The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the workshop as I carefully poured wax into a jar. The air smelled of lavender and sandalwood, and the room hummed with quiet conversation.

“You’re holding it wrong,” a deep voice teased from beside me.

I looked up to see a guy with rolled-up sleeves and wax-stained hands, his grin playful as he gestured to the jar in my hand.

“Show me, then,” I challenged, stepping closer.

His hands covered mine as he adjusted my grip, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “See? Perfect,” he said, his voice low.

The room felt warmer, the distance between us shrinking as we worked together on the next candle. When the class ended, we were the last ones packing up.

“Do you always make candles this... intimate?” I joked, but my voice wavered when he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Only when someone’s worth it,” he murmured, and before I could respond, his lips met mine. The kiss was soft at first, his hands brushing my waist, but it quickly deepened, his fingers tangling in my hair.

The faint scent of melted wax and the flicker of candlelight made the moment feel surreal. When we finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“So... coffee after candles?” he asked, his voice breathless but full of promise.