instantly falls silent.
Jo trembles, but her voice is firm. “We’re leaving. Thank you for the lovely meal, but my husband and I must retire. He does, in fact, have to work tomorrow.”
Before her family has the chance to recover from their stupor, Jo drags me out the front door and down the street.
The entire walk home is quiet, but as soon as we reach the top stair of the loft Jo rounds on me.
“I’m sorry. That was a nightmare, and the least I could have done was arrange to have some of the crab packaged to bring back.”
“I swear, if one more person tells me what ‘least you could do’, I’m going to blow a gasket—you included, Josephine.
” I’m staring at her, eyebrows raised and hands on my hips, and realize I must look exactly like my father right now.
I drop my hands, knowing how intimidating that can be—bet Mom would find that funny.
“You’re upset—truly?” Her brows furrow.
“Why do you let them treat you that way? To talk to you that way?” I ask, voice soft because I’m not mad at her, I ache for her. For the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally to be so judgemental must leave scars.
Her shoulders sag. “It’s not that simple, Blaze.”
“But it is, Jo, did you see how shocked they were when you spoke up? You should say something!”
“No, Blaze. I’m already going to have to grovel at Father’s feet to apologize and have him forget tonight ever happened! You don’t understand!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and holds her breath for a moment.
“You’re right, I don’t understand,” I exhale, reminding myself where–or when–I am. “I’m never going to be able to change anything about it either, am I?”
“This isn’t your time, Blaze,” Jo says softly, grabbing my hand. I squeeze her hand gently before letting go and stepping towards my chaise.
“No, no, it isn’t.” And dammit, don’t I know it.
Albion is testing me.
I’m not sure if he’s trying to test my patience or my skill, but he’s managing both.
I’m not familiar with all of these man-powered machines, so it’s taking a little longer than it should to finish the projects he’s already given me, and he keeps placing a new project beside me every half hour, regardless.
There’s a physical pile of things I’m meant to handle sitting on the table next to me.
I’m desperately attempting to rewire my brain to understand that I can pedal the lathe and hold the chisel to the wood at the same time, and here’s Albion, dumping more shit onto the heap.
If this was 2025, I would say something, but I realize how lucky I am to have this job and that finding a different one in this day and age, especially with my limited street knowledge of 1800s London, would likely be impossible.
So, I take another deep breath and count to ten in my head while I finish turning the square in my hand into what will soon be a cane topper.
It appears the backlog has finally run dry, as it’s been over an hour since the last time my elderly boss has even left his seat behind the aged walnut counter. Which both works for me and concerns me.
“Doin’ alright back there, boss?” I call out, breaking the hypnotic thrum of the machine.
“I’m old, but I’m not knocking on death’s door,” Albion grumbles.
I chuckle. “I’m just making sure you’re not bored out of your mind and falling asleep now that we’re all caught up.”
That gets his attention, and he sits straighter. “Well, I’ll be.”
“It took me a bit to adjust to your machines; I’m used to…different models.”
He stands, eyeing the completed projects. “I’m going to be honest with you, son, I wasn’t expecting you to finish even half of those projects today. I wanted to see what you knew compared to any of the previous employees. Well done.”
“Damn, I knew it was a test.” I laugh, my shoulders loosening. “Does that mean I passed?”
“Yeah, you passed.” He steps toward me and claps me on the shoulder. “I really don’t have anything left for you to do today. Why don’t I grab the brooms and we can close up an hour early? I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to that wife of yours,” he teases.
With the two of us and the fact that I had been cleaning up between projects, the shop is closed up in no time. I know Jo isn’t expecting me for a bit still, and that gives me an idea.
“I’ll want one in this pink here, oh, and I must have this yellow–or does this blue look better with my hair?” I hear a nasally sounding woman ask Jo as I step into the modiste.
“What if I used the yellow, but add in a few blue accents?”
“This is why I refuse to allow anyone else tend my wardrobe, Josephine. You truly are the best.”
“I’m so glad you think so, Miss Elizabeth.
