Page 73 of Knot Your Sunshine
I set down the chisel I've been fidgeting with. Can't concentrate on tools when she's looking at me like that.
"Want to see what I'm working on?"
"I'd love to." She swings her legs off the couch and comes to stand next to me. Her hip presses against mine, the heat from that simple contact travelling straight through me.
"This beauty here is going to be a ukulele." I reach for the instrument, tracing the wood grain with my fingertips. "It's made of koa wood."
"Koa?" Her eyes widen. "Isn't that super rare? I thought it was protected."
"It is. Can't harvest living trees." I turn the piece so she can see it better. "But this came from a tree that fell during last year's storm on my friend's estate. They called me immediately, said 'Noa, this tree needs to sing.' They knew I'd listen to what it wanted to become."
She leans closer to examine it. Despite the light dose of blockers we're both wearing, I catch traces of mango in her scent, mingling with mine from our earlier activities. My hands tighten on the wood as I fight the urge to pull her against me… to take her again.
"Listen to what it wanted to become?" Her voice shakes me out of my thoughts, a small crease appearing between her brows as she puzzles over my words.
"Touch it. This is something you have to feel." I guide her hand to the surface.
She reaches out slowly, tentatively at first. Her fingers follow the natural curves, then pause.
"Hmm." Her voice softens. "It's warm. And these patterns..." She traces a particularly dramatic swirl in the grain. "You can tell the wood has history."
"The tree was over a hundred when it fell. It was already growing when my grandparents weren't even born. And now it'll make music. I think this might become my masterpiece."
Her smile reaches her eyes. "That's really cool. Like you're giving history a new voice."
"Beautifully said," I grin.
She walks off and inspects my tool wall, her fingers hovering but not touching. After a moment, she turns back to me. “You know, I'm not surprised this is your lair. It's all very organized, very serious… but somehow still cozy. Kinda like you. I pegged you as the broody type when I met you, but underneath, you’re really a teddy bear.”
“A teddy bear? That’s a new one.” I chuckle, the words warming something in my chest.
She winks. “Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around." Then her attention snags on a small finger plane hanging on the wall. She plucks it up, smiling as she runs a thumb over its smooth edge. “This is adorable. What’s it for?”
“That’s for the final touches,” I say, watching her with a smile. “Want to try using it?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. "On your upcoming masterpiece?"
"I would love this instrument to have a little bit of you in it."
I guide her toward the workbench, setting the plane down on the smooth wood surface. Stepping in close behind her, I position her hands around it, my own covering hers. She leans back against me instinctively, and I have to steady my breathing as her body presses into mine.
"Here, light passes," I murmur near her ear and feel her tense up just a little. "Let the blade do the work. Feel when it starts to sing."
We move together, finding rhythm. Thin curls of wood spiral away with each pass, delicate as flower petals. I feel her whole body tune into the experience, the slight resistance, the whisper of blade on wood, the way the grain reveals itself.
"Why did you make this pattern inside?" she asks, voice low, as she indicates the bracing visible through the sound hole.
"It's all about the physics of sound," I explain, guiding her hand to feel the subtle variations. "See how the wood's been thinned here? That lets the lower frequencies resonate."
She tilts her head and observes the instrument for a second. Then, she makes another careful pass with the plane, completely focused. There’s a quiet beauty in the way she focuses, absorbed in the task. Not that her being into it surprises me. After all, craftwork is what she does, isn't it? Shaping and creating every day in her salon, just with different materials.
"So how long have you been making instruments?"
"Started about five years ago." I adjust her grip slightly, feeling her skin hum against mine. "After we sold the company, I had all this energy and nowhere to put it."
Another pass. The blade whispers as it shaves off a curl.
"Then one day I picked up a wooden toy boat at a local sale. Just held it in my hands. And suddenly I was eight years old again, making things with my grandfather in his workshop..." I guide her through another stroke. "So I thought, why not try working with wood again? I started with simple boxes and picture frames, then I made my first ukulele. Haven't stopped since."
