“I need to work in the forge for a few hours. Do you need anything before I go?”

Gwen bites her lip, looking like she might say something… then shakes her head. A stray blonde curl tickles my neck.

“Okay.” Gut twisting, I brush a kiss against her shoulder. I hope she keeps my shirt on today. I want it to smell like her when she’s gone. “You know where to find me. Be good.”

Gwen hops up with a sigh, snatching up her tea then wandering from the room.

But I will not stare after her like a love-struck fool.

I will not pine for her when I was the one to cut our meeting short.

I will not let myself wonder.

I will not let myself want.

And I don’t know who I’m fooling. Certainly not myself.

* * *

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

There is relief to be found in a familiar rhythm. In the weight of a well-known tool in my hand. I pound away at my anvil, sparks flying and flames dancing, and the heat is so intense, I keep blinking streams of sweat from my eyes.

Normally I’d take breaks. Pace myself. But I’m coiled too tight today, my muscles edgy and twitching, and if I don’t work off some of this tension I’ll go mad. So instead my mug of tea stands abandoned on the charred workbench, cool and half drunk, and I slam away with the hammer until my shoulder burns and my throat is dry as sand.

Better to wrap this work up soon. Lord knows I’ll be lucky to get paid in this valley at all, and things will only get worse for me here as long as Gwen stays at my forge.

“Fuck.” I grit my teeth, hammering away. I don’t care if this is all I ever get of her: stolen cuddles and mugs of tea. It’s worth it. She’s worth it. They could drive me away across the mountains and still I’d have no regrets.

Will they ease off me once she’s renting a room in the town?

Only if I stay away. And I’m not sure I can do that.

You’re a tease, Rhys Evans.

I adjust my grip on the hammer, my palm raw. Even with thick leather gloves, I’m scraping new blisters today. I’m pounding away so hard, the force rattles through my teeth.

Guess that’s why I don’t hear her. Gwen must shove the heavy oak door open from the kitchen, but I don’t hear the creak of hinges or her footsteps padding across the flagstones. I don’t realize she’s there at all until periwinkle blue eyes stare at me from one side.

I pause, chest heaving. Drag my forearm across my sweaty brow.

“You need something?” I rasp.

Gwen bites her bottom lip. “Kind of. Um. Yes.”

She’s still wearing my shirt, her bare legs bright in the firelight. She’ll get dirt on her feet, walking through here.

How long has it been since we ate breakfast? Two hours? Three? “If you’re hungry, there a fresh loaf of bread and some jam—”