his leg was bent at the knee, and the late afternoon sun making his defined profile glow.
I was walking down the steps before I even realized what I was doing. It didn’t make any sense, but every time I saw him, I wanted to be near him, even though he kept trying to shove me away. It was those little glimpses into a different side of him that kept me coming back. The way his eyes had glimmered at the thought of carving the sign, and the thoughtful excitement in his expression when I’d suggested carving it from a tree on the property.
Joker didn’t say anything as I approached. Instead of breaking the silence, I just sat down next to him, leaning against the tree as well.
He was working on a new carving, and it was already well on its way to completion—this time, a motorcycle, gorgeously detailed down to handlebars so slim it looked like one wrong touch would snap them off.
“That’s pretty amazing,” I said. “Can’t believe you can just… do that.”
Joker huffed a sigh and cut his eyes away from me, toward the back porch. He flipped his pocketknife closed, then opened, then closed again. A restless motion. “Sorry about yesterday.”
Now, that wasn’t anything close to what I was expecting. I blinked, my mouth dropping open a little, but I quickly regained my composure.
Before I could ask him to explain, though, he cleared his throat pointedly and opened his knife again to resume carving. “I just—I’m not qualified for that kind of work. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, though.”
“Do you want to?” I asked. “Do the carving?”
“Well, yeah,” Joker admitted. “But I just—I can’t.”
“Your club seems to think otherwise,” I said with a shrug. “We were just talking about it.”
Joker started, pausing in his whittling to finally look at me. “What? You were?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Blade and Priest especially. Dante, too.”
Joker hummed, still looking unconvinced.
“They said they’d rather you carve it than some random woodworker,” I said. “If you’re still interested.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered.
“Will you come check out the shop, at least?” I asked. “You can take a look at the space, and the tools. And if you still don’t want to, I’ll drop it.”
After a beat, Joker looked up at me with his brow furrowed in confusion and surprise. Like this wasn’t what he was expecting at all. But then he nodded slowly, like he was waiting for me to withdraw the offer.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come by.”
I leaned back against the tree and an oddly comfortable silence descended as Joker returned to his whittling. A breeze blew gently across the backyard, rustling the leaves of the big tree, and as it blew by, it carried a faint trace of Joker’s woodsy cologne. I inhaled deeply, then sighed.
“What?” Joker asked.
“Ugh,” I said. “Why do you always smell so damn good?”
The question was out of my mouth before I even realized I’d asked. I didn’t take it back, though, despite the little edge of embarrassment that cut through me. But—he intrigued me, despite his prickly exterior, and if there was ever a time when I was going to get him to open up to me, even a crack, it was likely to be now. When he had his hands distracted by his whittling, and a little bit of ease in his posture.
“Cologne,” he answered with a pleased little smile curling his lips. I liked that look on him. I liked it a lot.
“Kind of old-fashioned, huh?” I asked.
Joker shrugged. “Guess so. I like it, though. And it’s a habit now.”
“How’d it start?” I scooted a little closer, so our shoulders were pressed together.
To my shock, Joker didn’t pull away. “My brother bought it for me ages ago,” he said. “I pretended to like it at first, just wearin’ it to make him happy. But I actually started to like it. Now it’s just part of the routine after I shave.” He smiled a little at the carving. “Don’t feel right if I’m not wearing it.”
“Well, I like it,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his a little, careful not to affect his whittling. “Gives you a retro vibe.”
Joker laughed a little.
I wanted him to keep talking, though. “You said your brother gave it to you? You’ve never mentioned him.”
Joker winced then, like he hadn’t realized he’d brought him up until I did. “Oh.” His hands stilled on the whittling. “Yeah. He passed.”
My heart sank in my chest. So that was the reason why