Chapter 8 - Craig #2
I turned the page and pointed to the number. He nodded and passed over a credit card.
“Let me call Oscar down, and I’ll meet you at the loading dock to help,” I said as I slid the signed slip into the drawer.
“I can handle it.”
“You already said you’d be unloading by yourself. Why make more work here when it’s slow enough I can help?”
He chuckled, and the smile reached his eyes. “Touché.”
I grinned. “Drive on back, and I’ll be right there.”
“Ok.”
I called Oscar down, then forced myself not to sprint through the warehouse to the loading dock.
The forklift operator was just setting the load beside Randy’s truck when I arrived, and my omega was standing in the bed, laying out ratchet straps.
The afternoon sun landed on him and made his skin appear to glow—highlighting his strong arms and the texture of his beard.
I shook my head before I could become so entranced that I’d forget I was there to help.
His personal scrap bucket sat on the tailgate, and I could make an educated guess as to its purpose. “Stickers in the bucket?” I asked as I set it on the ground.
He nodded.
“How about you stay up there and organize,” I suggested. “I’ll hand you boards.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Works for me.”
I eyed the stack. “These look like eight-foot lengths. Will they fit?”
“Yep. I can even close the tailgate.”
“Three-quarter ton?”
He laughed as I passed over the first board. “Half.”
“You think it’ll only take three loads?” I asked as he settled the board against one of the wheel wells.
“Oh yeah.” He stood and patted the cab roof. “She looks old, but she can handle it.”
I nodded. “Ok.”
“So I thought you were a turner,” I continued as I handed him the next board. “What’s with all the planks?”
“Turning is what I love to do,” he replied. “But charcuterie and cutting boards sell faster than thousand-dollar bowls. So I supplement with them.”
I eyed the load and remembered there were two more.
“You sell that many?”
He accepted another board and nodded. “Between gift shops, a few markets, online orders, and catering services, they do pretty well. Plus, there are other projects thrown in.”
“Fancy river tables?”
He snorted. “I might make a river board, but furniture really isn’t my thing.”
I picked up the next board and noticed details in the wood that would pop as soon as a finish was applied. I passed it over. “Oscar said the trees were yours?”
“Yep. Got eighteen acres of forest facing Sable Lake. I take down anywhere between fifteen and twenty trees a year, sometimes a few more.”
I furrowed my brow. “There’s no way fifteen trees was this little.”
He doubled over in laughter. “Oh hell no. I cut some into oval flats, others I prepare for turning. But most of it becomes firewood for my cabin.”
“Sounds like you have a place to dry it all then. Why have us do it?”
He stood, stretched his back, then smiled down at me. “Got one of those lasers a few years back. Turns out people like having their names burned into the wood. Suddenly, I was going through it faster than it was drying. I decided it was worth the investment to do it this way.”
I nodded, then grabbed another plank. “And the eight-foot length? Do you sell enough this long?”
Another burst of laughter.
It was wonderful—a sound I wanted to hear every day.
“I sell one or two six-footers a year for banquet services. But it’s better to have wood to cut down than boards shorter than I need. I think there’s also a load of four and six-foot lengths. Had some gambel oak that came down and gave me some nice straight sections.”
“You got gambel long enough for six?”
“Naw, I think they maxed at four. But I’ll take ‘em.”
I grinned. “I hear ya. They’re more like overgrown bushes than trees.”
“Ain’t that the truth, but they’re gorgeous when I get pieces big enough to work with.”
We continued the small talk as I passed him boards. The suspension creaked, and the tires looked swollen from the weight on them as we finished and he secured the load.
I handed him the bucket with stickers and the additional bag I’d gotten for him. He nestled them in and closed the squeaky tailgate.
I swallowed, realizing he was about to leave. “You sure you don’t need a hand unloading?” I asked. “We close in a few hours, and…”
He waved me off. “Nobody will be around to help when it’s time to work with them. Gotta lug them around by myself then, so it makes sense to do it myself now.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a problem.”
“I got it, but thanks for offering.”
