Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Leif
Imove the cloth in my hand in small circles, spreading amber liquid across the pine surface. Emily stands beside me, tracking my movements with quiet approval.
After five days of lessons, I still find myself holding my breath when she steps back to let me take the lead. The rich scent of wood stain fills the workshop, earthy and chemical at once.
After the success of the bookshelf, we had built on those lessons and turned our hand to an entry shoe rack and bench combo.
“That’s it. Keep it even.” Emily leans closer to inspect my work. “You want to follow the wood’s natural patterns.”
I dip the cloth into the can for more. “It’s amazing how much difference the stain makes.”
“That’s why I love working with pine. It transforms completely.” She touches an unstained edge. “You’ve come a long way from a crooked birdhouse.”
I snort. “My mother would be scandalized.”
“She should be proud.” She steps back, crossing her arms. “You’ve got an eye for this, Leif. Better than you give yourself credit for.”
The compliment warms me more than it should. “I’ll send her a picture once I can move the pieces into my cabin.”
“Then I’ll build you a place where you can showcase them.” She gestures toward our creation. “You’ll be filling the rack with your boots come January.”
My head lifts. “You think it will be so soon?”
“Should be,” she says. “The land is cleared, and we trenched and stubbed the utilities during Phase One. If not for the fire, we would have had you settled before the holidays.”
“That was the original plan when I applied for the job,” I acknowledge. “But life happens. The hotel isn’t all that bad. At least someone else does my cleaning and laundry.”
Her lips twitch. “Don’t like chores?”
I give her an incredulous look. “Does anyone?”
“I enjoy cooking, baking, and doing dishes. It’s meditative.” She lifts a shoulder. “Jared likes sweeping and laundry. I think he likes creating a pile and then making it go away.”
The mention of the other Alpha of this house pricks at me. “How’s he doing?”
She nudges the can of stain to remind me of the current task. “He still gets some assholes commenting in town, but things have quieted down a lot. People have other things to distract them.”
“Hopefully, it all blows over soon.” I shake my head. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“No, he didn’t.” Emily clears her throat. “You should definitely send a pic to your mom.”
I can’t help but feel proud of what we’ve accomplished. The shoe rack with bench combo and the small bookshelf with its three equally spaced shelves bear little resemblance to the pile of lumber we started with on Monday.
Emily taught me how to select the boards, checking for warping and knots. After only five days, I catch myself already planning what the next project will be.
“What about your parents?” I ask, looking up at Emily. “Are they proud of what you’ve accomplished?”
Emily’s brow furrows as she takes in the shop, the silence stretching a beat longer than before. “I like to think they would be. They passed away.”
My gut tightens. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
She lifts one shoulder. “It was a long time ago. After they passed, I finished my high school years in the foster system, which is where I learned about construction. They offered skill training for the older kids, so we wouldn’t be left homeless once we aged out of the system.”
I slow my hands, the cloth hovering over the wood. “That’s… a hell of a way to learn.”
Emily’s eyes drift to the far wall without seeing. “It kept me busy. Gave me a solid goal to strive toward.” She exhales through her nose. “And it turned out I had a knack for it.”
“That’s a good program to offer kids,” I say. “Not many places would do that.”
“The staff figured if they could get the kids interested in an occupation, they’d stick around long enough to finish school.”
“Did it work?” I ask.
A corner of her mouth lifts. “I stuck around for a while.” She taps the workbench with two fingers. “Dropped out, and then went back later. Took the long way around.”
“There’s no shame in taking your time,” I say. “Most people are still trying to figure things out.”
Her thoughtful gaze returns to me. “You included?”
“I’d like to say no, but it would be a lie.” One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Teaching has a way of reminding you there’s always more to learn.”
She nods once, as if that answers a question she hadn’t asked aloud. “You’re doing great with Quinn. She loves you.”
“Speaking of…” I check my watch and sigh. “I should finish this section and clean up. School dismissal is in forty minutes.”
“First week complete.” Emily brushes wood shavings from her work apron. “How did Quinn do?”
“Better than expected.” I apply stain to the final corner of the rack. “A few rough patches Monday and Tuesday, but by Wednesday she stopped calling with imaginary stomach aches.”
Emily laughs, the rich sound filling the shop. “Progress.”
“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?”
My pulse quickens at the confirmation I’ll be seeing her again after today, and whatever we’ve been building over the last week won’t end here.
“Tuesday works,” I say, while flutters start up beneath my ribcage. “I can come by after dropping Quinn at school.”
“It’s a plan.” Emily flips off the workshop lights, and as we step outside into the September afternoon, cool air washes over my skin.
“We should leave soon if we want to beat the dismissal rush,” I say, checking the time again. “The line can become a complete nightmare.”
“Wash up, and we’ll head out.” After I finish, Emily locks the workshop door, the key turning with a solid click.
As we head back toward the house, I find myself noticing the way sunlight catches in her silver hair and how, when I’m with her, I never feel pressured to fill the silence.
Five days ago, I couldn’t sand a straight edge. Now I’m building shelves and inviting Emily Wilson to join Quinn and me at the bookstore.
Small steps in different directions.
Both terrifying. Both strangely right.
As predicted, by the time we arrive, parents are already clustered near the brick entrance of Pinecrest Academy, their conversations creating a buzz of white noise that helps mask my unease.
Emily stands beside me, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, her body relaxed in a way I can’t quite manage. I scan the entrance for a familiar sandy-haired figure who might emerge at any moment.