I don't do distractions. Don't do relationships. And I sure as hell don't believe crystals have magical powers.
That's what I tell myself after the curvy beauty sets up shop next door.
One burst pipe. One gaping hole in the wall. And suddenly I'm losing my damn mind watching the curvy crystal shop owner. The sway of her hips as she arranges her rocks, the curve of her lips when she hums, the flush of her skin when she catches me staring.
I tell myself it's just physical. That a man can only take so much temptation before he breaks. The more I avoid her, the easier it'll get.
But when a snowstorm traps us together in my forge, her body pressed against mine for warmth, those walls I've spent years building crumble faster than that flooded drywall.