I’ll need a week to get them finished, and then I’ll send word.
I would love for you to stop in afterwards to assure me they’re just right.
” The two women step out from the back room and exchange pleasant farewells before the tall brunette sweeps out of the shop, either not noticing me sitting by the window or not caring.
As soon as she’s gone, Jo bolts the door and flips the open sign to closed before turning towards me.
I stand and walk over to her before pulling the bouquet of lilies from behind my back. “I’m sorry about last night,” I say.
“Oh, Blaze.” She smiles, taking the flowers and smiling up at me. “I’m sorry, too. Those dinners always put me on edge. I know you’re only trying to help.”
“I am, but I also need to remember that things don’t work the same here. I hope I didn’t make the situation worse between you and your parents.”
“They’ll get over it, just like they always do. What else do you have there?” I debate denying her a subject change, but I know it’s no use. She’s used to her family behaving this way, and no amount of my whining will change that.
“We closed the shop early today, so I popped into the bookshop across the street and did some browsing. We’ve exhausted the books we’ve borrowed and bought already, so I was looking for something new, namely folklore, myths, and what-not.
I did find this though!” I dig into the bag hanging from my elbow and pull out a small, thin, leather-bound book.
“It’s a farmer’s almanac! My pops has a huge collection of these guys going all the way back to when his pops was little.
I think the oldest one he has is from 1946?
I don’t even know if I’ll be able to actually take this with me when I go, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try. ”
I shrug, rubbing my thumb over the book’s cover. If I’m being honest with myself, I think I bought it more to remind me of home than as a souvenir.
“You’re an awfully sweet man, Blaze Hollows.” Jo reaches out to gently squeeze my arm. “Will you help me get these in water, and we can make supper? I’m absolutely ravenous.”
Like a well-oiled machine, we prepare a beef stew together, and Jo laughs as I recount my first day of work.
I ask if all her customers are as indecisive as Miss Elizabeth and chuckle at the absolute audacity while Jo tells me horror stories of her worst customers, proving that dear Liz is actually quite tame.
Before we know it, the sun is well past set.
“We probably should get to sleep. You do have two new dresses to work on tomorrow,” I say, trying to wipe the sleep from my face. I untuck my shirt as I head for my cozy little rock-hard sofa.
“Blaze,” Jo stops me, looking at the chaise and then back to me.
“Why don’t you sleep on the bed? At least tonight?
It’s plenty big enough for both of us, and I can just…
” She trails off as she snatches a few decorative pillows from the floor and makes a rather impressive wall down the center of the mattress.
I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a slender finger.
“You fixed the blasted thing, and you’re too big for the chaise.
I know you’re not comfortable and your poor back must be killing you—and we are married.
It’s not like it would be a crime for us to sleep on the same bed. ”
I can tell she’s expecting me to argue, but I don’t have it in me.
“Okay.” I half-shrug and walk around to the other side of the mattress.
“Question,” I ask as we both flip down our corners of the blanket.
“Since you seem to be a little worried about my comfort, would you be horribly scandalized if I…took my shirt off? It’s so damn hot and I’ve got all this hair.
” I gesture vaguely at my chest. “Even sleeping under the window, I wake up sweating. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so tell me no if you want and I’ll quit being a little bitch. ”
Jo stares at me for a minute, like almost an entire actual minute, her face completely devoid of emotion, and then she squeaks, “Yes, of course—I mean, you should be comfortable, obviously.”
“Thank God,” I say, grateful I didn’t have to beg, because I would have. It really is fucking hot. Grabbing the back of my collar, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it through the doorway. “I swear, I’ll pick that up in the morning.”
Jo nods, and then seems to notice she’s staring and spins around, quickly flopping into the bed and yanking the blanket over her head.
“Would you mind getting the candle?” she asks, words muffled by the pillow, and I stifle a laugh.
“Yeah, I got it.” I blow out the little flame and finally crawl into the bed. Oh, yeah. This is way better than that damn chaise. “Good night, wife,” I yawn.
I’m asleep before she can reply.