Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I sigh, pulling out the last few items from my bag and tucking them into the small dresser Liam cleared out for me. That’s when I see it, crumpled in the back corner of the drawer: an old piece of notebook paper, yellowed with age.
My breath catches as I unfold it, the familiar handwriting sending me straight back to middle school.
“If neither of us is married by 30, we’ll marry each other. Deal? Check yes or no.”
My twelve-year-old self had checked “yes” and slipped it into Liam Grayson’s locker. I never expected him to keep it. But now, holding it in my hands, the memory hits me like a freight train.
I laugh softly, the sound tinged with disbelief. What are the odds?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I take the note to the living room, where Liam is sprawled on the couch with Rocky at his feet. He’s flipping through Mountain Living magazine, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Hey,” I say, holding up the note. “Remember this?”
His eyes lift, and for a moment, he just stares at me. Then his gaze drops to the paper, and something flickers across his face—something vulnerable and unguarded.
“I haven’t seen that in years,” he says, his voice rough.
I sit on the armrest of the couch, holding the note out to him. “I can’t believe you kept it.”
He takes the paper from me, his fingers brushing mine. The touch is brief, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through me. He unfolds the note, his eyes scanning the words before he lets out a low chuckle.
“I was an idiot,” he says, shaking his head. “What the hell did I know about marriage at twelve?”
“More than you do now, apparently,” I tease, grinning when his eyes narrow.
“You think so, huh?”
“Definitely.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Because if this is your idea of wooing a woman, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
His lips curve into something that’s almost a smile. Almost. “Maybe I’m just rusty.”
“Rusty?” I raise an eyebrow. “Liam, I’m pretty sure you’ve never even been in the game.”
His expression darkens, but there’s a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Careful, Angel.”
“Or what?” I challenge, my voice soft but daring.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us crackling with tension. His jaw tightens, and I can see the effort it takes for him to pull back, to look away.
“Go to bed, Callie,” he says finally, his voice low and strained. “Before you say something you’ll regret.”
I should listen. I should walk away. But instead, I lean closer, my heart pounding. “What if I don’t regret it?”
His gaze snaps back to mine, sharp and searching. He looks like he’s on the edge of something—like we’re both on the edge of something—and I have no idea what’ll happen if we fall.
“Good night, Callie,” he says, his voice a warning and a promise all at once.
I stand slowly, my heart still racing as I head for the stairs. When I reach the top, I glance back to find him watching me, the note still clutched in his hand.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind is too full—of the past, the present, and the complicated man downstairs who somehow manages to be both infuriating and irresistible.
I replay our conversation over and over, the way his voice softened when he saw the note, the way his eyes darkened when I teased him. There’s so much he’s not saying, so much I want to ask. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell I ended up here—and why, despite everything, it feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Chapter Four
Liam
The hammer’s rhythm is a steady beat, a soundtrack of focus and precision as I shape the glowing piece of metal on the anvil. My workshop is hot, the air heavy with the mingled scents of smoke and iron. It’s a place I’ve always felt in control, where the chaos of the outside world fades away. But today, there’s a new kind of distraction.
Callie stands a few feet away, her eyes wide with curiosity as she watches me work. She’s biting her bottom lip, and I don’t know if it’s the heat from the forge or the way she’s staring at me that’s making my skin burn.
“That’s incredible,” she says, her voice cutting through the clang of metal. “How do you even know where to hit?”
“It’s about understanding the material,” I reply without looking up. “You feel it, read it. Metal’s not all that different from people. Push it too hard, and it’ll break.”
She laughs, soft and melodic, and it does something to me—something dangerous. “Are you saying you’re a metal whisperer, Liam?”
I glance at her, arching an eyebrow. “Something like that.”