Page 8 of Hex Appeal

“I make my own blends using candle-safe fragrance oils. I keep the documentation from my suppliers and stay within the recommended fragrance load for the wax.”

“And the jars?”

“Heat-resistant glass specifically manufactured for candle making.”

“Wicks?”

“Lead-free cotton. Different sizes depending on the diameter of the vessel and the formula.”

That catches my attention. “You test them?”

“Of course I test them.”

“How?”

“Burn tests. Every new combination of wax, fragrance, wick, and vessel before I sell it. I keep records.”

She reaches under the counter and pulls out a binder. She flips open to a page and gestures. I can feel my eyebrows raising on my forehead as I I glance around the shop again.

“How long have you been making candles?”

“Years.”

“Any formal training?”

Her eyebrows lift.

“Besides making candles with my grandma since I could walk? I’ve taken classes and workshops. I’ve studied the safety standards. I research my materials. I test my products. And I carry liability insurance, if that’s your next question.”

It was. She crosses her arms.

The sunshine is still there. But apparently the sun can still shine when there’s a bit of rain.

Interesting.

“Can I see the rest your records?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Maybe not this second. They’re in the back, and I do have a store to run.”

“I noticed.”

“And for the record, I take this seriously.” Her expression softens. “People take these into their homes. Of course I care whether they’re safe.”

For the first time since I walked through the door, the attraction takes a back seat.

Not because it’s gone. Unfortunately. Because I believe her.

That doesn’t mean the candles aren’t involved somehow. It doesn’t mean there isn’t a defect she hasn’t found.

But she isn’t careless. My radio crackles at my shoulder before I can ask another question.

It’s dispatch. Shit. Whatever is happening between us disappears instantly. Replaced by the call of duty.

“I have to go.”