“Are you done?” he asked, the tendons in his neck straining.
“It’s impossible to say.” I covered my growing smile with both hands. “I never really meant to start, but the jokes write themselves.”
“At least you tried,” he said, shifting the load in his hands with a grunt.
“Do you need me to get the door?” I asked as he attempted to heft the mass to one hip.
“If you aren’t too busy amusing yourself.”
I snorted.
“The key is on my hip,” he said.
I had to bend awkwardly to avoid brushing his arms and toppling the load as I maneuvered the carabiner holding the keys from a belt loop on the front of his jeans. I would not risk an accidental junk brush. Not with all the wood jokes hanging in the air.
“This door you lock?” I asked with cheek, because why not poke the bear instead of thinking about where my hands were?
“There are a lot of very expensive tools in here,” he said, winded. “I trust my neighbors, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Fair enough.”
“Any chance you could hurry it along?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Yep. Sorry. Almost got it. Okay, there we go.” I unlocked the sliding door and bent down to pull it up. I jumped on my tiptoes to push it all the way open.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
There was a large space in the middle of the floor where he had to carefully squat—that stupid word again—to set the piece down with a groan. His thighs stretched the seams of his jeans to capacity. When he stood, he stretched his back and cracked his neck.
A light flickered to life, and I spotted Ripley under a pile of blankets on a large doggy bed in the corner. The whole space was filled with large saws and power tools, as well as pieces of wood in various states of completion. The air smelled like sawdust and something sharper, maybe varnish? I thought back to some of the pieces I’d seen in his house.
“Whoa,” I said again. “You are an artist.”
He mumbled something and busied himself, dusting his hands on his jeans.
“I’m not sure what I expected when you said woodwork. Like maybe those bears made of tree trunks you always see for sale on the side of the road. Or maybe tables or something. But not this.” Along the back wall were several pieces I wanted to explore but was afraid I was already pushing it.
He went to the wall and flicked a switch that caused a couple of space heaters to hum to life.
He came to stand by my side. I remained standing in the middle of the workspace, my shocked eyes never settling in one place, desperate to learn everything I could about this fascinating discovery. I was all but bouncing on my feet to go look closer at the various sculptures. “I’ve never met a bona fide workingartist, especially not a sculptor.”
He cleared his throat. “You, uh, want to see?—”
“Yes, please,” I responded before he even finished the question.
He chuckled lightly and scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay. But remember, most of these aren’t done.”
“Tell me everything.” That familiar tingle of a new fixation gave me a boost of adrenaline.
He looked down at me, and a hesitant, almost worried look furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not. I want to know everything.” I could picture my eyes sparkling like a cartoon with sincerity as I looked up at him, hands clasped hopefully under my chin.
His gaze moved between them, then moved to my mouth briefly before moving on. I licked my lips without meaning to, but he quickly looked elsewhere. I ignored the fluttering in my chest.
His shoulders relaxed as he stepped toward one corner and began to explain his whole process, from looking for a good wood—heh—to the tools he used and how he worked with the natural flow of material. His hands were deep in his pockets as he spoke slowly, with quiet, bridled passion at first. As he grew more comfortable, he’d get lost in a tangent, speed up, and start using his hands expressively, but as soon as he caught himself, he pulled back to that cool demeanor. It was like there was this excited little nut trying to break free but who had been censured before and learned to keep some things at bay.
I looked up at him, soaking in every detail. Nodding andasking questions, I tried to understand as much as I could in a short time. Nothing was cooler to me than a person who was deeply good at something, no matter the subject. Humans were so cool when they found their happy niches to learn everything about. I could never settle on one thing. I wanted to know something about everything. People who had enough patience to become experts were fascinating.
