Page 19 of Startup Fire

Chapter 8

Molten

Her car was in his driveway.

Relief and panic hit him in equal measure. She'd come. All day, while repairing a broken furnace at the apartment complex on Mill Street, he'd been bracing himself for the possibility that she wouldn't show up. That yesterday had been too much, that he'd pushed her away for good.

But here she was.

Wayne bypassed the house entirely and headed straight for the barn. The doors were locked—she was here, but not inside. Then he heard it: the soft creak of rope, the whisper of leaves being disturbed.

He rounded the corner and stopped.

Jess sat on the old tire swing hanging from the massive live oak, swaying gently, her face tilted up toward the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches. Her feet dragged lazily through the fallen leaves with each pass.

She wasn't waiting because she couldn't get in.

She was waiting for him.

Wayne wanted her so much it hurt. Even just watching her, swinging peacefully, contently, was better than her staying away.

As he walked toward her, his boots crunched on the leaves. At the sound, Jess looked over and smiled—warm and easy, like nothing had happened.

“Hey!” She hopped off the swing and headed toward the barn. “Ready to work on those demonstration pieces?”

Wayne froze. She was... fine? She looked fine. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't kissed her and then immediately ruined it with his panic.

“I... yeah.” He pulled the door open, holding it for her. “Sorry I'm late. Last call ran long.”

“No problem. I got here early anyway.” She moved past him into the barn, completely at ease. “I've been thinking about the colored flames idea. I want to try copper salts today—see if I can get a good green.”

“That's... good.” Wayne couldn't read her. Was she really this unaffected?

No. He'd felt her response. Felt the way she'd kissed him back. That hadn't been nothing.

Which meant she was playing it cool. Giving him space. Or maybe testing him.

“You okay?” Jess had paused at her workbench, looking back at him with genuine concern. “You look tired.”

“Didn't sleep great.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Something flickered in her expression—acknowledgment, maybe—but then it was gone, replaced by that easy smile. “Well, hopefully working will help.”

She turned to her setup, already reaching for her torch.

Wayne did what he always did when he didn't know what else to do: he went to work.

He fired up his forge, but he was hyperaware of Jess ten feet away. The hiss of her torch. The way she hummed while she worked. The subtle scent of her shampoo.

His first hammer strike went wide.

Focus.

The afternoon stretched out, every small interaction charged with unspoken tension. Jess asked him to hand her a tool—their fingers brushed. He explained something technical, and she leaned in close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin.

Small moments. Careful moments. But unmistakably intentional.

Wayne's resolve was crumbling. He focused on the vines the Winslows wanted for their gate, as if he had no other care in the world. He was shaping a curve into the metal when he heard footsteps approaching. He glanced up to find Jess standing beside his workbench, two water bottles in hand.