Chapter 11 #2
“Perfect cut,” I say when he turns off the saw.
The praise brings a flush to his cheeks. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Careful attention to detail,” I correct him. “There’s a difference.”
We fall into a rhythm as the morning progresses. I demonstrate a technique, then step back while he tries. When his measurement is off by a quarter inch, or he sands the soft wood too aggressively, he laughs at himself before I can offer reassurance.
“I took the finish off my coffee table trying to polish it once,” he admits as he practices with the sandpaper, moving with the grain as I showed him. “The online tutorial made it look so simple.”
“That’s how I learned to weld,” I say, leaning on the adjacent workbench. “YouTube and stubborn determination.”
His eyebrows lift. “You weld, too?”
“My dad taught me the basics. Said everyone should be able to fix their own car, regardless of gender.”
“He sounds progressive.”
“Not particularly. He wanted to ensure I wouldn’t get cheated by mechanics. By the time I was in middle school, I could do all the maintenance on his truck.” The memory pulls a smile from me. “He also taught me to crochet.”
Leif’s hands still on the wood. “You crochet?”
“You sound shocked.”
“Not shocked.” He resumes sanding, more confident with each stroke. “Intrigued.”
As we work, Leif’s rigid posture eases. His breaths slow and deepen, his movements smoothing out as the minutes pass. Measure. Cut. Sand. The steady repetition relaxes his shoulders until the tension drains out of him with each pass.
“Why teaching?” I ask as we clamp the shelf pieces together to prepare for drilling.
Leif steadies the wood while I mark the drill points. “I had this English teacher in eighth grade. Mr. Benson. First male Omega I’d ever met in a position of authority. He treated us as if our thoughts mattered, even when we were being ridiculous teenagers.”
The memory brings a smile to his lips. “I wanted to be that for someone else.”
“Sounds like you are.” I hand him the drill. “For Quinn.”
“Quinn makes it easy. She’s like a sponge, curious about everything. What about you?” Leif positions the drill where I’ve marked. “What drew you to construction?”
“Permanence.” The answer comes without thought. “When the world gets loud or confusing, I drive past buildings I helped raise. They’re still standing, unmoved even if everything else has changed.”
Leif exhales slowly, giving me the feeling that he needs a sense of stability every bit as much as I do.
“Plus,” I add, “if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, I’ll have a valued skill.”
A startled laugh escapes him. “Is this a serious concern?”
“Well, not the zombie part, but life has a way of surprising you.” I step closer to adjust his grip. “Hold the drill straight and apply steady pressure. Let the tool do the work.”
He follows my direction, and the drill bit sinks into the pine with a satisfying whir. Hot wood shavings spiral upward, and concentration tightens his brow, his lips parting as he focuses.
“See?” I step back as he completes the hole. “You’re a natural.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he protests, but pride flickers across his face. “But I actually feel like I’m not a complete disaster at this.”
“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.”
He takes a shaky breath and lets it out. “I’ll be on time going forward, I promise.”
Inside the kitchen, I brew fresh coffee while Leif retrieves the pastry bag from the counter. The mundane domesticity of the moment strikes me, how he moves through my space with ease, and how we orbit each other.
“Can’t lie, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he says, placing the turnovers on plates I set out.
“Lunch of champions.” I pour coffee into two mugs, adding cream to mine.
When I lift the glass bottle to him in question, he shakes his head.
I file away the detail without examining why it matters.
We eat standing at the counter, neither of us suggesting we move to the table. The turnovers flake apart beneath our fingers, the apple filling sweet and spiced.
“This was nice,” Leif says when he finishes the last bite. “A perfect break from the chaos of moving and school preparation.”
“Happy to provide the distraction.”
“Not a distraction. More like…” He licks pastry flakes from his fingers. “A reminder of what normal can feel like.”
The phrasing catches me off guard, but before I can question it, he continues, “Thank you for setting aside the time to give me lessons.”
“It’s my pleasure. If I weren’t giving you lessons, I’d be finding things around the cottage to fix.”
Leif gathers his messenger bag from where he left it by the door. “I’ll be here right after drop-off tomorrow, if that’s okay?”
“Perfect,” I confirm, ignoring the warning bells in my head. “I’ll have the polyurethane ready.”
As Leif walks down the gravel path toward his car, a quiet hum fills my chest, a sensation I never would have noticed if not for Jared.
I lift a hand to rub the spot over my heart.
Is this what it felt like for all those months I didn’t recognize the bond with Jared? Do I want this with Leif?
I close the door and realize too late that my life is shifting again, and I don’t know how to stop it, or even if I should.