Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
By the time Eli made it back to Aileen’s kitchen, his muscles had filed a formal complaint. He hadn’t thought it had been all that bad an experience—until he stopped.
“Let me guess,” she said as he did his best not to limp. “Ladders?”
“Tree,” he groaned. “Lampposts. And emotional trauma.”
“Aha. The Carter Combination Special.”
He grabbed the ibuprofen from the cupboard. “Remind me again why I signed up for this?”
“Because you love me. And because Noah asked,” she added, too casually.
Eli pretended not to hear that part. “If I die, make sure they put ‘killed by festive spirit’ on my tombstone.”
“Done.” She pointed to the stove. “There’s soup if you want some.”
Soup sounded really good. Eli helped himself to a bowl.
“At least you made it through the day with no broken limbs.”
Eli frowned. “I thought he was kidding about how decorating the tree was a lethal activity.”
“He said you did well.”
Eli stared at her. “And when exactly did he tell you that?”
Aileen flushed. “When he called. About five minutes ago.”
Eli froze with the spoon halfway to his lips. “Why did he call? Just to let you know I was coming home in one piece?”
“He said he needs help building some of the festival stuff. Props and such. He asked if you’d be willing to swing by his workshop tonight.”
“Tonight?” Eli echoed. I only just said goodnight to him, and he never said a word.
She shrugged, and to Eli’s mind the motion was way too innocent. “He said it’s the only time he has free. Something-something schedule, something-something volunteers.” She waved a hand. “I told him you’d go.”
He blinked. “You what?”
“You heard me,” she said with a shrug. “You’re free, he’s hot, and you like wood.”
Eli gaped at her. “Wow. You really went there.”
“I meant lumber and you know it,” she said, unrepentant. “You can spot his workshop. It’s two blocks over, with Carter Custom Builds on the door. He said any time after seven.”
It was six-thirty.
Eli looked down at his hoodie and jeans. “I’m covered in pine needles and tree detritus.”
“He’s going to be covered in sawdust,” she said. “It’s basically a match made in texture heaven.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You’re banned from further commentary.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I think you should go. Maybe the two of you will become good friends. Maybe you’ll get impaled by a nail gun. Either way, it’s better than you staring at your emails all night.”
He almost argued, but then he remembered Noah’s hand on his shoulder. Noah steadying the ladder.
Noah brushing a pine needle from his jacket as though it mattered.
“Fine,” he said. “If I’m not back by ten, assume I’ve run off to join the elves.”
“Rude. Your family is right here.” She pointed to the left. “And the workshop is thataway.”
He glared at her. “Is it okay if I finish my soup first? And maybe change my clothes?”
She beamed. “That’s a good idea. You wanna make a good impression, right?”
Eli gave up. She was a hopeless case. Then her words registered.
“You want us to be more than good friends, don’t you?”
She bit her lip. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Her eyes gleamed. “And you have to admit he’s a handsome dude.”
Eli finished his soup. “I’m outta here. And not because I’m in any hurry to see Noah, but because it’s better than the idea of you going through my clothing as if you’re vetting me before I go on a date.” Another glare. “And this is not a date, all right?”
Aileen might not have said the words out loud, but that didn’t mean Eli couldn’t hear them. Something about the lady protesting too much.
He went back outside into the chill air, and headed in the right direction.
Carter Custom Builds was a squat building with a wide garage door and a smaller side entrance. Light spilled out from the frosted windows, warm and golden against the navy night.
Eli shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there for a second, breathing in the smell of cold air and faint sawdust.
This is fine. You’re going to help, that’s all. Normal adult social interaction. Not a date. Not anything.
His heartbeat didn’t get the memo.
He knocked on the side door.
“Come in!” a voice called.
He stepped inside and was immediately hit by the smell of wood, coffee, and maybe a hint of cinnamon.
Bright overhead lamps lit up the workshop.
Wood planks leaned against one wall, and clamps and tools hung from another.
A large workbench dominated the center, cluttered but organized, like chaos with a system.
Noah stood at the bench, a pencil tucked behind one ear. He wore an open plaid shirt over a black tee, the sleeves rolled. He glanced up when Eli entered and smiled.
Eli’s heart did that stupid, traitorous flip again.
“Hey,” Noah said. “You came.”
“You asked.” Eli tried not to trip over his own tongue. “And my sister threatened me.”
“That sounds like her. Come in and close the door, or we’ll both freeze to death.”
Eli shut the door, shrugging off his coat. “This is cool,” he said, scanning the space. “Very ‘rugged artisan’ of you.”
“Don’t start,” Noah said, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m one Etsy listing away from being insufferable.”
