Page 17 of Startup Fire

This seemed to mollify Grandma slightly. “Well. That's true, I suppose.”

“And I promise I'll be more careful. Extra careful.” Jess squeezed her grandmother's hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” But Grandma still looked worried. “Just... be safe, dear. You're all we have here.”

The words hit hard. All they had here. Because she'd come back to take care of them. And now she was spending all her time in Wayne Drummond's barn, chasing a career that might never materialize and a man who apparently didn't want to be caught.

“You know what?” Jess set down her fork. “We should do something together this weekend. A day trip, maybe. That apple orchard you mentioned, Grandma? Or we could drive to that restaurant in Blue Ridge you've been wanting to try.”

Grandma's expression softened immediately. “Oh, that would be lovely, dear.”

“Friday,” Jess said firmly. “The whole day. No barn, no work. Just us.”

“Your grandmother would like that,” Ken said from behind his paper.

“You're coming too, right, Grandpa?” Jess looked at him pointedly.

He lowered the paper with a small smile. “Wouldn't miss it.”

“Good.” Jess squeezed his hand.

The guilt eased slightly, replaced by something warmer. This was why she'd come home. Not just for workspace or career opportunities. For this—for family, for connection, for being present in people's lives.

Even if her heart was currently tangled up with a grumpy blacksmith who kept pushing her away.

Jess finished her breakfast quickly, then escaped back to her apartment above the garage.

She sat on her bed and pulled out her portfolio—the leather case she'd carried through RISD, through three years in Brooklyn, and now home to Elken Grove. Inside were photos of her best work, and then the new pieces. The ones she'd made in Wayne's barn.

They were different. Freer, somehow. The winter baubles with their snowflake patterns. The cobalt tumblers that seemed to glow from within. The asymmetrical vase that looked like it had grown rather than been shaped.

These were hers. Really hers. Not made to please a professor or pay the rent. Made because she wanted to make them.

Made in a barn where a man worked across from her, his hammer ringing out in steady rhythm, his presence both comforting and electric.

Jess closed the portfolio and lay back.

She was falling for Wayne Drummond. Had been falling for him probably since that first afternoon when he'd helped her move the kiln. Definitely falling by the time their hands had brushed, and she'd felt that jolt of pure want.

And yesterday, when he'd kissed her? When he'd pulled her against him like he'd been waiting for permission?

Yeah. She'd fallen.

The problem was, Wayne had apparently decided to catch himself mid-fall and scramble back to solid ground.

She thought about what her grandparents had said. About his mother dying, his girlfriend leaving, his years of isolation.

What had happened to make him so afraid?

And more importantly—was he worth fighting for?

Jess sat up abruptly, decision crystallizing.

Yes. He was worth fighting for.

Because she'd seen the man beneath the walls. Seen his careful precision, his quiet pride with the heart pendants. Seen the way he watched her work like it was something sacred. Seen the flash of vulnerability in his eyes right before he'd kissed her.

That man was worth the risk.