Sparks and screws

A hard knock rattled Aria’s door before the sun even had the courtesy to fully rise. She stumbled toward it, yawning, one sock on and bonnet sliding crooked on her head. Tank top. Panties. No damn clue who the hell thought it was okay to knock like the police at 7 a.m. on a Saturday.

She cracked it open without checking—because this was Calloway Hollow, and who else would be this bold—

Kade. Fucking. Calloway.

Toolbox in one hand. Coffee in the other. Looking like every single bad boy from the covers of her high school guilty pleasure books, only taller. Rougher. Real.

His eyes dropped. Slowly.

From her bonnet, down the curve of her bare shoulder, to the tank clinging to her chest, skimming lower—over the skin of her hips, her thighs. Heat flared behind those blue eyes like a match struck too close to gasoline.

Aria blinked. “Shit—Kade—uh—”

He cleared his throat, visibly tightening every muscle like it was the only way to hold back a storm. His voice came low, rough, and strained like barbed wire dragging over stone. “You got ten minutes to get dressed. I’m grabbing coffee across the street.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off, tension in every line of his back.

Door still half open, Aria stood frozen, heart slamming in her chest. Her whole body prickled with leftover heat. His eyes. The way he looked at her. Like he wanted to tear that doorframe down and—

Get a grip, Aria.

By the time he returned, she was dressed in leggings and a t-shirt, hair down now, cheeks still flushed as hell.

“I’m so sorry,” she said the moment the door opened. “I didn’t realize—I wasn’t expecting—”

He brushed past her with a shrug. “Should’ve known you weren’t an early riser.”

Her hands twisted together. “Do you… want breakfast or something?”

“Yeah,” he said without looking back. “Breakfast would be a start.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, toolbox in hand, heading straight for her bedroom like it was his damn place, not hers.

And she stood there, breath caught in her throat, heart thundering with something she didn’t want to name yet.

Something real.

Something dangerous.

By midday, Aria’s one-bedroom apartment had been transformed from barely-moved-in chaos to something warm and full of life. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the lingering garlic from a half-eaten pizza left forgotten on the floor beside the couch. The place had character now—patched walls, fixed cabinet hinges, screws tightened into wobbly chairs, shelves hung straight. Little signs that someone gave a damn.

Kade moved with steady precision, crouched near the wall as he tightened the last bolts on her new bookshelf. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked, a little smudge of paint on his jaw. Aria couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, Mr. Fix-It,” she called from the open kitchen as she dug through another box, “do you charge by the hour or by the playlist?”

He glanced over his shoulder, lifting a brow. “Depends. You planning to keep subjecting me to this bubblegum pop bullshit?”

She laughed, tossing a dishtowel at him. “You were literally singing louder than me.”

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

Kade smirked but didn’t argue—because yeah, he’d definitely been off-key belting out some 2000s throwback, the one with the cheesy chorus they both somehow knew every word to. The music was still playing low in the background, now some bluesy soul track, smooth and mellow.

Aria flopped onto the couch, legs tucked under her, sipping from the beer he’d brought earlier. It was warm now. Everything was. The room. The air. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

“You good?” he asked, setting the screwdriver down and wiping his hands on his jeans.

She looked up at him and nodded, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah. I really am.”

And in that moment, surrounded by tools, dust, cold pizza, and the kind of laughter that settled into your bones—everything felt still. Easy. Almost like home.

Kade leaned back on his heels, brushing dust off his hands as he surveyed the finished shelf. “There,” he said, giving it a pat. “Now you can alphabetize all your tragic-ass romance novels.”

Aria tossed a crumpled napkin at him. “You say that like you didn’t sob through A Walk to Remember in high school.”

“Lie again and I’ll take this damn shelf with me.”

She laughed, a warm sound that wrapped around him like sunlight. Her legs were folded under her, the hem of her shorts riding high, her curls tied up messily. She looked… like home. Unbothered. Real.

He dropped onto the couch next to her, the distance between them almost nonexistent. The room buzzed with leftover music and half-eaten pizza and something unspoken simmering just beneath the surface.

Aria reached for her beer, and Kade’s eyes followed the soft stretch of her body—slow and lazy like honey. Her laughter from earlier lingered on her lips, and he couldn’t stop staring.

“You always look at people like that?” she whispered, her voice thick and curious.

“Only you.”

That was it. That one damn line.

Her lips parted like an invitation, and Kade didn’t hesitate this time. His hand found her thigh, squeezing once before sliding up her side, slow and deliberate. Aria sucked in a breath, her hand curling around his shirt as he leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers—just once. Just enough to taste her. And when she didn’t pull back, he groaned low and pressed in deeper, one hand threading into her curls, the other gripping her waist like he’d die if he let go.

She gasped against him, kissing him back like she’d waited years—like he was the one thing in the world that made sense.

Then—

Knock knock knock.

Kade froze. Their foreheads pressed together, breath ragged, bodies still wound tight.

Another knock. Sharper this time.

Aria blinked and swallowed. “Shit,” she whispered. “That’s—”

“Don’t say his name,” Kade snapped, already pulling away, jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked.

The knock came again, followed by a voice.

“Aria? It’s me. Open up.”

Mason.

Kade stood, jaw tight, rage burning behind his eyes. Aria stayed on the couch, her fingers trembling as they brushed her kiss-swollen lips.

Aria’s POV

Aria sat there frozen, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, lips still parted from the kiss that nearly happened. That should’ve still been happening.

She blinked, trying to clear the haze from her brain, but her body was still on fire. She could feel the ghost of Kade’s breath on her mouth, the way his hand gripped her waist like he needed her—like he’d waited years to touch her like that.

Kade had looked at her like she was everything. Not some mess to clean up. Not some girl broken by a man like Mason.

She barely had time to breathe before the knock hit her door, loud and careless. And then came that voice.

Mason.

Her spine straightened like a rod. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Behind her, Kade muttered something sharp under his breath—she couldn’t catch it, but the venom in his voice hit deep. He turned on his heel, jaw clenched tight, and disappeared into the bathroom to collect the rest of his tools.

Aria took a shaky breath and went to the door, wiping at her mouth, brushing her fingers through her hair, trying to steady herself. She wasn’t gonna flinch. Not this time.

When she opened the door, Mason strolled in without even looking at her. “You done with your little tantrum, baby? I figured I’d finally swing by and put that damn bed together.”

Her gaze flicked toward the hallway—Kade had just stepped out, toolbox in hand, face unreadable but eyes burning.

She squared her shoulders, heat curling low in her belly as she locked eyes with Mason.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said coolly.

Mason froze. “What?”

Kade walked right past him, toolbox swinging at his side. He didn’t say a word to Mason. Just paused at the door beside her.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, for her and her alone.

Aria nodded, slipping her hand briefly over his arm in a silent thank you. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

Kade gave her a small, knowing look. Then he walked out the door, never once glancing back.

Mason stood there, staring at her like he didn’t recognize the woman in front of him.

Aria shut the door behind Kade and leaned on it, chest still tight. Her legs were still trembling—and not from Mason.

No, that fire belonged to someone else.

And it had nothing to do with empty promises or missed furniture deliveries.