Page 176 of What We Break
Stop it, Laine.
I focus on the mantel carving instead. The intricate leaves. The careful restoration work. Anything but the man standing three feet away from me.
He's leaning closer to show me the detail, and I catch that scent that's uniquely Blake—sawdust and soap. Not the artificial woodsy smell from a bottle, but actually wood and trees. Like, full lumberjack. Not that I've ever smelled a lumberjack, but I imagine it's a lot like Blake.
Focus Laine."The attention to detail is amazing," I say, looking back at the mantel. "How long does something like this take?"
"This piece? Probably a month, start to finish. But it's not just the time—it's the research, understanding the original techniques, finding the right materials." Blake's face is more open than I've ever seen it, genuine enthusiasm replacing his usual guardedness. "Most people want to rush the process, but you can't rush craftsmanship like this."
"That's like nursing, in a way. People think it's just about following procedures, but there's so much intuition involved. You have to read patients, so you can figure out what they need even when they can't tell you."
Blake looks at me, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. "I never thought about it that way, but you're right. There's an art to it."
We're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to notice the small scar on his jawline. For a moment, the usual tension between us is completely gone. We're just two people talking about work we care about.
This is nice. This is what I hoped it would be like when Reid asked me to try harder with Blake. Why can't it always be like this?
"Would you..." Blake starts, then stops, shaking his head. "Never mind."
"What?"
"I was going to ask if you wanted to see the before pictures, but you probably have better things to do than look at old mantel photos."
"Are you kidding? I'd love to see them."
Blake's smile is small but genuine as he pulls a folder from a drawer. The before photos are shocking—the mantel is barely recognizableas the same piece, covered in layers of paint, with chunks of carving missing entirely.
"My God," I breathe. "How did you even know where to start?"
"Very carefully." Blake grins, and it transforms his whole face. "And a lot of educated guessing."
He shows me more pictures—the painstaking process of paint removal, the detective work of figuring out original designs, the careful reconstruction of missing elements. His hands move expressively as he explains, and I find myself riveted by the way his fingers trace the photos, the way his voice gets softer when he talks about particularly challenging sections. Passionate Blake is…compelling.
"You've been working really hard on this," I say, looking at the progression of photos. "Reid mentioned you've been putting in long hours."
Blake's expression shifts slightly, some of the openness disappearing. "Reid talks too much."
"He was worried about you."
"Reid worries too much too." Blake's voice is carefully neutral now, and I know I'm in the danger zone. I should back off, and talk about something safe. Let him tell me all about his work again. I could listen to the low grumble of his voice for hours. Yeah. That would definitely be the smart move.
"Someone should worry about you." Shoot. There goes smart.
Blake looks at me sharply, and I realize I've definitely crossed the line. The warmth in his expression is gone, replaced by something guarded and almost... panicked?
Crap. He looks like I pulled a knife on him. This was so not the plan.
"I'm fine," he says. "I don't need anyone worrying about me."
"I know you don't need it. I just meant..." I trail off, not sure how to explain that I care what happens to him without making it sound weird.
"Meant what?"
Blake is staring at me now, and there’s an intensity mixed with the guardedness that’s so confusing.
Why is he looking at me like that? Like I'm hurting him just by standing here? He is so confusing.
"Nothing. Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep."
