Page 73 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

He yanked open the door to his car and slid inside. Gravel bits flew from his tires as he reversed out of the driveway and down the road.

I stood there, waiting until his car was out of sight, then I marched to the camper. Kaine’s eyes tracked my movements as I stormed inside and ripped open the silverware drawer for my own fork. My ass had barely touched the bench seat before a bite was in my mouth.

With my cheeks full, I muttered, “You ate my pie.”

“I needed some magic.”

My mouth froze and the tears I’d fought outside came forward, though I blinked them away. I refused to cry for Adam. He’d gotten too many buckets of tears as it was. And surprisingly, it wasn’t as hard as I thought to keep them at bay.

Maybe it was the huckleberry pie.

Maybe it was because deep down I’d always known the truth of Adam’s betrayal.

Maybe it was Kaine’s gentle eyes silently promising it would be all right.

By the time the pie was gone, so was the pain.

“I need to show you something.” Kaine slid out of his seat and put his fork in the sink.

He grabbed mine and did the same before taking my hand and pulling me away from the table. As we walked out of the camper and across the path to his house, he didn’t let go of my hand. He held it as we passed the cabin and continued down to his shop.

With his free hand, he opened the door and flicked on the lights. Then he pulled me through the labyrinth of incomplete projects in the center of the floor to something covered in the far corner with a canvas tarp.

“Grab that end,” he instructed and let my hand go.

I went to the opposite end of the cloth, taking it in my hands like he’d done on his side. With a smirk, he whipped the cover off the table beneath, forcing me to do the same.

My jaw dropped as I let the tarp fall to the floor. My hands itched to touch the wooden top and they stretched for it but stopped an inch away as I looked to Kaine for permission.

He gave me a slight nod, and I dove in, pressing my palms against the smooth grain. The warmth of the wood soaked into my fingertips.

The edge of the table was rough—the live edge, as Kaine had called it. The contrast to the finished and flawless top gave the piece a rugged flair. And just like he’d promised, the stain brought out so many of the walnut’s grains that I could study them for hours and never get bored.

“This turned out so . . .” I trailed off, without words to describe the masterpiece.

“It’s yours.”

My hands froze. “What?”

“I was going to wait until your house was done, but I decided to give it to you now. This is for your dining room.”

“But what about the person you were making it for?”

He shrugged. “It was always for you.”

Always? This was the unfinished table we’d had sex on over a month ago. Which meant he’d started making this for me long before I’d asked him to over cinnamon rolls.

All this time, I’d thought Kaine didn’t know how to express his feelings. I’d thought that was why he hid so much and why he got embarrassed when I complimented his work.

I’d been completely and miserably wrong.

Kaine knew how to express his feelings just fine.

I stepped on top of the canvas cloth as I went to Kaine. He stood stoically, watching as I breached his space and tossed my arms around his sexy shoulders. Then, with my fingers threaded into the hair under the band of his hat, I stood on my tiptoes and pulled his mouth down to mine.

He flicked off my hat a split second before our lips fused.

His tongue swept across the seam of my lips. His arms banded around my back as he hauled me against his body.