“Uh, okay…your workshop? Is that at your house?”
“Yes. Just ring the doorbell and come in. I’ll be able to hear the doorbell in my workshop. I’ll leave the front door unlocked, and the workshop is in the backyard.”
“Hmm. Okay. I’ll be over at seven-thirty.”
I glance at the clock. “I’ll see you in ninety-four minutes, then.”
She laughs again. “Yeah…more or less.”
When Jenna hangs up, I pace the floor of my workout room. What will I say to her? How will I talk to her? I’ve never been alone with her. Ever. I have no idea what to expect.
I pick up my phone and quickly dial my cousin’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Liam,” Adam says, calling me by my childhood nickname. “What’s up?”
“I need your help with a situation that has come up.”
I continue to pace in tighter and tighter circles around my gym until I’m eventually rocking from one foot to the other.
“A situation? You okay? You need me to come over?”
“Are you still at work?” I say, glancing at the clock. “Mia will be upset with you.”
“She’s fine. She’s at school late today, studying. What can I do for you?”
“I don’t need you to come over, but I do need advice. Jenna just called me. She is coming to my house.”
A pause. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“It is neither a bad thing nor a good thing.”
“So what do you need?” he asks.
“I need to figure out what to say to her. I can never tell what she’s thinking.”
Adam chuckles. “Well…in spite of my many impressive talents, I can’t read the female mind. Especially the female that I live with. So I doubt I’ll be able to shed any light on your situation.” Though I understand that euphemism—Adam uses it a lot—I immediately picture him turning on the bright red desk lamp in his bedroom at the house we lived in together as teenagers.
“Okay, but I may need to call you back afterward. I’m sure I’ll have a lot of questions.”
“If I don’t answer, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. But whatever happens, please remember not to get worked up about it.”
“I always remember not to get worked up, Adam. But that doesn’t affect whether or not I do.”
He sighs again. “Yeah, I know. Good luck.”
I hang up. Why would I need luck? There is no such thing as luck. As a programmer, Adam knows that perfectly well. He uses the expression liberally anyway.
I check the clock—only a few minutes left of my workout session. I’m stiff with frustration as I realize I have no time to practice with my sword tonight.
After I change into a pair of jeans, I stop by the kitchen to load up on some ice water to quench my thirst while attempting my next project. Then, it’s time to head out back.
My blacksmithing workshop is inside a big shed in the backyard. It’s large enough to fit my forge, bellows and the other equipment I use. The moment I walk in, a wall of heat hits me from the forge. I’d started the fire when I got home from the office so the forge would be ready for me when it came time to work.
I pull the chain to turn on the overhead light and check my list of orders placed by members of our clan over the weekend. Fortunately, I’d only planned on doing some minor work, so Jenna’s visit won’t be overwhelmingly disruptive to my schedule. That, at least, brings me a little comfort.
It’s too late to completely abandon the plans to work here tonight, as I don’t want to waste the fire and all the wood it took to attain the optimum temperature. And besides, it’s a perfect night to work in the shop. Chilly, but not cold.
We’ve had a warm winter, and sometimes that makes it downright unpleasant in the workshop. But I do really love the work…the way I feel, the way it relaxes me.
Having already shed my workout clothes in favor of jeans, I throw on my goggles, a protective leather apron and thick gloves. Though hot, the fire is small, perfect for simple heating and hammering.
I pull out my tools and line them up near the anvil, fill my metal slack tub with water and I’m ready to work. Yes, this is much better. My forced concentration on the task at hand will keep me from obsessing over Jenna’s impending visit.
I grab a flat shovelhead, commissioned by Goodman Meyer, a clan gardener. Holding it with a pair of tongs, I shove it into the fire, glancing at the clock to time myself. I’m deep in the middle of hammering—the rhythm and the force of the blows of metal against metal ringing through my arms—when I glance up at the clock again. I note that it’s well after the time Jenna told me she would arrive.
Is she late? Is she not coming? Maybe she’s changed her mind and doesn’t want to help. My hammer falters, stuttering off the anvil, and I frown. I clench my teeth and try to focus, attempting to regain the concentration I’ve lost.
I start hammering again, trying to take my mind off of her, but with each hit I hear, “Not. Here,” like a voice in my head, mocking me. I find myself first growing frustrated, then angry.
Why would she tell me she was going to be here at seven-thirty and not come? Would she call back? I glance at my phone over on the workbench and see no updates on the lock screen. I’m positive I have not turned it off.
Moments later, I get that weird yet familiar weighted feeling on the back of my neck and shoulders. Someone is watching me.
I swallow and my back muscles tense. I straighten, but don’t turn around.
Chapter 5
Jenna
Thanks to Alex’s kind offer of a ride on the way to her mom’s house, I arrived on William’s doorstep. Glancing at my phone, I saw that it was almost eight o’clock.
I knocked, wondering if he’d mind that I was late. Oh well. I shrugged, then after standing there for minutes with no response, I remembered that he’d told me to go through the front door and into the backyard.
Following William’s instructions, I headed through the house. He’d helpfully left the way lit all the way from the front door to the back—again, helpfully left ajar. He’d done just about everything for me besides lay down breadcrumbs.
His house was big but modest. A lot of the furniture was mismatched but comfortable-looking. For an artist, he sure had no sense of style for home decoration. Not that I was one to judge. I still used plastic-framed posters and hand-me-down furniture to decorate my rented place.