4. Chapter 4
Jake
Itold Ava I could have the display finished in two days. I didn’t tell her I’m beginning on it this afternoon.
By five, the Jefferson Street crew has packed up, the power tools are locked inside the trailer, and everyone with better plans has gone home.
I should do the same. Instead, I drive to the Dalton Restoration shop on the edge of town and stand in front of the reclaimed lumber racks, considering wood grain as seriously as if I am choosing material for a courthouse restoration.
A simple display would be enough. Three shelves, sturdy supports, a finish that can be wiped clean. Ava needs something functional, portable, and ready before the Forge Creek celebration. I pull out several different boards before finding the right ones.
The oak came from the old Mercantile building after a burst pipe destroyed part of the second floor.
The boards are more than a hundred years old, marked by small nail holes and darker streaks where shelving once rested against them.
We salvaged everything we could before the damaged section was rebuilt.
Most people would see scarred wood. Ava will see character. At least, I hope she will.
I run my hand across the grain and picture it filled with her creations.
Items arranged with the same care she gives the bakery case.
When she described what she wanted, her entire face changed.
The guarded woman who monitors muddy boots disappeared for a few seconds, replaced by someone excited enough to forget she is supposed to be cautious around me.
I want to see that expression again. That is one of the reasons I sketch a curved header for the top shelf instead of keeping the design basic.
It is also the only reason I measure the width twice, adjust the spacing to accommodate bakery trays, and add removable metal brackets so the entire unit can break down for transport.
None of this has anything to do with the fact that Ava smiled at me or my intense attraction to her.
The work distracts me from thinking so much of her and more on the task ahead. I carefully measure, cut, and ensemble checking the fit.
When I hold wood in my hands, it tells me what it can support. Metal bends at predictable points. If something does not sit level, there is a reason, and the reason can usually be found. People are more complicated.
A woman can be delighted that I am building something for her and irritated that I noticed she needed it.
She can smile at me while warning me not to mention her door hinge.
She can make me want to stay in a bakery long after I have finished my coffee, then look at me as though I am one inch away from being banned for life.
The next evening
Now, it’s all about the finishing touches on this display. The dark metal supports give it the industrial character I wanted without making it look heavy. The three oak tiers are broad enough for Ava’s trays, and the sections lock together without visible hardware.
Across the curved piece at the top, I burn two words into the wood.
SWEET TREATS
I stare at the lettering after I finish. That was not part of the original plan. Neither was the small apple carved beside it. I could sand both away, but I apply the food-safe finish instead.
The next afternoon, I load the completed pieces into my truck and recruit Cole to help me carry them. He asks no questions, which is proof he intends to save all of them for later.
Sweet Treats closes at five. At five-oh-three, we arrive. Ava unlocks the front door and waves us inside.
Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders instead of being twisted into its usual bun, and she has traded her apron for a soft green sweater that follows the curves of her body more closely than anything I have seen her wear.
I nearly miss the mat. Her gaze drops to my boots. I wipe them … twice.
“Thank you,” she says.
“I’m trainable.”
“We’ll see.”
Cole coughs into his fist behind me, but not before doing the same with his own boots.
We carry the display sections inside and begin assembling them near the front window.
Ava circles us while we work, trying to see without getting in the way.
She lasts less than a minute before kneeling beside me.
“Can I help?”
“Hold this steady.”
Ava grips the side support while I secure the upper tier. Her fingers are close to mine. Her hands are soft-looking but stronger than I expected. She braces the wood exactly where I ask.
“You’re good at taking directions,” I say.
“Do not become accustomed to it.”
Cole turns away, but his shoulders move. I make a mental note to assign him every unpleasant job available next week. Once the final bracket is locked into place, I step back.
The display fills the front corner without overwhelming it. The aged oak warms the bakery’s cream walls and connects naturally with the exposed brick. When Ava sees the burned lettering, she goes very still.
“You added my name.”
“The bakery’s name.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her fingers trace the small carved apple.
I suddenly feel less certain than I did when I designed the entire thing.
“If you don’t like it, I can remove that section.”
Her head lifts. “Why would I want you to remove it?”
“I didn’t ask first.”
The corner of her mouth curves. “Look at you, learning about permission.”
“I have occasional breakthroughs.”
She walks around the display again, testing each shelf with her palm and examining the brackets. I wait for her to find something wrong. Ava appears to believe perfection can be achieved if a person is willing to inspect something long enough.
Instead, she turns toward me with the expression I have been hoping to see for two days.
“This is better than I imagined.”
“You really like it?”
“I love it.”
Ava throws her arms around me. The movement is so unexpected that I stand there for half a second before placing my hands carefully against her back.
She fits against me with distracting softness, her cheek near my chest and her hair brushing my jaw.
She smells like apples and cinnamon. Then she seems to realize what she has done.
Ava steps back quickly, smoothing both hands over her sweater. “That was an expression of professional gratitude.”
“Of course.”
“Not an invitation to become unbearable.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Cole clears his throat loudly. “I’ll be in the truck.”
He is through the door before I can stop him. Ava’s cheeks turn pink. She looks toward the display rather than at me.
“I have something for you.”
She walks behind the counter and returns with a muffin on a small plate. The top is covered with cinnamon streusel, thin apple slices, and a cream cheese drizzle.
“Apple crisp cheesecake,” she says. “I’m testing it for the celebration.”
I take a bite. The inside is soft, warm with cinnamon, and richer than the caramel apple muffin. A layer of cream cheese runs through the center.
Ava watches me closely. “Well?”
I take another bite.
“You can put this one on the top shelf.”
Her shoulders relax. “That good?”
“Better.”
She smiles again and I already know I will spend more time than I should trying to make her look at me that way again.
Ava picks up an envelope from the counter. “Receipts for the materials?”
“In my truck.”
“I want them tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrow, but the smile remains. I finish the muffin and glance toward the front door. The loose hinge is worse again. Really needed more time and screws put into the repair. Ava notices where I am looking and immediately points toward the exit.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
I leave the hinge alone … for tonight.