Page 49 of The Candlemaker

Taking deep, painful breaths, I looked at her as she checked the temperatures in the pitchers. Her shoulders slumped with relief at the reading, so everything must still be okay.As long as she didn’t check my temperature, it would be.My blood felt like it was fucking boiling.

“We have to pour the wax before it cools,” she instructed, her tone brittle with false bravado as she tried to conceal the effects of our kiss. “There’s a bag of wicks under the counter. I need you to stick one to the inside of each jar, and then I’ll pour the wax in.”

My jaw locked.She wasn’t asking me to leave.After what just happened, she had every right to. Hell, after what just happened, I should want to—I should be desperate for a second to cool down and become rational again. Logical. Emotionless.

But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want distance or relief. I wanted the torture of remaining in her presence for a little longer. So, I did exactly what I was told and wondered how the hell I was going to spend another night alone with the woman who set my body on fire, let alone another five more after it.

Chapter Twelve

Frankie

I was goingto kill him.

The inn’s living room was unrecognizable, which was saying a lot considering it was empty until last night. But what was there—all the things Chandler had brought and the few things I’d left—was in disarray.

The air mattress was propped against the wall. Water bottles were laid out in a pentagram on the floor—in the center of them, our three pillows were stacked on top of one another. There was another pentagram streaked on the wall above the fireplace with the ashes from last night’s flame. The sheets from his bed were draped over the windows. And the snacks…

Dammit, Nox.

To be fair, I’d begged him to do this—notthis,but something. Something haunt-y. And I would’ve gone into greater detail if Chandler hadn’t shown up at my store and put a swift end to the meeting I’d called and begged my cousin for as soon as I’d left the inn this morning.

“I guess the ghosts aren’t happy we’re here,” I murmured, banding my arms over my chest as I watched Chandler stalk around the room.

Fury shouldn’t look so handsome on a man.

Yes, my cousin had taken my request—my plea—into his own hands, but for the look on Chandler’s face right now, it was worth it.I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Chandler’s head whipped around, the muscle in his jaw ticking as though to count every silenced curse. He didn’t understand—couldn’t fathom that he might be wrong about the ghosts.

Chandler stopped in front of one of the windows, glared at me, and then yanked down one of the sheets covering the glass, the fabric fluttering around him like a fireless flame.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” he said through locked teeth, balling the sheet in his hands.

“Then what happened here?” I extended my arms, moving farther into the room. “Because you’ve babysat me all day.” At that, his stare flicked angrily to me. “So I couldn’t have done this.”

The muscle in his jaw churned because he couldn’t argue the facts; he’d spent the entire day by my side. First, at the Candle Cabin, then we’d grabbed dinner to-go from Beach Dogs, a gourmet hot dog shop a few doors down from the Maine Squeeze. There were better options—better restaurants—that I was sure a man like Chandler would’ve preferred, but the less we were seen together in public, the better; I didn’t want anyone getting any wrong ideas. Especially Gigi. But I’d deal with my grandmother and her silly premonition later.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” he repeated, grabbing the air mattress with one hand, the muscles in his forearm putting on a show as they flexed and pulled taut to drag the bed back flat on the floor.

His sleeves had been rolled up all day, and I’dbe lying if I said it wasn’t a sexy silver lining of having the man help me make candles. I tried not to look. To keep my distance—and my anger at him. But it was hard when he was unexpectedly genuine. Even harder when my body responded to him like a wildfire. Every time I got close, thinking I could douse the feeling, more of me was pulled into the burn.

First, our conversation earlier. How many times have I shared the origins of my candle-making? Countless. How many times have I shared the truth about what that candle did for Kit? Next to none.

And then, that kiss.A mistake.Which was why I’d spent the rest of the day interacting with cool civility toward him. Never mind how my lips were still charred from the embrace and my body scorched with ache.

It was a mistake, and one I was happy to pretend never happened.

“I’m going to check the doors,” he declared, snatching a lantern—miraculously one of the few things Nox had left untouched in its original spot.

Chandler flipped the switch to turn the lantern on, mid-stride toward the door, and nothing. No light came out.Off. On. Nothing.

Not untouched.

“What the…” He popped open the bottom, the cavity where the battery should’ve been was obvious even in the quickly-fading daylight. He was nothing if not thorough—both of them, Nox and Chandler—because Chandler checked inside the lantern, too, and found the bulb missing. “Seriously?”

“Don’t look at me.” I huffed and set my bag on the floor. I rifled through itfor a lighter and one of my Cinnamon Swirl candles I’d packed earlier, planning to light it anyway just to clear out a little must from the air.

“I’ll run to the store and get?—”

My laugh made him stop talking. “It’s ten o’clock in Friendship, Mr. Collins. We don’t have Starbucks, let alone stores open past nine,” I informed him as the wick on the candlesmoldered to life, cinnamon light spilling into the room.“Here.” I passed him the candle, pretending my fingers didn’t respond just like the wick when they brushed his.

---