“Not a disaster at all.”
“In some ways, this is similar to teaching.” He traces a finger along the edge of the wood we’ve prepared. “Both require patience. Attention to detail. Faith in the process.”
Our conversation flows into comfortable silence as we continue working, the quiet punctuated only by the sounds of tools and the occasional direction.
The burned note to Leif’s pheromones mellow as the anxiety he arrived with dissipates, and a warm contentment takes its place, reminding me of sunlight filtering through the forest canopy.
I drag my palm over the sanded board. “This is what you’re aiming for. Clean. No rough spots. No hidden splinters.”
Leif mirrors my movement, his larger hand following the path mine took, and the invisible wall between us grows thinner. “Smooth as glass.”
“You’ve got a good touch for it,” I say. “Some people never get the feel for when a piece is ready.”
He exhales as if he needed the praise more than I expected. “It means a lot, coming from you.”
The workshop fills with golden afternoon light, dust motes dancing in the beams that slice through the windows. We’ve been at the bench for hours, yet the work carries us forward in an unbroken stream, until time stops measuring itself in minutes at all.
I collect the sides, shelves, and backing board we’ve prepared and arrange them on the workbench. “Ready to assemble? This is where you see if all those careful measurements pay off.”
“No pressure,” Leif murmurs, but with anticipation rather than anxiety.
My hands move through the familiar motions, guiding his larger ones as we apply wood glue to the joints. The sweet, chemical smell mingles with pine and sawdust.
As I demonstrate how to use the clamps, our arms brush, and neither of us flinches or pulls away. The casual contact registers as comfortable rather than intrusive.
“Hold this edge while I tighten the clamp,” I instruct, and Leif complies without hesitation. “Perfect.”
We work together seamlessly now, anticipating each other’s movements as if we’ve done this dance a hundred times. His body heat radiates through the space between us, and I become aware of his breath, his scent, the way his forearms flex as he applies pressure to the wood.
Being this close to him doesn’t trigger the same rush Auren once did. It isn’t the desperate, consuming desire, nor the comfortable companionship I share with Jared. Instead, I have to fight the urge to lean over and rub my cheek against his.
“This might be the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done,” Leif admits as we step back to check the clamped assembly. “Seeing all the pieces come together.”
“That’s why I do it.” I wipe a smudge of sawdust from my cheek. “Nothing beats building with your own hands.”
He looks down at me, and I realize we’re standing so close I have to tip my head back. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You’re a quick study.”
“I have an excellent teacher.”
Leif’s nostrils flare, and he leans closer, his scent spiking toward sweetness.
In response, a purr starts in my chest before I cut it off and take a step back. “While this sets, would you like some coffee? Those turnovers are still waiting.”
He gives himself a shake. “Yeah, I’m a bit hungry after all this work.”
As we wash our hands at the utility sink, I catch myself comparing my smaller, work-roughened hands beside his larger, smoother ones. The soap foams between his fingers, revealing half-moons of sawdust under his nails.
The sun has moved on, late-afternoon light spilling across the workshop floor. I check the clock out of habit, not surprise. The shadows have been creeping longer for a while now.
“After coffee, I should head out,” Leif says, also turning to check the clock. “I told Quinn I’d be waiting when the last bell rings.”
“Of course.” I resist the irrational disappointment at the thought of him leaving. “The glue needs to set overnight, anyway.”
We leave the workshop, closing the door and locking up. As we walk the short path back to the cottage, our strides align, his longer legs adjusting to my pace without conscious effort.
“Tomorrow, we can add some finish,” I tell him. “A simple polyurethane will bring out the grain.”