Chapter 9
Ellie
I’m not going to kiss him. I’m here to help. To get to know him better.
I repeat those words to myself as Caeo leads me to his mother’s shop.
It’s on the way to the Kettle Maker, just past where the gray shambles of the outskirts turn into a bustling town of red brick and brown cobblestone, the squat building pressed between its much larger, gabled neighbors.
According to Caeo, his mother inherited it from her previous employer, an elderly woman who still lives in the second-story flat.
Horizontal bands of weathered wood mark each level.
He turns the doorknob, but it’s locked.
“That’s a good sign,” he mutters, dropping my hand to dig out his key.
A bell jingles as he pushes the door open, and a whiff of grease hits me as I follow him inside, likely from the cast-iron sewing machine bolted to one of the nearby worktables.
A large window fills the cramped room with afternoon light, illuminating cubbies and shelves full of colorful fabric bolts and bundles of thread.
Racks of dresses hang to the side, squeezed in wherever they can fit.
Two large wooden crates take up most of the walking space.
“Is that the delivery?” I ask, setting my bag on one of the tables.
Caeo snaps his head back to me. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. They must have dropped it off during class. I just need to find the crowbar…” His words drift off as he turns to the shelves. Once he finds it, he joins me at the crates. “You wanna do the honors?”
“I’ve never used a crowbar before.”
“It’s easy. Here.” He wraps his arms around me from behind as he threads it between my fingers. His clove scent and body heat pressed against me has the metal feeling slick in my palms. As we wedge it into the seam at the top, he says, “Rock it a bit for some more space, then push.”
The friction of his arms rubbing against me stokes a blaze with every brush. I’d never have guessed something as simple as opening a crate could be so sensual. Not kissing him will be harder than I thought.
I force myself to focus, ignoring how his breath grazes my ear. I grunt, pushing down. The nails squeak as they pop out of the wood.
Caeo pats my hip as he steps away, his fingers running along the lid. “You wanna get the other one while I finish here?”
“Sure.” I tear my gaze away from his hand and its imagined touch. It lands on a large crate made from slats of unfinished pine.
A loud crack startles me, and I turn just in time to catch Caeo prying the lid the rest of the way off the first crate, releasing the scent of woodchips into the air. His rolled-up sleeves show off the flexing muscles of his forearms, tightening and twisting with every motion.
He glances my way, then blinks. “Are you just gonna watch?” A smirk stretches across his face.
My lips twist as I hold back a smile. Somehow, I don’t feel embarrassed.
“I am helping.”
To prove it, I line the flat edge of the crowbar to the thin gap beneath the lid of the crate in front of me. Uncertainty flickers in my mind as my palms slide along the cool metal.
What was I—
I almost jump as Caeo’s hand lands on mine. “Move it here for better leverage.” He keeps it there as I push down. At this point, I don’t know if he thinks I’m helpless or is just looking for an excuse to touch me.
“I could’ve done it on my own,” I say, meeting his eyes.
“I know. But you don’t have to.”
A twinge of annoyance peeks through the warmth of his sentiment. “What if I wanted to?”
He pulls his hand away, holding it up in surrender. “Then have at it. You can even keep the crowbar. I’ll never open another crate without you.”
After a second’s hesitation, I chance answering that flirt with one of my own. “I think I’d rather watch you do the rest.”
He laughs, then has me scoot aside as he wrestles the lid the rest of the way off. He leans it against the wall before resting his hands on the edge of the crate, eyeing its contents.
I set the crowbar down on the table with a clank. Caeo jolts, glancing up at me.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“Um… we check for damage, then sort by color. Store them in the cubbies.”
“You don’t sound sure about that.”
He huffs a sigh, then runs his hand through his dark hair. “Sorry, I guess I’m distracted.”
My throat tightens. “Is it me? I can go—I don’t want to be a problem.”
“What? No.” He steps closer, taking my hands as he leans against the crate. “Why do you always doubt yourself so much?”
Do I? My gaze drops to his fingers, rubbing softly against mine. “I… I suppose I don’t have much experience doing things on my own. It’s always been following whatever my father said. I’m worried I’ll make a mistake.”
