Page 10 of The Mountains Edge

The memory of Daisy's skin under my hands kept me awake all night. The way she tasted, those little sounds she made when I kissed her.

"Stop." I grip the workbench, trying to clear my head.

Scout whines from his bed in the corner of my workshop. The traitor had followed me to the Trading Post last night, then came home looking mighty pleased with himself.

"This is not going to happen," I tell him.

He thumps his tail against the floor, as Luna wanders over to him and slumps down.

How the hell do I now own two dogs?

It's already dark. I should stay here, work on the commission pieces that are actually paying my bills. Definitely not drive down the mountain to torture myself with something I can't have.

Fuck it.

"It’s just work," I mutter, grabbing my tools. "Nothing else."

Scout's already at the door, Luna beside him.

"You're not coming." But they both give me that look. "Fine. But behave."

The drive down is familiar. I've made the drive at midnight for months, checking on the furniture I couldn't bear to see sold off. Now Daisy owns them all, and somehow that makes it worse.

The Trading Post's lights are on. Of course, she's waiting. She knew I would be back.

I park out back, taking a moment to steel myself. Then I see her through the window.

Christ.

She's wearing my flannel again, but this time with worn jeans with holes in interesting places. Her hair's piled up, exposing her neck. She's got sawdust on her cheek and she's singing along to some pop song, dancing as she works.

Scout barks before I can stop him.

She spins, face lighting up. "You came!" She opens the door and the two dogs spill inside and I follow, with my tools. Like there was ever any doubt. Like I could stay away.

"Said I would."

She bites her lip. “About last night?”

"We're not talking about that."

"No?" She moves closer. "Because I've been thinking about it all day."

My hands clench around the toolbox. "Daisy."

"Fine." But her eyes promise trouble. "Show me how to restore this table properly."

I set up my supplies, trying to focus. "First we need to strip the old finish. Years of polish build-up needs to go."

"Sounds dirty." She grins at my glare. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"This is serious work."

"Oh, I'm very serious." She rolls up her sleeves – my sleeves – exposing delicate wrists. "Teach me."

God help me.

I demonstrate the proper stripping technique, trying to ignore how she watches my hands. "Gentle pressure. Let the chemicals do the work."

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