Page 50 of Flare
“No need to apologize,” Emily said, leaning against the doorframe.“I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing with this place. Most people would have demolished it and built a whole new house.”
Ward’s expression brightened at her words.“That’s what my real estate agent suggested. Said it would probably be cheaper in the long run.” He shook his head as he measured milk into the pan.“But there’s something about old houses—they have stories to tell. Seems wrong to erase all that history.”
“My grandmother had a house like this,” she said, watching him stir the milk as it heated.“I used to love visiting her. Her place felt… substantial, you know? Like it had seen generations come and go and was still standing strong.”
Ward nodded, his back to her as he reached for two mugs.“Exactly. This house was built in 1921. It survived the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, World War II, everything the decades could throw at it.” He worked efficiently as he spoke, heating the milk, then whisking in cocoa powder and sugar. The rich aroma of chocolate filled the kitchen.
He emptied his mug, dumping the old coffee in the sink, then poured the hot cocoa into a pair of fresh mugs. He turned, offering her a steaming mug.“Sorry, I don’t have any marshmallows.”
Their fingers brushed as she took the mug, and Emily felt a small jolt. Their eyes met for a long moment, and she thought he was going to kiss her.
Then he quickly turned to put the empty saucepan in the sink, filling it with water and a squirt of dish soap to soak.
Guess not. She tried to hide her disappointment by bringing the mug to her lips and taking a careful sip.
“Oh, my God. This isamazing.”
Ward smiled, with a hint of shyness.“Secret ingredient is a pinch of salt.”
They walked back to the living room. Emily deliberately sat on the sofa rather than taking the armchair across from it. After a brief hesitation, Ward joined her, his mug in his hand.
They sat side by side in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their hot drinks. Emily felt herself relaxing.
Then Ward glanced at her, frowning.“I’ve been thinking. Are yousureworking at the festival is a good idea?”
“After yesterday, I decided I’m tired of running away and hiding,” Emily replied.“Besides, Main Street will be closed to traffic, and downtown will be packed with people. If Andrew is stupid enough to try something there…” She shrugged, trying to project more confidence than she felt.“Maggie said the police will be patrolling. And they’re all shifters, right?”
Ward didn’t look happy. He blew out a breath.“I’m going to run over to Wallace’s Home & Ranch Supply for those security cameras first thing tomorrow, but then I’ll be here for the rest of the day. If you needanything, just call or text me.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine with Maggie and Violet in the booth with me,” Emily assured him, though she felt a renewed stab of anxiety. To distract herself—and him, too—she asked,“What are you working on right now?”
Ward’s expression eased.“I promised Eddy Ornelas I’d make a custom table in time for his great-niece Yasmin’s wedding.”
Emily smiled and took another sip of her cocoa.“Tell me about it.”
“It’s a live-edge table, made from a black walnut tree I salvaged from the ranch last summer. It fell during a big thunderstorm last July after standing for over a hundred years. In fact, it’s probably the same age as this house.”
“That sounds gorgeous. I’m sure Mr. Ornelas’ great-niece will love it.” She smiled at him, looking up at him through her lashes and imagining him working on the table, muscles bulging under his tight t-shirt.
God, he was so sexy. And kind. And thoughtful. And refreshingly humble, after Andrew’s arrogance, which she’d mistaken for confidence when they first met.
Moving slowly, Ward put his arm around her. She smiled, leaned shamelessly against his side, and felt herself relax into his warmth.
“I almost hated to cut into it,” he continued,“but I thought the best way to honor it was to turn it into something that could stick around a while. Every knot, every scar in that slab—it’s all a record of the life it lived. Droughts. Windstorms. A century of Bearpaw Ridge weather. I like that it’s not perfect. But it’s real.”
Emily chuckled and drank more cocoa.“Kind of like you?” she teased.
Ward blinked, then laughed.“I really hope I’m not that gnarled-looking yet.”
“Give it a hundred years,” she joked.“You’re still young.”I wonder how long shifters live?
They seemed to age at the same rate as regular humans, if the Swansons were anything to go by. Elle and Justin and Maggie’s dad all looked good for their age, but they didn’t appear to be unnaturally young.
Ward laughed again and returned to describing his project.“There are a few holes, but I’m planning to fill them with clear epoxy resin. It’ll lock in all the character without losing the integrity of the piece. Those gaps and voids—they tell a story…” He continued to talk about the designs he was contemplating for the table’s legs.
The warmth of the hot chocolate, the soft glow of the living room lamp, and Ward’s deep, steady voice created a cocoon of comfort that was impossible to resist.
She curled up against him, and let her head rest on his shoulder as she listened to the soothing rumble of his voice. It didn’t take long before her eyelids grew heavy and she began yawning.
