Chapter 1

Chapter One

K nox

I slam the hammer down hard, the ring of metal against metal echoing off the stone walls of the forge. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, mixing with the heat from the fire, the sound of it sizzling against the anvil like a second heartbeat in this place. It's always like this—me, the heat, the iron. No distractions. No interruptions. Just the steady rhythm of work, each strike pulling me deeper into that sweet spot where the world outside the forge doesn't matter.

Then, the door creaks open.

I don't turn right away. I never do. Folks know better than to interrupt me when I'm in the middle of a project. But something's different about this time—something in the air changes. The faint scent of wildflowers cuts through the thick smoke, and that's what pulls me out of the trance.

I glance up, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm, and there she is.

She stands in the doorway like she walked straight out of some magazine ad for a spring perfume. Soft, floral dress fluttering around her knees, her hair pulled back just enough to keep the waves in check, but loose enough that I can imagine how it would feel against my fingers. And then there's her scent. Sweet but not overpowering. Like she's meant to be standing in a flower shop instead of this rough, smoke-filled room.

"What can I do for you?" I growl, straightening up and setting the hammer down, wiping my hands on a rag hanging from my belt. I want to turn back to the anvil, but my eyes keep dragging back to her. Too soft for this place. Too soft for me.

She steps further inside, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. There's something confident in the way she moves, even in the middle of all this heat and grit. "I need help with my truck," she says, voice clear and steady, though I catch a hint of hesitation in her eyes. "It was my grandfather's, and I want to get it looking pretty again."

I stare at her for a beat longer than I should, taking in the way her dress clings to her hips as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. This isn't the kind of place she's used to, and I'm not the kind of man she's used to dealing with. But she doesn't look away, doesn't back down. I glance over her shoulder, catching sight of the old rust red Ford now parked in my driveway.

"Restoring a truck like that ain't easy," I finally say, crossing my arms over my chest, my voice rougher than usual. I'm trying to keep some distance between us, though I'm already failing. Something about her—the way she stands, the scent of her, that subtle determination in her eyes—stirs something in me I haven't felt in a long time.

She smiles then, and it's like she knows something I don't. "I don't do easy," she replies, her tone playful, but there's a challenge beneath it.

Hell.

I grunt, turning to the side, but I can still feel her eyes on me. "That the truck we're talking about?" I ask, trying to keep my mind on the work, though my gaze keeps dragging back to her lips. Full. Soft. Damn distracting.

"Yes. A 1968 Ford," she says, stepping closer. Her fingers brush the hood of a half-finished project sitting in the corner of the room, and the contrast between her delicate touch and the hard, cold metal is enough to make my pulse pick up. "My grandfather had it since before I was born. Thought you might be able to help."

There's a softness in her voice now, one that hits me in a place I thought I'd locked away a long time ago. But I can't let it in. Not with her.

I glance over her shoulder, then back at her. "It'll take time," I say. "And I don't work for free."

She grins, and it lights up the room more than the forge ever could. "I didn't think you did," she replies, her voice teasing. "What if I help you around here? I might not know much about trucks, but I can learn."

A laugh rumbles deep in my chest before I can stop it. The thought of her in that floral dress working around the forge is almost too much. She's delicate, like a flower in a field of rough stone. But something about her determination pulls me in. "You? Working here?" I shake my head, but there's a part of me that wants to see her try.

"Why not?" She tilts her head, that teasing glint in her eyes again. "Or maybe you think I can't handle it."

I step closer, drawn to her even though I know I shouldn't be. I tower over her, the heat from the forge radiating through the air between us. Her scent wraps around me, and I can feel the pull of her like a physical thing. "You sure about that?" I ask, my voice low, rougher than I mean for it to be. "This place isn't a flower shop."

She's not backing down, though. She squares her shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. "I'm sure," she says, her tone just as steady as before.

Damn.

I hold her gaze for a second longer, my muscles tense. There's something here, something sparking between us, and it's not just the heat of the forge. I can feel it, like the pull of molten iron to the magnet. I want to resist, to keep her at arm's length, but it's already too late. I'm hooked.

"I'll help you," I say finally, my voice a low growl. "But it's gonna take time. And you're gonna have to pull your weight."

Her smile widens, and something in my chest tightens at the sight of it. "Deal," she says, holding out her hand.

I hesitate for a second before reaching out, wrapping my rough fingers around her smaller, softer ones. Her skin is warm, smooth, and for a moment, I wonder what it would feel like to hold her for real. To feel her body pressed against mine. But I shove that thought down, reminding myself that I don't need this kind of distraction.

She pulls her hand back, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary, and then she turns to leave. I watch her go, my eyes trailing down to the sway of her hips as she walks out the door, her floral scent still lingering in the air.

I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. But damn if I can help it.

As the door swings shut behind her, I feel something stir deep inside me—something I haven't felt in a long time.

I turn back to the forge, trying to shake it off. But it's too late. She's already gotten under my skin.

And I have a feeling this is only the beginning.