Kane wouldn’t let me see the security footage, and when my phone rings the next morning, I’m still arguing with him about it as we climb in today’s ride.

My phone rings as I buckle my seat belt. I toss the beanie and dig through my purse.

Keira.

“Hello?”

“Hey, how are things going? I heard there was an incident last night.”

I am the shittiest COO in the history of the world because I didn’t tell my boss what happened, and she found out from someone else. Awesome.

I attempt to play it cool. “It was pretty minor. I handled it.” I cringe at the white lie because I was hustled out of the building. “I didn’t want to interrupt your vacation.”

“You know anything like that is never a bother. We’re heading home right now, and I’ll be in the office tomorrow. But . . .” She clears her throat like she’s about to say something she really doesn’t want to say.

“But what?” I prompt.

“I don’t want you to go to the distillery, Temperance.”

My mouth dries up like the Sahara Desert, and I try to make sense of the words she’s saying. “What do you mean?”

“Lachlan would prefer you don’t go to Seven Sinners, so there aren’t any other incidents there. Consider this your free pass to work remotely for a while.” She tries to make her tone cheery, but all I feel is guilt twisting my stomach into a knot.

I wince before I speak, and Kane tenses. “I’m so sorry, Keira. I truly didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It won’t happen again.”

Another voice joins the call. “You’re right, it won’t happen again.” It’s Mount. “Put your phone on speaker. I want Saxon to hear this.”

“Yes, sir.” I fumble to tap the button on my screen to activate the speaker function. “Go ahead, sir. He can hear you.”

I train my gaze on Kane’s knees because I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eye during what I’m sure is to be an ass-ripping. Something I’d rather not have an audience for, but I’m not about to risk disobeying my boss’s terrifying husband.

“Saxon?”

“I’m here.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to end this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The call ends, and I stare down at the words on my phone screen notifying me of that fact.

I tear my gaze away to look at Kane’s face. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that Mount’s had enough. He’s ready for this to be over, and he doesn’t want it blowing back on Keira or the distillery.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We don’t do anything. I have it handled.”

That statement pisses me off. “It’s my brother who brought this down on everyone. I’m part of this whether you want me to be or not. And now my boss doesn’t even want me at work. Jesus . . . how much more fucked up can this get?”

His gaze sharpens. “Put yourself in Mount’s position. Someone brings trouble to your door, threatens your woman and her work, you would do the same damn thing. It isn’t personal. Besides, you don’t even like your job.”

I jerk back in the seat. “What do you mean? I like my job.”

“You don’t light up the way you do when you’re talking about your art. You don’t smile in your office the way you do with a welding torch in your hand. You don’t laugh in that distillery the way you did when you were digging through a scrap heap and found that riveted sheet metal.”

Just like I realized before, Kane sees me. All of me.

“Because art is fun. It’s not work.”

“And yet you could be putting all your efforts into doing the thing you love to earn a living, but you’re afraid to try.”

I bristle. “I am trying. I have a sculpture to deliver to Valentina as soon as the universe stops getting in the way. But let’s be real—I have bills to pay. I can’t just quit my day job on the off chance that I’ll be able to make a living from art. I need a cushion first. A plan. A safety net.”

“Life doesn’t come with a safety net or a fucking parachute.” He shakes his head. “And it’s too fucking short to wait to go after something that makes you happy. We could’ve been hit by that truck last night—and you might never have gotten the chance.”

“So you’re the authority on my happiness now? On how I should live my life?” I unbuckle my seat belt and twist to face him.

“Maybe not the authority, but I see it more clearly than you do. Open your eyes, Temperance. See what’s right in front of you.”

I swallow and take a leap of faith. No safety net. No cushion. No plan. “My eyes are wide open, Kane, and I see you.”

His entire body tenses. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Bullshit. I call bullshit. You want me to go after what makes me happy—then that includes you. So, tell me, how is that going to work? Because I don’t have a damned clue.”

He looks away.

“What? No suggestions on how to live my life now that I want you in it?”

His response is deafening silence. I grab for the door handle blindly, blinking back the tears that spring to my eyes at the sharp stab of pain in the vicinity of my heart.

“Temperance. Wait.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

I shove open the car door, jump out, and slam it behind me.

It’s good to know that not all dreams can come true.

---

Kane leaves me alone for an hour while I take a page out of Keira’s book and pace-stomp back and forth across the third floor of the warehouse.

When he finally shows his face in the kitchen, it’s not for the reason I expect.

“I got space. Metal. Tools. Everything you need. Instead of stomping around up here, you might as well pretend I’m a piece of metal and hammer the shit out of it.”

“But—”

“Offer’s on the table. I got work to do.” He turns away and strides toward the elevator.

I bite my lip, wanting to reject his offer, but also desperately needing the outlet he’s offered me. “I can’t use your expensive parts. I use junk. Scrap metal. Not new stuff.”

He pauses. “Use whatever you want. It’s yours.”

---

It wasn’t how I expected to spend my day, but I can’t argue that the twisted knot in the pit of my stomach loosens a few degrees with every hour I spend hammering, cutting, shaping, and welding.

I only pretend one of the pieces of metal is Kane for a few minutes. Mostly.

Stubborn ass.

But I can’t lie . . . his wonderland of tools and parts gives me new ideas, because he has more than I’ve ever had access to at Elijah’s. And somehow, while my earbuds were shoved in my ears and I was pretending he didn’t exist, two pallets of scrap metal were delivered.

Kane disappeared before I could decide whether or not to thank him.

My brain is working overtime with ideas and designs. I find a notepad shoved between two toolboxes and borrow it to spend a solid hour drawing.

My cell phone doesn’t ring. No one calls from the distillery needing my help. It makes me wonder if Keira gave the order for no one to contact me, but I refuse to let myself think about it when I have a pencil or tools in my hand.

My stomach gnaws at my backbone, and I finally put all the tools away.

When I make it to the kitchen, I find a note on the counter that there’s food in the fridge for me.

This could be my life—my dream life. Working on my art all day, and spending all night with a man who understands me on a level no one else has ever approached. The man that I’m . . . falling for.

The man who doesn’t have a place for me in his future.

Growing up the way I did, I learned not to want things, because so often they’re torn right from your grasp. That’s why I built the wall and kept people out.

But Kane demolished it like a wrecking ball. He made me want things.

As I warm up the food he cooked, I realize I should have known better.

I don’t get to have a happily-ever-after.