Mind Games

Another sanctuary.

Then the scent hit him. Another garden, he thought, coming from inside the house. Before he could knock, Rem called out.

“Come on in. We’ve got our hands full for another minute.”

He stepped into the kitchen and saw a smaller kitchen off to the side. Thea, in shorts that set off her legs and a snug tank top that set off the rest of her, poured something bold red into glass jars.

Even wearing gloves that came to her elbows, and some sort of apron, she looked damn good.

Rem had his own set and poured something purple.

“Nearly done,” Rem told him, blowing hair out of his eyes. “Got a hefty order in yesterday, so all hands on deck.”

Ty stepped a little closer. “That’s a lot of candles.”

“Speaks to the success of Mountain Magic. Did soap first thing.”

Ty saw filled molds on the opposite work counter. A soft pink, a pale purple, with flowers all over them. Or in them.

He slid his hands into his back pockets because he wanted to touch, and figured he shouldn’t.

“Hot work.”

“It’s all that,” Rem agreed. “That’s the last of mine.”

He carried the pot to the sink and started right in on cleaning it. “There’s tea in the fridge. Maybe you could get some glasses, some ice and pour some out.”

“Sure.”

As he did, he heard Bray’s voice, high, excited, asking a million questions.

Thea stepped out without the gloves and apron, a little dewy from the heat. And yeah, she looked damn good.

He handed her a glass.

“Thanks. Grammie’s got two craftswomen working for her, but one’s on vacation, and the other had a family thing this weekend. So.”

“All hands on.”

“That’s right. The soap takes time to cure, so the order’s going to almost wipe out her stock. Can’t have that.” She walked to the screen to look out. “Aren’t they having the best time?”

“If your grandmother doesn’t mind answering ten thousand questions.”

“She always answered mine and Rem’s, and never seemed to mind. How’s the organizing coming?”

“Almost there. Now I’ve got a to-be-assembled play set for Bray sitting outside, intimidating me. I thought I might call on that contractor you told me about.”

“Knobby?”

“I can do it.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, Rem stepped in. “Not handy?”

“Not with tools. A screwdriver is about top of my skill set.”

“I’m handy.” And Rem rubbed those hands together. “Let me at it.”

“Really? I don’t want to—”

“He loves that sort of thing. I’m handy, too, if he needs an assistant.”