Page 27 of Silk and Honey

I snap my head around, my defensive instincts kicking in. The fear vanishes the exact second I spot the handsome man in front of me.

Gideon.

He’s wearing a dark button-up shirt, his wavy black hair slightly messy. In one of his hands he’s carrying a large, insulated thermos. In the other, he is holding a small wooden crate containing three freshly molded refined blocks of golden beeswax.

He stops several feet away and studies me—probably noting my tired face and manic look. A frown immediately draws his thick eyebrows together with concern. "You're still down here.”

"Gid," I breathe, stepping away from the table. "What are you doing here? It's past midnight."

"I saw the lights from the road," Gideon says, setting the heavy wooden crate on the floor and walking over to the island. He places the thermos on the table, unscrewing the top to reveal the steaming, fragrant scent of honey and ginger. "It’s hot salabat with honey. Ma made this before she went to sleep. We figured you would be stubborn tonight. I brought more wax, too."

He steps into my space, his tall frame towering over me. He reaches out, and his large palms cup my jaw gently. His warm skin is radiating a heat that instantly makes me want to lean into him and desperately take the comfort he’s offering.

"You look tired," he murmurs softly. His thick thumb wipes away the dry tracks of my tears. "You need to rest, babe."

God, I love it when he calls me babe.

"I can't," I choke out, my fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his heavy jacket. "The wax is cooling too fast. It's rippling because I can't hold the silk taut and apply the wax at the exact same time. If the temperature isn't perfectly regulated, the whole drape is ruined. Scott is going to see it. He's going to tell everyone I failed."

“Fuck Scott,” He murmurs under his breath, causing me to giggle. Gideon doesn't say another word. He just looks at me, his brown eyes unwavering with something I can’t name. Gideon lets out a heavy sigh, and steps back. He rolls his dark sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the thick, powerful muscles of his forearms. Honestly, it’s a sight I can get used to for the rest of my life.

"Show me what to do," he commands quietly.

"What?" I blink, confused.

"Show me what to do," Gideon repeats, stepping up to the opposite side of the cutting island, directly across from me. He places his hands flat against the table, looking down at the pretty silk. "I have steady hands. I can help. I hold frames of bees every day without moving. Tell me how to help you."

A sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth floods my chest. He isn’t making me stop. He isn’t calling me crazy or trying to convince me to take a breather. That terrifying weight of the deadline suddenly feels manageable. Because of him. Because he is standing here, willing to help.

"Okay," I whisper. "You need to grip the fabric right at this seam here. Pull it toward you, but don't stretch it so hard that it distorts. Just keep the grain line perfectly straight while I draw the wax along the border."

"Like this?" Gideon asks, his large fingers lightly pulling the edges of the silk. He applies pressure, and I’m momentarily distracted by his muscles tightening. The fabric instantly locks into place, smooth and taut.

"Yes. Perfect," I breathe, amazed by his precision. "Exactly like that. Don't move, love."

"I won't," he promises, his eyes locking onto mine.

My lips part with shock, and I know we’re sharing a moment, but I can’t let this opportunity go to waste. I dip the brush into the fresh, hot batch of golden beeswax. Because Gideon is holding the fabric stable, I don't have to fumble or rush.

I trace the brush along the hemline. The wax glides across the amber silk like liquid gold, absorbing instantly into the fibers without a single clump or ripple. The border immediately stiffens into a flawless, sculptural edge that catches the light beautifully.

"Oh my god," I gasp. A wide, probably manic smile breaks across my face. "Gid, look! It's fucking perfect. The line is clean. You amazing, handsome man."

"Keep going," Gideon chuckles. He shifts his grip down the material, his movements synchronized with mine. "I've got you."

For the next hour, we work together in silence. Gideon handles the heavy, delicate fabric with the care he uses in his apiary, his hands working in perfect tandem with my shears and brushstrokes.

The stress of Scott Woods and his upcoming visit completely evaporate. Right here and now, there’s only Gideon, me, and the rhythm of our work.

The intense focus on his handsome face, the way his muscular arms shift as he holds the fabric, and the quiet, protective strength radiating off his body has my heart filling until it feels… heavy with love. He’s protecting my dream, he’s caring for me. Supporting me.

When the final panel of the amber silk gown is finally finished and the wax is setting into a architectural frame, I drop the brush into the water tray and let out a relieved laugh.

"Holy shit. We did it," I whisper. "It's perfect, Gid. Thank you!"

Gideon lets go of the fabric and rushes around the massive wooden table until he’s standing directly in front of me. His dark eyes are burning with heat. The look fucking undoes me and takes my breath away.

"Avery," he groans, as if reading my mind.