“What’s so bad about that? It happens to everyone.”
I shrug, still avoiding his eyes. “But what if people don’t forgive them? I messed up, trying to fix things with Sophie. I think she hates me.”
Caeo brings his hand to my face, tilting my chin up. “I don’t know who that is, but anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself isn’t worth your time.”
“I can tell myself that all I want, but it still hurts.”
He runs his fingers along my hairline, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. “I know. But you’re a good person. You’re kind, and you care. They’ll see that. You just have to get more comfortable dealing with people. I can help.”
All those words… Tears well in my eyes. No one, outside of my mom, has ever said anything like that before. To see more in me than simply being my father’s successor. To want to help me be more.
He leans closer, his lips tracking toward mine. The moment’s perfect, his tender words pulling me to him. His breath warms my skin, and I tilt my mouth up to meet him…
Against everything, I pull back, my breath snagging in my throat. “No.”
Caeo blinks, retreating slightly. “No?”
“I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss you. I’m here to help.”
“That’s not fair,” he says, despite the smile breaking through. “I didn’t agree to that.”
The words fall out before I think. “Sounds like your problem.”
Caeo winces. “Ouch. Ellie’s got sass.” My lungs compress beneath a worry I overstepped, but he brings my fingers to his lips, planting a kiss on them. “I like it.”
My heart swells, then he pulls me with him over to the crate.
Our legs press together as he shows me how to unroll about a couple feet of each bolt, checking for damage—the very first one has a brownish stain along its edge, and he has me set it aside.
The next one passes inspection, so he rolls it back up and puts it on the floor, explaining that once we have them sorted by color, we’ll move them into the cubbies.
He lifts a bolt of periwinkle cotton, examining its edges, and the swash of coral pink beneath it catches my eye. I pull it out, running my fingers along its soft edges as I check for fraying.
“That’s a good color for you,” Caeo says, bringing the end up to my face. “Matches your blushes.”
My cheeks burn as I pull it free from his hands.
Ching.
A bell rings with the scraping of the door behind us. Caeo’s body tenses where he presses into my side, spiking my nerves.
It’s his mom. Her lips press together before curling into a smile.
“Oh, hello,” she says, slipping her coat off. “Ellie, right? I wasn’t expecting you here.” She hobbles over to a hook on the wall to hang it from.
Determined to follow through on my earlier claim, I’m about to step over to greet her when Caeo cuts me off.
“She was just leaving.” He drops the bolt he was holding back into the crate and grabs my hand.
“But…” I swipe my bag from the table as he pulls me toward the door. Glancing back, I get a flash of his mother watching us, lips pursed, before finding myself outside on the street.
“What was that about?” I ask, tugging my hand free as Caeo turns back to me. He rests his hand on my back, guiding me away from the window to the wood-paneled building next door. “I wanted to say hello.”
“Well, she did. That’s enough, right?”
“Are you really that worried she’ll scare me away?” He can’t think so little of me, not after everything he said.
He sighs, taking my hands. “No, she’s just… not a part of my life I want you around.” My face must have fallen, because he quickly stutters, “I-It’s nothing against you. Just her. She’ll try to make you feel bad about yourself.”
The creases etched in his face reveal an insecurity I haven’t seen in him before—he must be speaking from experience.
While Father never intentionally made me feel unworthy, I’m well acquainted with how it feels to struggle with a parent’s expectations.
My heart melts as a deep, protective instinct burns in my chest.
I squeeze his fingers. “I understand. But don’t let her do that to you, either.”
He presses tightly back, then lifts his hand to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll try.”
With a sigh, I glance down the road, back toward the Academy. A long walk awaits me, but it’s early enough that I should make it back before it gets too cold.
“Promise me I’ll see you before the ball?” I ask, turning back to him.
“How about tomorrow after class? I can take you to dinner?”
A smile stretches across my face, and he lights up. He moves closer, kissing right where my dimple crimps my cheek. Over and over again.
Laughter falls out of me, and I step back. “Stop it! I’ll see you tomorrow. The steps of my dormitory at twelfth bell?”
“Sounds good.” He gives me one last kiss before releasing my fingers, opening the door to the shop, and disappearing from sight.