My indecision at the liquor store has led to this moment of double-fisted awkwardness, and I’m still not sure which was the right choice. Wine seems too formal, beer too casual.
Before I can figure out a way to knock, the door swings open, and Emily stands framed in golden light, her flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows, revealing strong forearms.
“You came.” The pleasure in her voice unwinds a fraction of my tension.
I lift both offerings. “I couldn’t decide which to bring.”
She takes the wine with one hand and reaches for my arm with the other, pulling me over the threshold. “Perfect. You’ve just solved our divided household. Jared’s a beer man, and Grady’s partial to reds.”
The cottage welcomes me with its familiar scent of wood and fresh bread, but beneath it runs the electric current of a gathering in full swing. Voices filter in from the backyard, punctuated by occasional laughter.
“Everyone’s out back.” Emily leads me through the living room toward the kitchen. “Jared’s been threatening to light the grill since noon.”
We pass through the kitchen, where plates of sliced vegetables and bowls of chips cover the counters. Emily deposits the wine on the counter and grabs a bottle opener from a drawer.
I peer out the kitchen window and don’t see a giant Newfoundland in the backyard. “No Quinn today?”
Emily shakes her head. “She’s baking cookies with Holden.”
“That will be fun for both of them.” She loves her Uncle Holden and all the treats that come out of his kitchen.
“Take these out?” She hands me a platter of hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “I’ll be right behind you with your beer.”
Outside, string lights zigzag overhead, though they’re unnecessary in the late afternoon light. The grill area buzzes with activity, Jared waving tongs as he speaks while Grady perches on a nearby stool, his cane hooked over the arm.
To my left, Emily’s workshop doors stand wide open, spilling sawdust and the rich scent of cut wood into the yard. Blake bends over the workbench, T-shirt already stained with sweat and wood stain.
“Leif!” Blake’s greeting cuts through the ambient noise as he straightens and waves. “Perfect timing. Em says you’ve been learning to woodwork.”
Before I can respond, he crosses the yard in long strides and relieves me of the platter, handing it off to Jared.
“I’m about to do a corner joint,” Blake continues, guiding me toward the workshop. “Come on, I’ll show you, and you can see what I’ve got going for Quinn’s bed frame.”
The workshop envelops me as Blake pulls me to the bench where pieces of wood lie in organized chaos. A corner post sits in the center, with a bear climbing a tree and what might be…
I lean closer. “Is that an octopus?”
“Sure is.” Blake rakes his fingers through his beard, dislodging sawdust. “There will be two rabbits, also, per Quinn’s request.”
I laugh in bemusement. “It looks like we need to go back over land and sea creatures’ habitats.”
“She’s been obsessed with marine life since I took her to the aquarium a while back,” Blake explains. “Last weekend, she drew gills on all her forest animals because ‘what if the forest floods?’”
I chuckle at the logic. “She’s a smart kid.”
“She is, which is why I like to support her imagination.” Blake runs his fingers along a dark streak in the maple. “See this grain running through here? If I cut along this line, the whole piece might split.” He looks up at me with the enthusiasm of someone sharing their craft. “Always respect the grain. Wood remembers how it grew.”
The moment catches me off guard, not because the concept is difficult, but because he’s taking time to teach me. I lean closer, my earlier nervousness forgotten when presented with this unexpected lesson.
“I never thought about wood having a memory,” I admit, studying the swirling pattern.
Blake traces the grain with reverence. “I’ll carve from this direction instead, following its natural flow.” He demonstrates with his hand. “See how that works?”
“Careful, Leif,” Emily appears in the doorway, a cold beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. “Dominic has Blake up to his ears in projects, so he’s aiming for another set of hands.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Blake raises his hands in mock surrender before he turns to me. “Em showed me the pieces you did together. They’re good. With a little more training, we could have you building custom furniture in no time.”
“I’m happy to help,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “But maybe with a little more training? Emily and I only just got started.”