Page 8 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
Under that, a small sketch of a mallet and a chisel.
I dress in an old sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. I pull the braid over my shoulder. In the kitchen, there’s a fresh pot of coffee. I pour a cup and smile. Today is going to be fun.
At ten sharp, I walk across the yard to the workshop. The door stands open. The smell of sawdust and oil wraps the room. Graham waits near the workbench with an extra set of safety glasses and hearing protection.
He points to a stool near the planer. “Rule one,” he says. “Protect your eyes and ears.”
I slip the glasses on and adjust the band. He checks the fit and nods.
“Rule two,” he says. “No loose sleeves near the machines. Hair tied back. Hands away from blades.” He pauses. “I will repeat this until you get sick of hearing it.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” he says. A hint of a grin lifts one corner of his mouth. “Rule three. Ask before you touch.”
I nod.
He grabs a length of pine and shows me how to hold the block steady. He talks through each step as he does it in a steady voice. The hum of the planer fills the space and shakes the floor through my boots. He cuts the machine, and the silence feels deafening.
“Your turn,” he says.
I take off my sweatshirt, thankful I put on a tank top underneath, and put it on a bench across the room. I return to the planer and mimic his stance. He stops me once to adjust my grip and once to move my feet. His fingers press lightly against my wrist for a second. My stomach flips and then steadies. I feed the pine through, one pass and then another. He checks the wood and gives a short nod.
“Not bad.”
The praise lands quick and sharp. I try not to show how much it matters.
We work for an hour. He shows me how to mark a straight line. How to read the grain. How to use a chisel without gouging the wood. When I get something wrong, he doesn’t laugh. He demonstrates the right way and nods when I correct it.
At the end, he picks up a small scrap and hands it to me. “For practice.
I put the scrap in my pocket. “Thanks for the lesson.”
He turns away as if to give me an exit, but I’m not ready to leave.
I step in until I can see the small flecks of sawdust in his beard. “Thank you for letting me learn how to do what you do.”
We stare at each other for several tense seconds. “You’re welcome,” he says at last.
I nod and step back. “I’m making enchiladas for dinner,” I say. “Will you join me around six?”
“I’ll be there.”
I walk to the door and look back once over my shoulder. He stands where I left him, steady and unreadable in the center of the shop. Then his mouth tips just a little, a small smile just for me.
I carry that slight curve with me across the yard and through the rest of the day.
Chapter four
Graham
Maeve chops onions at the counter like a chef. I try to stay out of the way and fail. We keep bumping hips. She grins every time it happens. I pretend I don’t like it, but I have a feeling she knows I do.
“Green or red?” she asks, holding up two cans of enchilada sauce.
“Red.”
“Good. Me too.”
