Page 7 of Storytime and Sawdust

"Before we begin," Margaret says, adjusting her reading glasses, "I want to thank you all for making time for this committee. Especially you, Molly. I know how busy you are with your regular programming."

"Are you kidding? This is a dream assignment." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to contain my enthusiasm to professional levels. "I've been sketching ideas since Diana told me about it."

Margaret smiles. "That's exactly why we wanted you here. Now, we have three finalists for the custom furniture element. Let's start with Modern Kids Designs."

We spend twenty minutes reviewing the first proposal: sleek, colorful furniture with rounded edges and built-in technology ports. It's nice enough, but feels like something from a catalog. The second submission, from a regional school furniture company, is sturdy and practical but uninspiring.

"And finally," Margaret continues, "we have Rhodes Custom Woodworking."

I turn to the third section of my folder and pause, breath catching. The preliminary sketches aren't just drawings—they're stories waiting to happen. A massive, hollow tree trunk with reading nooks nestled inside. Branches extending outward to form shelves. Little "fairy doors" built into the base that open to reveal hidden storage.

"Oh," I whisper, unable to stop myself.

Diana leans over. "I know, right? This one's got Molly Harper written all over it."

I trace the detailed pencil work with my fingertip. Unlike the computer-generated renderings from the other companies, these are hand-drawn, with tiny notes in the margins about wood types and joinery techniques. There's something deeply personal about them, as if the artist is inviting us into his imagination.

"The craftsmanship in Rhodes' previous work is exceptional," Margaret says, directing our attention to photographs of other completed projects. "This bench, for example, was commissioned by the Westfield family for their garden."

I flip to the image and smile. The bench curves like a storybook illustration, its back carved to resemble an open book with delicate words flowing across the pages. It's whimsical without being childish, the kind of piece that would delight both kids and adults.

"His pricing is higher than the other submissions," Board Treasurer Harold notes, tapping the budget page with his pen. "Is the quality worththe difference?"

"It's custom work versus mass production," Margaret counters. "And he's local. The money stays in our community."

While they debate, I continue studying the sketches, imagining storytime in this magical space. Children nestled in the reading nooks, eyes wide as I bring characters to life. The shy ones finding secret spots to read alone. The natural wood warm beneath little hands as they explore the carved details.

"Molly?" Elaine's voice breaks through my daydream. "What's your professional opinion? Would this design work for your programming?"

I look up, realizing everyone's watching me. "It's perfect," I say, then catch myself. "I mean, it has excellent potential. The design incorporates multiple reading spaces for different age groups and learning styles. The interactive elements would engage our tactile learners. And the organic shape would complement our nature-themed book collection."

Harold still looks skeptical. "Can this Rhodes fellow actually build what he's drawn? These designs are quite ambitious."

"That's why we've scheduled interviews," Margaret explains. "In fact—" she checks her watch, "—Mr. Rhodes should be arriving shortly. Shall we take a ten-minute break before meeting him?"

As the others file out for coffee, I linger in the conference room, studying the portfolio more closely. There's something about these designs that feels different from the corporate submissions. They have soul. Personality. As if the creator understands that a reading nook isn't just furniture—it's a portal to other worlds.

I'm so absorbed that I don't notice someone entering until a deep voice says, "Excuse me."

I look up, startled, and nearly drop the folder.

The man standing in the doorway is tall—really tall—with broad shoulders that make the standard doorframe seem suddenly inadequate.Dark hair with hints of silver at the temples. A neatly trimmed beard that doesn't quite hide the strong line of his jaw. He's wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle, and he's carrying a leather portfolio that looks well-used and loved.

But it's his eyes that catch me—deep blue and intensely focused, taking in the room with careful assessment.

"I'm looking for the selection committee," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the quiet room.

"Oh! Yes. That's us. I mean, they're coming back." I stand quickly, bumping the table and sending my pen rolling. "I'm Molly Harper, the children's librarian."

Something shifts in his expression—a slight softening around the eyes. "Cal Rhodes."

My heart does a little skip.Thisis the creator of those magical designs? I'd pictured someone older, maybe with a wizard-like beard and spectacles. Not this mountain of a man with hands that look equally capable of felling trees and crafting delicate details.

"Your work is beautiful," I blurt out, then feel heat rise to my cheeks. "The designs, I mean. For the reading nook. They're exactly what I—what we've been hoping for."

He steps fully into the room, setting his portfolio on the table. "Thank you. I'm glad they resonated with you."

There's a careful precision to his movements, an economy of motion that makes me suddenly aware of my own tendency to gesture wildly when excited. I clasp my hands together to keep them still.

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