Page 46 of The Candlemaker

“That”—she nodded to the box—“goes in here.” She lifted the lid off a giant silver container on the counter. It had a spout almost likeadrink dispenser and was plugged into the wall.

“All right.” I set the box down and opened the top; it was filled to the brim with thin white flakes.

“Four-six-four soy wax.” She reached in and let a handful of flakes flutter from her fingertips before dumping them into the metal container. “This is what melts it together, and then”—she reached across the counter for a thermometer—“we’ll pour it out when it’s about one-eight-five.”

“So, my job is to dump wax into a pot?”

“And monitor the temperature.” Her smile was too close to a smirk for my liking. “I don’t want to give you anything too strenuous or dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“You could burn yourself.”

“Maybe I like wax play.”

She choked on whatever flippant remark she was going to say next, and it was worth whatever line I’d crossed with the comment—to see her lose her cool for a second. To see behind the bravado.

The thermometer clattered from her fingers, which she quickly slapped into silence with her palm.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t have another apron, so the only thing you’replayingwith is your very nice, very expensive clothes,” she warned as though it would make me change my mind.

My smile widened. “Good thing I can afford to buy new ones.” I set the box on the counter, enjoying her soft mutter of frustration as she went back to her scent-making.

“So. Sixteen years old?” I picked the scooper out of the box and took one filled scoop over to the giant melter.

“I see Gigi was quite chatty this morning.”

“I can’t imagine her not being chatty,” I admitted, carefully adding another dose of wax to the melter, watching the flakes start to disappear into one another.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“She says the same about you.”The wax landed with a flurry in the pot. “So why candles?”

“Do you have something against candles? Or just historic and community preservation?”

I laughed. I couldn’t fucking help it and couldn’t fucking explain it. If I were back in Boston, in my office, and someone said that to me, I’d be that much more determined to do whatever the hell I wanted to do, consequences be damned.I wouldn’t laugh.I wouldn’tenjoybeing criticized. But for some reason, even her critiques were like cinnamon. Barbed but sweet.

“I have nothing against either.” I stirred the thick wax, adding another scoop of flakes just as the last had almost finished melting.

“It’s because he sold it to us, isn’t it?” she asked quietly and straightened.

I felt her eyes on me, but I didn’t turn—didn’t move.

“It’s because I have a better offer. That’s all.” And it had nothing to do with the fact that the Kinkades were who my half-brother had chosen to sell to when he thought the inn was willed to him. Nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to distance myself from everything involving Geoff Collins, his children, and their decisions.

“Excuse me.”

I tensed, realizing she was right beside me, but instead of moving away from the counter, I only turned, thinking she just wanted to check the temperature for the wax. She did, but that wasn’t all she came over for.

Her shoulder brushed my chest when she dipped the thermometer in the wax and swirled it for a second before taking a reading.

“If it’s too hot, when I add the fragrance oil, some of it willevaporate, but if it’s too cold, it won’t bind well,” she explained softly. “You can keep adding.” She wiped the thermometer tip and moved in front of me again.

It wasn’t the process that was fascinating—I mean, it was. But what had ahold on my attention was her. The way she moved, both with precision and without thought. I watched, mesmerized, as she slid a digital scale from where it was propped against the wall, pressing some of the buttons before she placed a small beaker on top and began to measure out some of the scented oil she’d been mixing.

“How do you know how much to use?”

“The rule of thumb is six to ten percent of the volume of wax you’reusing is how much fragrance to add.” She plucked the beaker off the scale, now filled with the murky red liquid.

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