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Welcome to my First Kiss Friday blog. Today I’d like to welcome author Edie Cay who has an excerpt from her story The Boxer and the Blacksmith. We hope you enjoy this first kiss scene. Happy reading, my lovelies!

Excerpt:

Bess felt oddly naked, standing in front of the foundry, waiting for the blacksmith to appear. The chickens shuffled and clucked, softly cooing as they scratched around her, hoping for crumbs. Jean had run in to fetch Os, but as she shivered under her thin woolen shawl, she wondered if she was being ridiculous. It would be just as easy to search for Violet on her own. 

The last few days of training had taken flesh from her, and the dress hung loosely. She knew that by next week, the regimes of plain food and morning work would invigorate her, but today she felt tired and sluggish. Her plain skirts and kerchief felt like she was swimming in fabric, but she hoped they would entice Violet back. Convince the neighborhood that their resident female boxer wasn’t unnatural. But she was only what she’d always been. And here she was, presenting herself as some kind of maiden at this smithy. She was a fool. 

Just as she was about to turn around and leave, he appeared, pulling on his coat. It made her happy to think he would treat her like a lady, putting on a proper coat, just like everyone else. “Miss Abbott,” he greeted her. 

“Blacksmith,” she said. 

“Lovely evening,” he said as he approached her, still fussing with the lapels. His hat looked smart and new.

“Just a drizzle.” She ought to get on with it. Ask for help. Clearly, he was patient, standing there waiting for her to speak her peace. She shifted her weight. “I’ve, er…there’s a girl wot’s need finding—” 

“Your Miss Violet is still missing?” The chickens cooed around them. Even the man’s voice had a calming effect. 

Bess nodded, feeling a total fool. She’d not been struck dumb since…well, never, actually. And she liked that he’d called the girl her Miss Violet. 

“Would you accept my help in looking for her?” Os looked tired. 

Instead of making the polite excuses she should—let him get his rest—she said, “Yes.”

Once outside the fence that surrounded the front of the foundry, Os offered her his arm. It was a simple gesture, polite and distant, but still a touch. 

“Do you have an idea of where she’d be?” Os asked. 

Bess explained about the bakery and the tavern with a lion—Tuck’s place. 

“Children are clever,” Os said, an odd look on his face. Something was clearly bothering the man, but Bess didn’t feel she ought to pry. 

As they made their way down the winding streets, they became a team, both looking down alleyways, peering around buildings. They didn’t speak much as they searched. Bess wasn’t sure what to say, and he seemed lost in thought. 

“How did you end up with a French apprentice?” she asked. 

“His parents were among the first ardent Republicans in France, liberté, égalité, fraternité.” 

Bess nodded her understanding. The evening was growing darker and cooler. 

“But when neighbor turned on neighbor, the family fled to relatives here. Jean was born on English soil, but the family speaks nothing but French at their home. He’ll make an excellent blacksmith someday, as long as we last.” 

“As long as blacksmiths last?” 

“We’re a dying breed. The factories have already started making nails and spring coils. I do more farrier work and repairs now than I ever did as an apprentice or a journeyman. There will come a day when every forge goes cold.” 

“Makes me shiver to hear such talk,” Bess said. 

“Don’t mourn for me, Miss Abbott. The world is changing apace. I’m looking forward to it.” Os gave her a reassuring look. His eyes locked on hers, and she couldn’t tear herself away. He was talking about something else, but her mind was fog when she looked directly at him.

Their amble slowed further, and her arm tightened around his. She wanted to pull him towards her, even here on the street like a common doxy. She shook away the spell. 

“I looked in at Newgate for Violet’s father today, and he’d just gotten out.” Bess needed to keep herself focused. “I need to find her before her father does.” They were almost to the bakery, where she thought she might find Violet. “So if Old Mr. Grim is coming for the smithies, why’d you move to London?” 

Os glanced at her and then back down an alleyway. It seemed as if he were considering what to tell her. Finally, after Bess thought he was going to ignore her question entirely, he said, “I’m looking for my mother.” 

“And she’s here?” 

“Either her, or a woman with her same first name and profession. Though I find that now that I’m here, I’m reluctant to look for her.”

“Sometimes we’re afraid of the answers to our questions,” Bess said, slowing. 

“Exactly.” Os stopped as she stopped, turning to her, taking her by both elbows. She could feel a pull towards him, as if he were the ground and she’d just got knocked in the domino box. Her guts fluttered, causing her to stumble back, shaking free of his loose grip. 

“Here we are. It’s closed, but Violet might be in back.” Bess charged around the corner building into the alleyway. Behind her, she heard the blacksmith take a steadying breath. 

Bess peered into the rubbish pile, kicking muck about. “There’s no burnt bread, so she may have already been here.” There was so much Bess wanted, so much she thought was in her grasp, but whenever she tried to close her fist, it evaporated like smoke.

“To the tavern?” he asked. 

She nodded and began to make her way out of the deep, scattered rubbish pile. Rodents rustled under soiled newspapers. Bess picked her way through, each movement careful. Still, her foot came down on a rat, which squealed, knocking Bess off balance. 

