Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
He’d had a good start at it when he heard a banging at the front door. He paused, the hammer in mid-swing.
“Tha hell?” He’d only turned on two of the lights, leaving the front light off so it wouldn’t attract customers just yet. The ‘Closed’ sign was still on the door, too. He put his tools down and walked into the shop area to peer through a side window.
And there she was…
“Is this your thing now?” he asked, opening the door.
“Is what my thing?” Porsche asked with a big smile as she walked past him and entered without an invitation. She wore a thick denim coat with the hood pulled over her head. She took it off, exposing a messy ponytail.
He closed and locked the door. “Comin’ by without calling… I’m happy to see you regardless.” He shrugged. “How’d you know I was here?”
“You told me last night on the phone that you were coming to work early.”
“Haven’t seen you in a whole week, lady.” Her perfume had already begun to fill the air. I’m so happy you’re here… “I missed you, baby.”
“I missed you more.”
They came together and kissed. He wrapped his arms loosely around her, barely touching as he did not want to get her dirty.
“I can smell it.” She pointed to the back. “You’re working.”
“Yeah… candlesticks for a customer.”
“Can I see?”
He nodded and led her to his workspace.
“I just started on them, so there’s not much to see yet.”
“This is incredible. Can I watch you work on them?”
“Yeah, but first tell me why you’re here?” He cracked his knuckles as he straightened up a bit, putting some of his supplies in their proper location.
“Big break in the case! I spoke to a forensics specialist about a hunch I had, and… I shouldn’t be telling you this, but—”
“Then don’t.” He re-situated the anvil and started swinging. Again. Again. Again. Sparks flew and the room echoed with heavy thuds as he came down hard with the hammer.
“Why would you say that? I thought you wanted to know about what I was working on? What I was doing?”
“I do, but not if it’ll put you or your job in jeopardy.”
BOOM!
She crossed her arms and gave him a weird look, as if not certain what to say. He turned away, feeling her lingering gaze on him, and even more so when he proceeded to remove his sweaty white shirt and toss it to the side. The room was fairly dim. One small lamp across the chamber was on, a sliver of light from a glass block window peeked through, and the amber flames of his forge through illumination mixed with shadows.
“…I just wanted you to know that I trust you. I know this means a lot to you. To hear it, that is. That argument we had really upset me, and… this was just a way to show you that I do in fact believe in you, Nikolai.”
“I know you do.” He kept his eye on his work. “You don’t have to sacrifice anything to prove that to me.” He turned to her.
She nodded. Keeping her arms crossed, she moved slowly around the room, looking at his tools, the work benches, the planks of wood and the machines.
“I like that smell. That aroma your tools make when you’re working. I never really understood the art of blacksmithing until I met you.” She walked about slowly, her fingers gliding against metal nails. Copper parts. Screws. BOOM! He swung. “Y’all were the definition of power in the eighteenth century. Then in more modern times, without blacksmiths, there would have been no cars. No cargo ships. No airplanes. Not even an oven. We’d be sent right back into the darkness… like the beginning of time.”
BOOM! BOOM! He kept working. Swinging. The melody of her words and the music of the song blended in a perfect key. Sweet harmony. She ran her fingers along the concrete wall, then stopped.
“What time does your store open today?”
He glanced at the clock mounted to the wall. “In forty-two minutes.” BOOM! Tame Impala’s, ‘Borderline’ started to play. She stood only a few feet away. Her gaze began as a soft caress, then morphed into an inferno of lust.
“There’s an exasperating trace of conceit about you,” she quipped as he went back to swinging. “It’s not loud or in your face, but it’s there. You think you’re untouchable. Smarter than others. I’ve noticed it from our very first meeting.”
“I’m confident. I’m not conceited. There’s a big difference. More importantly, is this how you speak to someone who you want to drop everything and fuck the life out of you?” His brow rose as he watched her remove her sweater now, too.
“Yup. It is.”
He swung the hammer one more time, placed it aside, and walked briskly past her, almost knocking her over. She chuckled, as if she were expecting him to do so.