I caressed his cheek with the pad of my thumb and sat back. “Do you want a tour first? I can tell you all about tool belts, safety glasses, chisels, and saws, or…we can discuss the crib.”
“Uh…crib.” He touched his lips and huffed a laugh. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
Dexter shook his head, lowering his eyes bashfully. “Never mind. What’s the first step?”
“I need to know what you want it to look like. Do you have photos or an idea you can sketch? Also, what kind of wood? You have three choices—maple, oak, or cherry. They’re all very durable, very strong.”
“Um…okay.” He shifted on the stool and pulled his cell from his pocket. “I like this design.”
I nodded my approval. “I like that, too. Do you want the slats to be round or squared off?”
“Round. Can you make it so the crib adjusts according to the baby’s age?” Dexter pointed at his cell. “You can tell this crib is for an infant and this one—” He swiped to another photo. “—is for a toddler.”
“Yes. That’s easy. What about the headboard and footboard? I can make them larger or?—”
“No, I think I like it even all the way around. And as far as which wood is best, you’re the expert. I just want a natural finish.”
“This is a Scandinavian design,” I commented.
Dexter raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What makes it Scandinavian?”
“Clean lines, simple, functional, natural. No unnecessary frills.” I shrugged, adding, “It’s superior, you know?”
He chuckled. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“What can I do? I want to help if I can. I’m not a carpenter, but I’m a little bit handy.”
I wasn’t in the habit of doing group projects. I worked alone in my shop. Always. But these were extenuating circumstances, so…
“You can sand the wood.”
Dexter brightened. “I can do that. Should we start now?”
“Not quite. I don’t have the wood here. I need to mill it.”
“You mean you’re going to cut a tree specifically for this project?”
“No, the lumber has already been cut, but not into a shape I can work with. I’ll talk to Cooper and get his okay to pick some up tomorrow.”
“Great! Let me know how much it costs. I’ll pay you for time and material and?—”
“No, it’s a gift,” I intercepted, resting a hand on his shoulder as I skirted the workbench to retrieve the safety glasses I’d been wearing before Dexter had shown up.
“Viggo…”
“Don’t make it weird, Dexter,” I singsonged. “I offered, you said yes, end of discussion.”
“I didn’t intend for you to pay for it.”
I scoffed. “It costs nothing. Cooper won’t charge me, and this is…what I like to do.”
“Your happy place?” he suggested.
“Yes.” I put my gloves on and pulled a bin from a nearby shelf. “I make what I want—sell some, keep some. This is fun for me.”