* * *

The lady boxer was quick jumping back, but Os was fast, too. He moved to catch her. Miss Abbott landed on her feet but crashed into him, his chest breaking her fall. He put his arms up to steady them both. She stiffened but didn’t move to break away as his arms gently encircled her.

“Are you well?” Suddenly it felt as if the entire evening were still and quiet.

“Just stepped on a rat.”

On a chance, he looked down at her, hoping to read her intentions. Was she as nervous as he, heart pounding away, the fastest striker he’d ever known? He shifted his arms, urging her to turn around and face him. 

Her brown eyes were wide and her brow furrowed, her expression full of questions. As if he was holding far more than just her body in his arms. Strange, but all he could think of was a sheep. Like the wool of the sheep was not the actual animal itself, but made it appear larger than it was. Here, his arms cut through all of the hopes and desires and wants that surrounded the woman, and he held just the core of her.

He wondered if he was not exactly the same. 

“I would like to kiss you,” he said, trying to keep his words soft and tame, not at all like the riot inside of him.

“I—I—” she stammered. 

To be fair, she looked terrified. Doubt clouded his mind. So he waited. He watched as she swallowed hard and wrested control of her emotions.

“Yes please,” she said, as if he were offering her half of a meat pie. 

He bent his head to meet hers. She watched him with wide eyes, as if at any moment, something unexpected might happen. But then their lips touched, a softness he had not expected. The desire that he had kept so well-contained threatened to spill over, but Os tamped it down. There was so much inside of him—his mother, Chitley, the whole bloody world—but here, it was just her and him. And it was a thing as delicate as goldsmithing, and it was theirs. 

Her arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him closer, further into her. Her strength surprised him, even though he should have expected it. He matched her intensity, exploring her mouth with his tongue. His hands dropped to her waist, kneading the flesh of her hips. 

Perhaps the kiss would have lasted longer had the rats not protested. Os pulled away after one bit his shoe. 

“I should have picked a better place for our first kiss,” he said, picking his way out of the rubbish heap. “I apologize.”

“I think on the mouth is perfectly acceptable,” she said. 

He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see where the second kiss is, then.” 

She seemed lighter, suddenly. And so did he. Perhaps they had both needed that more than they realized. 

“Come on. Let’s go see if we can find Violet at Tuck’s,” she said. “Maybe we’ll have more luck there.”

“More luck?” he quipped. “Any more luck and I won’t be a bachelor any longer.”

Bess put her hands on her hips, waiting for him to pick his way out. “Well, look at that. The blacksmith makes jokes.”

It was the smile on those lips, that look of flirtation, the ease with which she leaned against the wall of the bakery. He took her by the hips and pushed her up against the bricks, kissing her again. 

Her hands came to his face, cradling him as they kissed, softening, deepening a connection between them, as if every piece of him was now attuned to her. She sighed into him, and he felt as if he could gather her up and carry her off to someplace safe. Instead, she let her hands drift to his chest and gently pushed him away. 

“Violet,” she said. Her brown eyes were shining, full of something he didn’t know how to name. 

Os stepped away, letting both the heat and the magic of their bodies dissipate into the evening air. Bess straightened her skirts and brushed the brick dust off her back. 

“Once again, then?” Os asked, offering his arm. There was a whirling in his mind but there was no way to straighten out those thoughts. The best thing he could do was put one foot in front of the other and help someone else. Bess needed to search for Violet, and so he would help her until they both dropped from exhaustion. 

---

The Boxer and the Blacksmith
By Edie Cay

Can London’s lady champion fight for love?

As London’s undefeated women’s boxer, Bess Abbott has the scars—both inside and out—to prove it. But when one of her boxing students, Violet, needs protection, Bess Abbott’s rock hard heart cracks open. And when a handsome blacksmith comes along, giving her compliments and treating her, well, like a woman, Bess doesn’t know what to do. She’s on the ropes in the face of his affections.

Os Worley was a child when he became an accidental stow-away. He grew up not knowing the family or the island that inflected his accent. His only memory of his mother is a head bent, hands working a stitch, a voice humming a melody. Now that he has his own foundry, and his own apprentice, he’s come to London to find the woman attached to this impression. His heart is already tempered and quenched, focused on his goal—but a lady boxer threatens to recast his love in her own image.

As Os and Bess face off, will they toe the line or retreat to their corners?

Direct: https://store.ediecay.com/products/the-boxer-and-the-blacksmith

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08MTKYWMH

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-boxer-and-the-blacksmith-edie-cay/1138116649?ean=9781734439731

Apple iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-boxer-and-the-blacksmith/id1539366062

Universal Book Link: https://books2read.com/u/3JXDEJ

About the Author:

Edie Cay is an award-winning romance author. Her award-winning series, When the Blood Is Up, is about women’s boxing during the Regency era. Her current series, The Ladies Alpine Society series, is about Victorian women mountain climbers. She is a founding member of Paper Lantern Writers. She lives in the California foothills with her family. You can find her at ediecay.com.

Find Edie here:

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