Page 27 of Beautiful Desire
Our fingers brush when he takes the box from me, and I do my best to ignore the zap of electricity that shoots up my arm from the simple touch. I have never felt more out of control of my own body than I do around Fletcher lately, and I don’t like it.
“Are those the last of ’em?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ve got about two hundred to get through before this weekend.”
“Damn. To sell at the store? Or what are they for?”
“Yes, but also, Hazel is taking a bunch to a craft fair this weekend.”
Placing the rest of the finished candles in the box, he sets it back on the floor before coming back to help me. “How long have you been making these?” he asks.
“Only about a year.”
“How’d you get into it?”
“I have insomnia,” I say, bringing my focus back to the candle in my hand. “Over the last couple of years, falling asleep has become increasingly more difficult. Nothing I tried worked—not the sleepy time tea, or melatonin, or hot baths with lavender bubbles right before bed. Not even the medication my doctor prescribed to me. It was getting to the point where I was lying awake for hours in the middle of the night, then getting up and going to work on two or three hours of broken up sleep. I was a zombie, and it wasn’t sustainable.”
“And making candles helped you sleep?” he asks softly.
I lift my gaze, searching his face for…I don’t even know what, but all I find is genuine curiosity staring back at me. Ever since Fletcher got to town, things have been tense, with both of us carrying animosity about the situation we’re in. Outside of work, this is the most we’ve said to each other without arguing. Hell, we even bickered back and forth during everything that wentdown between us and Charley the other night. I’m not even sure why I’m sharing any of this with him, but it just feels natural, I guess, which confuses me more, but I refuse to dive into that right now.
Nodding, I explain, “One night, I came across this woman on social media who taught herself to make candles as a way to combat her chronic insomnia. Granted, her situation is much different than mine—a homesteading stay-at-home mom to triplets—but a lot of what she said resonated with me, so I figured it was worth a shot.” I huff a dry laugh. “Turns out, the woman was onto something.”
“How would that help insomnia, though? I don’t get it.” Fletcher looks over at me, with his brows pinched, and it’s frustrating how adorable it is.
“It all stems from stress; her being a busy mother with three rowdy toddlers and?—”
“Or you, running a successful business on your own,” he adds, cutting me off.
My chest tightens with the casual way he said that. “Yeah, stress activates neurons in the brain and causes the body to release higher levels of cortisol and adrenaline—all of which disrupt sleep patterns. So, making candles is not only relaxing, but it also helps occupy my mind for a few hours, pushing work and my never-ending to-do list out of my head. Then by the time I get in bed, my thoughts aren’t as loud and I’m able to fall asleep.”
“Hold up.” Fletcher nods slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “So, wait… The hobby you picked up to keep your mind off the stress of owning a business has now also become a part of said business… Am I hearing that right?”
“Yup.” I can’t help but chuckle as I roll my eyes. “I realize how flawed that logic sounds.”
“Hey, it works, and that’s all that matters.” His laughter is deep and throaty, green eyes gleaming with humor as they meet mine. “Like my grandma always said, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Exactly,” I say with an easy smile. “You get it.”
He holds my gaze for another long, silent moment before we get back to work. It’s about another hour before we call it a night, and as we finish putting everything away, Fletcher gestures toward the opened box on the floor next to the door. “What’re those for?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“They’re rollerblades,” I deadpan.
“Obviously.” He snorts. “Another hobby to help with sleep?”
I shake my head. “Grace’s daughter is learning with her friends. Seeing her skate reminded me of how much I enjoyed doing it before I opened the bookstore, so I ordered myself a pair. Lord knows I could use a little more fresh air and sunlight since I’m always inside working.”
“That’s cool,” Fletcher murmurs. “I like that. Think I could join you?”
“What?” My face scrunches up, taken aback by his question. “You want to go rollerblading?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, why not? I’ll have to buy a pair of skates, but it sounds fun.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to sayno, absolutely not, but then I remind myself that this doesn’t have to be weird. I’m the only one making it weird. So, instead I say, “Sure, if you really want to.”
Flashing me a toothy grin, he slaps his hand against the door frame as he walks out, toward his room.
I stand there for a moment, confused by what just happened, but as I get ready for bed, I can’t deny that things between us feel so much lighter, even if my body is still fluttering from the timeI just spent with him. I know it’s because I put on my big girl panties and talked to him about what happened.
