Chapter Eight – Spencer
Well, that didn’t go well, his bear said as Spencer drove away from Pine Cottage and headed down toward town.
No, it didn’t, Spencer agreed, fighting the temptation to turn the truck around and go straight back.
She’s overwhelmed, his bear countered. We could have been gentler about it.
Spencer gripped the steering wheel tighter as he guided the truck down the mountain road. I can’t be gentle about a structural beam that’s about to fail, he muttered.
His bear huffed. It’s not just about the beam, though, is it?
No, Spencer replied. It isn’t.
He pictured his mate’s face when he’d told her about the extent of the damage to the beam. Meryl had looked cornered, as if the split beam had opened up something more than the porch itself.
By the time he pulled into the lot outside Grayson’s Hardware & Supply, he’d begun to see Meryl’s side of things.
That didn’t mean he agreed with her, though.
He got out of the truck and headed around the side of the store.
Frank was out back near the delivery area, checking over a fresh stack of timber.
“Spencer,” Frank called, setting down his clipboard. “Twice in one week. Must be serious.”
Spencer nodded. “It is. I need to price a main support beam. Six-by-eight, pressure-treated. Full length for a porch.”
Frank let out a low whistle. “Pine Cottage?”
“Afraid so. I found a split running most of the length. Rot’s set in.”
Frank nodded and jerked his head toward the covered back section where the longer lengths of timber were stacked. “Sorry to hear that. That porch is one of the best features of the cottage. The views are amazing.”
“They are,” Spencer agreed.
Especially when our mate is standing on it, his bear teased.
So true, Spencer said, his bad mood gone as he remembered sitting by Meryl’s side, eating blueberry muffins and drinking coffee.
They walked between the stacks, the smell of treated wood sharp and familiar. This was what Spencer understood. Straight timber. Sound grain.
What you like, his bear began, is that wood doesn’t argue back.
But mates do, Spencer replied, and sometimes they have reason.
Frank ran his hand along one of the beams. “This what you need?”
Spencer checked it for straightness, knots, and twist. The wood felt cool and solid beneath his hands, exactly as it should.
“This’ll work,” he said. “How much for the full sixteen feet?”
Frank did the figures and wrote the quote down. Spencer looked at the number and understood, all over again, why Meryl had gone pale. It was not outrageous for what it was. But if you were already counting costs, that did not matter.
“That’s if you pick it up,” Frank said, handing him the slip. “Delivery’s extra.”
Spencer folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“She’s making progress, then?” Frank asked.
“More than she thinks.”
Frank gave a quick nod. “Sometimes it can be hard to see what’s right in front of us.”
Spencer was not sure if Frank meant the cottage or its owner, and he did not ask.
Instead, he got in his truck and headed home, even though all his primal instincts told him to go back to Pine Cottage.
Home for Spencer was a small cabin set back from the road behind a stand of aspens, with the workshop behind it, bigger than the house and far better used. He parked, got out, and headed straight for it.
You’re avoiding her, his bear accused.
I’m giving her space, Spencer said. And myself.
The workshop door stuck for a second as he pushed it open before giving way. Inside, the place smelled of sawdust, oil, and old timber. Tools hung where he had left them. The bench was still cluttered with the remains of last week’s job.
This was where things made sense to him.
He crossed to the far corner where he kept his hardwoods, his hand passing over cherry, maple, and walnut before stopping at the quarter-sawn oak he had been saving for something special.
You know why you’re here, his bear said.
I’m checking inventory, Spencer muttered, pulling out a board and setting it on the bench.
His bear snorted.
Spencer ignored him as he examined the wood. The grain was straight and clean, with the kind of figure that would come alive once it was finished properly. He had bought it years ago but had never used it because it was too good to waste on just anything.
He reached for his tape measure.
Measurements for a window seat, his bear observed smugly.
Spencer paused. She might not even stay long enough to use it.
But the house needs the window seat whether she stays or not, his bear replied. And so do you. Because this window seat will be a part of Pine Cottage forever. A symbol of the time you have spent there with Meryl.
That landed harder than Spencer wanted it to. He didn’t want this window seat to be a symbol of their time together but a part of their lives together.