Eli wandered over to the workbench. Several wooden panels were laid out: arches, window-like frames, and one enormous cutout of what looked like a faux shop front.
“What are we building?” Eli asked.
“Festival photo props. This one’s a ‘Winter Market’ stall. There’ll be fake snow, twinkle lights, the whole nine yards. People stand behind it for pictures.”
“You built all this?”
“I cut the pieces earlier,” Noah said. “I need to sand, assemble, and paint before the weekend. And since the tree tried to kill you, I figured I owed you a lower-elevation task.”
“How generous of you. And what about this one?” He pointed to a tall, arched frame.
Noah rubbed his neck. “That’s the mistletoe archway. For the couples’ corner.”
Eli stared at it for a beat too long.
“This town’s very into photo ops,” Noah said quickly. “The committee saw something like it online and now they want their own.”
“Right,” Eli said. “For… couples.”
“Or friends,” Noah added. “Or dogs. Last year a golden retriever got more action than anyone.”
“That tracks.”
Noah grinned. “Want to help me sand?”
He chuckled. “I can’t believe you just asked that in a flirty tone. But yeah, show me where to start.”
They fell into a rhythm.
Noah showed him how to work the sanding blocks, how to smooth the rough edges without rounding off the design. The steady back-and-forth motion, the soft rasp of sandpaper, the dust catching in the air… It was oddly meditative. Outside, snow tapped at the windows.
They worked on opposite sides of a panel.
Noah cleared his throat. “You can tell me now. How bad was the tree, on a scale of one to ten?”
“Emotionally or physically?”
“Both.”
“Emotionally? Eight,” Eli said. “Physically, we’re talking a seven. My thighs hurt more than my soul.”
“Good to know. I’ll put that in my event notes. ‘Ladder-induced existential crisis: moderate.’”
“Add ‘volunteer whined a lot,’” Eli said. “For accuracy.”
“You whined less than most.”
Eli glanced up. “Is that a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” Noah grinned. “Whining is part of the process. But you whined and kept going. That’s the good kind.”
“Wow,” Eli murmured. “Way to make stubbornness sound noble.”
“I have many skills.”
Eli didn’t say I know out loud.
They finished one panel and moved on to the next. Noah flipped it onto its side with an easy strength that did not help Eli’s ability to form coherent thoughts.
“Where’d you learn all this? Carpentry, I mean.”
“My dad.” Noah’s expression grew fond. “He’s a carpenter. He still does small jobs around town. I started helping him in high school, then I decided I liked this better than sitting at a desk all day.”
“Smart. Desks are overrated.”
“What about you?” Noah asked. “When did you start drawing?”
“I’ve been doing it forever. I was that kid who doodled on the edge of every worksheet. Teachers hated it until they needed posters for something.”
“Did you draw in school?” Noah asked.
Eli’s hand slowed over the wood. “Yeah, a lot.” He did his best to keep the tremor from his voice.
“You were at Mapleford High, right?” Noah said. “I feel like I remember you a little.”
Eli’s heartbeat performed a hard jump.
“I was one of the quiet ones. You know, art club, yearbook, that kinda thing.”
“Not theater?” Noah asked. “You’ve got the vibe.”
“Theater?” Eli repeated.
“Yeah,” Noah said with a shrug. “I did stage crew, some acting. We were probably around at the same time. I graduated the year the auditorium flooded.”
“Right,” Eli said slowly. “I remember that.”
Did you ever see me drawing you?
He shook the thought off.
“I mostly hid in the art room. Less chance of being roped into pep rallies.”
“Ah, see, that’s where you went wrong,” Noah said with a smile. “I loved pep rallies. Free candy, loud music, and zero expectations.”
Eli snorted. “You loved pep rallies because they gave you a captive audience.”
“Also true,” Noah admitted.
It was strange, being this close to the person he’d sketched from afar, realizing how many shared spaces they’d had without ever actually colliding. It made his skin prickle with something like déjà vu.
“Do you ever draw people?” Noah asked. “Like portraits?”
Eli tightened his grip on the sanding block. “Sometimes.”
“Do you have any on your phone? I’d love to see.”
The air in the workshop shifted.
He could show him something recent. Safe. A quick sketch of Aileen, maybe. Or he could say no and sidestep the subject entirely.
Or he could tell him the truth, that he’d drawn him. Finding that sketch had brought it all back, including the fifteen-year-old feelings he’d been carrying around without realizing.
He sanded too hard and nicked a corner.
“Sorry,” he muttered, forcing a breath. “Most of my old stuff is in sketchbooks back in Boston. I didn’t bring them with me.”
“Ah, okay then, rain check.”
“Sure. Rain check.”