“Sprinkles made all the difference.” I set down the cloth and flex my cramping fingers. “Her teacher tried to make an issue of him at first, but she couldn’t countermand the dean’s approval.”
“So, Mr. Whitaker is doing well as the new head of the school?”
I stiffen and bow my head to focus on the work. “It was actually the old dean who approved Sprinkles being allowed in the school. But I’m sure, with the Wright Pack’s substantial donation, Whitaker won’t reverse the order.”
“I’m glad Quinn is taking to the Academy.” Emily brings over a clean rag for me to wipe my hands. “Blake was worried.”
“He’s not the only one,” I admit. “How long have you known Blake? You seem closer than just employee and employer.”
“The first crew I worked on was run by Blake’s father.” Her face turns pensive. “He was a real hardass. Blake and Nathaniel were always underfoot. Those two practically grew up on construction sites.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh, so you guys go way back.”
She grunts in acknowledgment. “I guess you could say we were peas in a pod. Around the time they set off to form a pack of their own, I had gotten tired of keeping my head down under Harris Construction Management and had set out to start my own crew. The rest is history.”
A pang goes through me. “It must be nice to be working with your friends.”
“It has its perks.”
I twist the rag in my hands as I build courage for what I want to ask next. The question has been forming since Wednesday, growing more insistent with each passing day. I’ve rehearsed casual phrasings, discarded them, and tried again.
“Would you like to come with us?” The words tumble out before I can second-guess them again. “To the bookstore, I mean. After school.” My heart pounds as I add, “Quinn would love to have you there.”
Emily pauses in the act of closing the stain can, her pheromones under such tight constraint that they give nothing away.
I rush to fill the silence. “No pressure, though. You’re on vacation, and you probably have plans with Jared or?—”
“I’d like to come along,” she interrupts.
I blink, not quite processing her acceptance. “You would?”
“I would.” She secures the lid on the can with a firm tap.
My shoulders relax as I exhale. “Quinn will be thrilled.”
“I don’t have my truck, though,” Emily adds. “Jared’s been using it to go to work all week.”
“I can drive us all,” I offer. “And Jared could pick you up from town later?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Emily wipes her hands on a shop towel. “I’ll text him.” She looks at our shoe rack, the stain already drying to a rich amber. “We’ll need to let this cure over the weekend.”
I begin gathering the supplies we used, placing soiled rags in the metal bin she keeps for that purpose. I’m both eager to see Quinn and reluctant to end this peaceful time in the workshop.
“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure I’d make it through this without ruining something too expensive to replace,” I confess as I wash my hands at the utility sink.
Emily snorts. “Give yourself some credit. You’ve been a model student.”
She hangs her apron on a hook by the door.
“Besides,” she adds with a smile, “I don’t keep the really expensive tools out when beginners visit.”
“Smart policy.”
“Hard-won wisdom.” She pulls the band from her hair and runs her fingers through it. “I spent a summer working to pay off a table saw I broke while in training.”
I wince in sympathy. “Rough.”
Emily pauses, her hand on the light switch. “Once the stain cures, we’ll add a clear polyurethane coat for protection. How does next Tuesday sound? If you’re free?”