Trouble

“Did you know the males ride on the females’ backs during mating season? That way they can fertilize the eggs as soon as they’re laid.”

“That sounds about right.” I look up at my sculpture and then over to Spencer, who’s sliding his phone into the pocket of his dark brown pants—no jeans for him. Still, his ass looks so fine in those pants.

“I need to get back to work. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I’m going to feed Chartreuse.”

“Don’t lose her. Or her eyes.” I point sternly before walking to where Spencer is standing with his hands on his hips. “Sorry. Feeding time at the zoo. Did you know

that species of tree frog has been around ten million years?”

“Fascinating.” He follows me to the pile of scrap metal sounding the exact opposite of fascinated. “Why isn’t he in school?”

“That’s not really your business, is it?” I separate out a few smaller pieces I can use for the arms and joined hands.

His expression darkens at my sass. “You’re my business as long as you work for me.”

Chewing my lip, I wonder why that statement is perversely thrilling.

Either way, I swallow my snappy comeback. “His dad’s kind of a rough guy. He’s been threatening to take Ollie from his mother, so I told her I’d keep him with me—in case he shows up again. She’ll be here Friday night.”

“That sounds dangerous. Is she okay?”

“I think so. I call her every day to be sure. She said she’s got it under control.”

“I hope so.”

His sudden concern surprises me, but I’m glad for it. I didn’t make arrangements for Ollie while I’m here working, and I don’t want to let Courtney down.

We carry the pieces back to the half-finished structure, and I pass the spare set of safety goggles to him.

“I like this look you’re doing here.” He motions towards my outfit, and I scrub my forehead to keep from beaming like I’ve never gotten a compliment before.

“Thanks. I was feeling playful this morning.”

“It’s cute, Rosie.”

“Puppies are cute.”

My quip almost gets me a grin, but at the last minute, he turns away as if he’s sorry he complimented me. I’m not sure what to make of it. One moment he’s trying to rebuild our friendship, then just as fast he’s back to angry and distant.

Shaking my head, I pull on my gloves and position the small pieces of metal, sparking the blowtorch. Muscle memory takes over, and it doesn’t take long to finish this assembly.

Spencer holds the pieces with gloved hands, looking down as burning sparks fly around us. The joints glow white-orange for a second before fading to gray metal as they quickly cool. Since I’m covering them with mesh and flowers, I don’t have to worry about making them pretty.

We’re back and forth, selecting the pieces and attaching them, and less than an hour later, we’re done.

“This gives new meaning to the phrase ‘fiery redhead.’” He almost sounds impressed as he helps me clean up the scraps. “Who taught you to do all of this?”

“Shop teacher at school. I’m the only girl who took welding.”

“You’re a welder. Daisy’s daughter plays football.” He places the metal pieces in the box I’m filling to take to the recycling plant. “I take it your family enjoys busting stereotypes.”

“We’re descended from a long line of witches. Don’t piss me off or I’ll turn you into a frog and give you to Ollie.”

“I was wondering where he got his little pet.” He straightens, and we’re so close, I can feel the warmth of his body. “Must be nice to dispose of your enemies so cleanly.”

“It has its moments.” I lift my chin, and he takes a step back, lifting the floral mesh off the pile of supplies.