Beauty and the Blacksmith (Spindle Cove #3.5)(11)

His wide mouth crooked in a smile. “I can bear far worse.”

“I . . .” Out with it. “I’ve been infatuated with you for quite some time. It’s terrible.”

“Terrible,” he echoed.

“Not that you’re terrible, of course. That ‘s not what I mean. I think you’re remarkable. I’m the terrible one. It all started that night of Finn’s accident. You were so confident and so strong. Just did what needed to be done, and no wavering.”

“That night? Believe me, I was wavering. On the inside, I was wavering.”

“I never would have known it.” She laughed a little. “Of all the places to develop an infatuation. Making eyes at a man over an amputation table. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“Rather.”

“Hardly a story a woman wants to tell her grandchildren someday.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be.”

She felt lighter already. “See, I told you this would all sound ridiculous. Oh, and there’s so much more. You already know that I purposely broke things just to have excuses to come by the smithy. When did you start to realize the truth?”

“Just recently.” His mouth tugged in a self-effacing grimace. “I’m not too sharp.”

She waved off his words. “That’s not true. You’re so perceptive. It’s evident in your finer work. I’ve spent hours poring over your jewelry pieces in the All Things shop. I’ve bought five of them.”

“Five?”

“Yes. Five.” She cringed. “I told Sally I was sending them to friends as gifts. A small taste of Spindle Cove, I said. But I never meant to give any of them away. I kept them all for myself. It was so stupid of me, because once I’d said they were gifts, I couldn’t be seen wearing them. And if I kept them in my jewelry box, Charlotte would find them—she’s always going through my things without permission. So I resorted to keeping them in the chest with my trousseau. They’re wrapped up in a tablecloth.”

“You have five of my pieces in your trousseau?”

“Well, only four.”

“Where’s the other one?” he asked.

She shook her head and pressed a hand to her cheek. “Oh, this is where it gets truly mortifying. There was one I couldn’t bear to put away. But I couldn’t gather the courage to wear it, either. So I took it off its chain and sewed little pockets into my frocks. Every morning, I slip it in as I’m dressing, and at night, I tuck it . . .” She buried her face in her hands.

“Where?” He sounded as if he was enjoying this now.

“Under my pillow,” she moaned into her hands, knowing he’d laugh. “As if I’m a girl of fourteen.”

He did laugh, but he did it good-naturedly.

“I admire all your work, but that one is my favorite. From the moment I saw it in Sally’s display case, I knew I had to have it. It just . . .” She’d come this far. No turning back now. “It seemed made for me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Was it a little silver pendant with a quatrefoil design?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then you had it right,” he said. “So long as we’re being honest. It was made with you in mind.”

Her heart turned over in her chest. “Oh.”

“I do all my best work with you in mind. I never questioned why you came by the forge because I was just pleased you came. I didn’t want you to stop. And that night with Finn? That’s when it started for me, too.”

They stared at each other. His dark eyes held her rapt.

“I find you terribly handsome,” she blurted out. Because it was the only thing left unsaid.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I would tell you you’re the kind of lovely that’s unfair to roses and sunsets. But I don’t think this honest conversation is working the way you hoped.”

“No. It’s not. We were meant to be laughing, but none of this seems ridiculous. In fact, it feels more serious by the moment.”

To know that her attraction hadn’t been one-sided—that she’d been right about those long, searching looks he’d given her now and then . . . The vindication buoyed her spirits, and a delicious tingle ran from her scalp to her toes. But from there, she didn’t know what happened next.

Evidently, he had some ideas.

He took the reins from her hands and secured them on the dash rail. Then he gathered her in his arms and drew her close.

Her heart stuttered. This was really going to happen.

She’d run from his kiss the first time.

The second time, she’d begged him for it.

This time, she’d learned her lesson. She did nothing but remain absolutely, perfectly still.

And it worked.

His lips touched hers, imparting that unique blend of strength and tenderness she was coming to treasure. To crave.

But all too soon, he lifted his head. “Have you been kissed before?”

“I don’t know whether to say yes or no. Which answer will make you do it again?”

“Oh, I’m going to do it again.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “Just wanted to know how slow to take things.”

“A little faster would be fine.” She’d been waiting twenty-three years, after all.