Chapter Four – The Carpenter’s Hands
786 Words
Chapter Four – The Carpenter’s Hands
The morning fog rolled in thick, wrapping Marlowe Cove in a cool hush. Isla stood outside the old resort, her breath visible in the crisp air, arms wrapped around her clipboard as she waited for the local contractor she’d reluctantly agreed to work with.
She didn’t expect him.
A familiar, brooding figure stepped out of a truck, tool bag slung over his shoulder.
Aiden Vale.
She frowned. “You’re the contractor?”
He gave her that crooked, infuriatingly smug smile. “Afraid so. Small town. Not a lot of options.”
She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. You can’t keep avoiding him, she reminded herself. Not when he’s this tangled in the project.
“Let’s just make this professional,” she muttered, turning toward the resort doors. “We have inspections in two weeks. The plumbing and electrical need updates, and I want the west wing reinforced.”
He followed her inside, boots echoing on the hardwood. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, voice low with something that made her skin heat.
She shot him a glare, but he was already inspecting the wall beside her.
His fingers ran across the cracked paneling like he could hear the wood speaking.
“You know,” he said, “this place doesn’t need to be gutted. It just needs someone to care enough to see what’s underneath.”
Isla tilted her head. “Is that your expert opinion?”
He looked over at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s my local opinion.”
She sighed. “Fine. We’ll do it your way—if it passes code.”
Aiden leaned in, his breath warm near her ear.
“Oh, we’ll pass. I don’t fail easily.”
Her heart stuttered, and she took a step back, pretending to check her notes.
God, why did he always smell like cedar and salt and temptation?
---
An hour later, they were in the west wing—one of the more damaged areas. Aiden rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with sawdust and veins that made Isla’s pulse spike. He knelt beside a broken doorframe.
“Hand me the level?” he asked.
She hesitated, then passed it over.
As he worked, Isla leaned against the opposite wall, watching his hands. Calloused, steady, skilled. He moved with the ease of someone who knew wood, who didn’t just build but understood.
“You love it, don’t you?” she said before thinking.
He glanced up. “What?”
“This. Fixing things. Creating something from nothing.”
Aiden shrugged. “It’s honest work. Doesn’t lie to you. Wood doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.”
She nodded slowly.
“I envy that,” she admitted quietly. “My job is… polished presentations, pretty lies, and convincing people they want things they don’t need.”
He stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Then why do you do it?”
Isla hesitated. No one ever really asked her that.
“Because I was good at it. Because it paid well. Because… I wanted to prove I could.”
Aiden looked at her then—really looked.
“You don’t belong in boardrooms.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You belong somewhere wild,” he said simply. “Somewhere real.”
Their eyes locked again, the space between them charged like a summer storm. She felt rooted to the floor, like moving would break the moment—and she didn’t want it to break.
But the door creaked behind them, snapping the spell.
A breeze whistled through the cracked frame.
Aiden stepped back. “We’ll need to reinforce this whole section. Could take a couple days.”
“Fine,” she said, voice hoarse. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Of course you will,” he murmured with a grin, picking up his tools.
---
That night, Isla sat on the windowsill of her inn room, watching the moonlight ripple across the sea. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her wine glass as she thought of Aiden.
The way he looked at her.
Like he saw too much.
And not enough all at once.
She didn’t come here looking for anything but a signature and a deal. But now, all she could think about was his hands, his words, the way he made her feel like this town wasn’t the only thing worth saving.
She should stay focused.
Stay distant.
But her heart?
It was starting to betray her.
With every stolen glance, every sparring word, and every look that lingered too long—something was catching fire.
And deep down… Isla wasn’t sure she wanted to stop it.
- Writer