He drew the first rough lines on a pad. Side panels. Seat. Storage beneath. The proportions came back to him as he worked. He had paid close attention when she touched the ruined wood. The way she’d trailed her fingers across the rotten frame had demanded it.
So engrossed was he in his work that he didn’t sense someone approaching. He didn’t know anyone was there until the workshop door opened behind him.
“I hoped I might find you here,” Leo said, stepping inside. He carried a foil-covered dish in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
Spencer looked up. “What’s that?” he asked hopefully as his stomach growled.
“Pasta bake,” Leo said, setting it down on the corner of the bench.
“But not just any pasta bake. I used the last of those San Marzano tomatoes I told you about, plus the basil that won’t stop growing.
There’s garlic bread too. I made too much, and since you always need feeding, according to Mom, I thought I’d bring some over. ”
Spencer gave a short snort. “She knows me too well. And so do you.”
Leo peered over his shoulder. “What’s this?”
“Window seat.” Spencer kept drawing, adding details for the joinery. “For Pine Cottage.”
“For Pine Cottage?” Leo asked, opening the paper bag and setting the garlic bread beside the dish. “I heard Hilda’s place finally had someone in it. Funny thing to prioritize when the porch is falling down.”
Spencer set down his pencil and took the fork Leo handed him. “It’s a side project.”
Leo leaned against the bench, unwrapping his own portion, because good food always tasted better shared. “A side project?”
Spencer finally looked up. “The porch is structural. This is...” He trailed off.
“This is what?” Leo prompted, taking a bite.
Spencer set his pencil down. “This is something she might want to keep.”
Understanding crossed Leo’s face. “Ah. She.”
“Don’t start,” Spencer warned.
Leo raised his hands. “Didn’t say a word.”
Ask him for advice, his bear urged. He knows about mates.
Spencer took a bite of the pasta bake to buy time. The tomatoes were rich and sweet, the basil sharp, the garlic bread still warm enough to steam when he tore it apart. The food grounded him.
“I found my mate,” he said finally. The words still felt strange in his mouth.
Leo did not look surprised. “Meryl?”
Spencer nodded. Of course, word had gotten around that he was spending all his time over at Pine Cottage.
“And how’s that going?” Leo asked.
“We argued about a beam today.” Damn, that sounded so stupid when he said the words out loud.
Leo’s mouth twitched. “Romantic.”
“She wanted a patch job. I told her it needed replacing,” Spencer explained.
“And?”
Spencer looked down at the sketch again. “And she wanted to cut corners, and that’s not me.”
Leo was quiet for a moment. “I see.”
“I thought we were arguing because we saw it differently. Now I think she’s just overwhelmed.” Spencer scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I should have seen it. She is my mate after all.”
“That doesn’t mean you can read her mind,” Leo replied. “Or that she can read yours.”
Spencer frowned. “I thought it would be easier. You know?”
Leo took another bite and pointed the fork at him. “The mate bond doesn’t work like that. You’re still two people getting to know each other.”
His bear rumbled. He’s right. We’re not opposites. We just don’t know each other well enough yet.
Spencer looked at the oak board lying on the bench. “I know that now.”
Leo’s gaze dropped to the sketch. “Is this your makeup present?”
Spencer sighed. “I want her to see that Pine Cottage is the perfect place for her. For us. That it would make a beautiful home.”
Leo smiled faintly. “She will.”
Spencer let out a breath. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am,” Leo insisted. “Fate chose her for you. And you for her. You’ll figure it out.”
“Unless she leaves first.”
“She won’t,” Leo said easily. “I bet all my prized heirloom tomatoes on it.”
Spencer picked at the edge of the paper. “I wish I shared your confidence. It’s like she can’t wait to leave.”
“Then you will find a way to make her stay.” Leo’s expression was serious as he added, “If not, you’ll follow her wherever she goes.”
No, his bear said, hating the idea of leaving Bear Creek.
But they both knew Leo was right. It didn’t matter whether they lived in Pine Cottage, the city, or under a tree.
His life was wherever Meryl was.
And that’s all he needed to make her see.