“Sure.”
I grabbed the pallet and moved it out of the way as he climbed into his truck. The suspension creaked a bit as he started off, but—as he’d said—the old thing seemed to handle it fine.
The echo of gravel under tires lingered longer than it should have as he rounded the building and exited the parking lot.
He was gone again—my only consolation was knowing that he’d be back the next day to pick up more wood.
∞∞∞
Sweat drenched my shirt, but—more importantly—it drenched Randy’s. Fabric clung to him in ways that were sure to fuel my fantasies.
Oppressive summer heat had settled over the area just as he’d come back for his final load. And though the boards were the promised shorter lengths, the oak was a heavy enough wood that it wasn’t much of a difference.
The truck wasn’t as low as I passed over the final board, and I decided to press my luck. “Gonna browse while you’re here?”
He glanced at the load. “I can probably fit a bit more.”
I grinned. “How about I get you some water from the break room while you drive around?”
He smiled at me. “That… would actually be great. Thanks.”
“See you up there then.”
I grabbed the pallet and carried it back, then headed to the break room. I found a small stash of paper cups under the sink, and got both him and I some water from the dispenser.
He was just walking in as I entered the main showroom, and we both veered to the counter. I gave him a cup, and we both downed them in silence.
“Thank you,” he said with a sigh as he set the empty cup on the counter.
“Need more?” I asked. “It was scorching out there.”
“Give me a minute to decide,” he replied with a chuckle.
“No prob.”
He nodded and started to take a step back.
“I… ummm…” I started.
He paused.
I scratched the back of my neck. “I felt bad that I didn’t have anything good for you last time. So I’ve been setting aside some small pieces that I thought you might like.”
“You didn’t have to,” he replied with a laugh. “Some days the pickins are slim.”
“But I wanted to.”
There was a beat of silence, and his expression changed slightly. Then he nodded. “Well… I might as well take a look.”
I pulled out the plastic bin, careful to keep the scrawled label facing away from him, and his eyes went wide.
“This is way too much,” he protested. “Did you leave anything for other customers?”
I smiled. “I left plenty for them.”
He reached in and pulled out a piece of curly maple. His thumb traced over the grain, and he set it on the counter with a nod before pulling a second piece out, then a third—each one making his mental ‘keep’ pile.
He sighed. “You have a good eye.”
“Is that a compliment,” I teased, “or are you mad that you don’t get to mass reject them?”
“How about you make yourself useful and grab me one of those scrap buckets,” he sassed back.
I laughed, rounded the counter, and grabbed one of the buckets. I also wheeled a flat cart over and stopped it beside him.
“Thank you,” he said as he dropped his already-approved pieces into the bucket.
I pulled over the stool and perched on it while he went through my collection. Piece after piece seemed to satisfy him, with only a few pushed to the side as rejects.
His scent surrounded me, and I basked in his presence. My inner alpha was thrilled that he’d found so many of my selections acceptable.
Finally, he reached the bottom of the plastic bin, and I had to guess three-quarters—if not more—of the pieces had made it into his bucket.
He looked down and sighed. “Thanks, but I don’t have a ton of room left for anything I find in the big bin.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “Guess I overdid it.”
He cast me a mischievous smile. “At least I didn’t have to reject them all.”
I returned the smile as he turned to dig for more treasures. “More water?”
“I’m good for now, thanks.”
“Let me know. I’m going to get some more, but I’ll be right back.”
He nodded. “Ok.”
I headed back and let out a shuddering breath as soon as the door separating the showroom from the admin area closed behind me.
My omega had mostly accepted my efforts, and it felt like I’d cleared a huge hurdle.
Though, he’d also set subtle limits. He’d indicated two different times that there was too much.
That meant I needed to be more discerning.
I started toward the break room again, downed another cup of water, then returned to the front.
I’d take a better look at Randy’s finds when he was ready to check out. What did he find worthy of buying when he had his own trees available?
The next time he came in, I’d have fewer treasures for him, but hopefully better ones.