Page 2 of Stitch & Steel
Or maybe both.
“Logan,” Gran called without looking up, “Bella’s here.”
“I see that,” he said, voice low and gravelly, like an idling engine.
I crossed my arms. “You must be Diesel.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t smirk. “That’s what they call me.”
“You have a name, you know. A real one.”
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “So do you, Miss Bella Grace.”
The way he said my name made my stomach tighten. Not in fear. Something worse. Anticipation.
Gran clapped her hands once, breaking the tension. “Now that introductions are done, Diesel—go haul that box from the car. The heavy one. I told you she’d bring her whole damn classroom.”
Without a word, he brushed past me on the way to my car. He didn’t touch me, but the heat of him raised goosebumps on my arms anyway.
I watched him go.
I was supposed to be here for peace, quiet, and rest. A summer to regroup. Recharge. Reset.
So why did it feel like I’d just stepped into something wild and burning and dangerous?
He carried the box like it weighed nothing. Muscles flexed in his forearms as he set it down beside the stairs. I tried not to stare.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“You a schoolteacher?” he asked, casually wiping his hands on a rag from his back pocket.
“History.”
“That right?” He nodded once. “Maybe you can teach me something.”
“I doubt you’re the classroom type.”
He didn’t flinch. “I don’t sit still well, but I learn fast.”
God help me, I didn’t know what to say to that. So I stepped inside, pretending I wasn’t rattled.
Gran was humming as she stirred something in a pot. The smell of stewed tomatoes and basil hit me like a hug.
“Want him to stay for dinner?” she asked innocently.
“Nope,” I said too quickly.
“I got other stops anyway,” Logan said, nodding at me once before disappearing out the door like smoke.
Dinner was stewed okra, biscuits with honey butter, and iced tea so sweet it could stop your heart. We sat by the open window, cicadas chirping like a metronome.
Gran buttered her biscuit with careful fingers, slower than I remembered.
“You doing okay?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t meet my eyes. “Most days are alright. Today’s a good one. But there are moments, Bells. Little ones. Where I can’t remember what I walked into a room for, or why I’m standing with the kettle in my hand.”
My heart squeezed. “You didn’t tell me it was this far along.”
