As the room fills, Ada and Isabel beeline over to snag the other side of our table, along with Rosetta, the library director. They prove my point about the demographic in here. Their hairstyles range from Ada’s bob to Rosetta’s cornrows twisted into an elegant high bun, but they’re all firmly on the gray side. No shame in a life well lived, of course, but if Cassie’s looking to meet people our age, her options in here are limited.
“Rose,” Ada says, settling on a molded plastic chair. “We were hoping you’d be here tonight.”
“We’re overdue for a catch-up.” Isabel’s eyes sparkle at me. I can guess what they want to chat about. They’re sweethearts, but their favorite subject is everyone else’s business.
I introduce them to Cassie, hoping for her sake she doesn’t have a fresh source of gossip for them to sniff out. She tells them about her recent move from Portland and her work coordinating weddings at the lodge, when a large figure looms in the doorway on the opposite side of the room. I look up to see Reed watching me like he’s five seconds from walking straight out of the library again.
My heart rate kicks up, and a massive grin splits my face. I don’t know what he’s doing here, but my veins are suddenly pumping with fizzy soda. I wave him closer, and some of the wariness eases out of his expression. He lumbers over, squeezing between chairs and tables to reach me. All eyes in the room follow him, along with the sigh of whispers. Men don’t usually turn up to craft night.
Young, devastatingly handsome men who look they should be chopping down trees to build a cabin in the woods? Never.
He pulls a chair around to the end of the table next to me.When he sinks onto it, he glances around the room once before his gaze locks on mine. Ada, Isabel, and Rosetta wear similar knowing smiles. It’s hard to focus on their smirks when I’m this locked in on the man beside me.
“You changed your mind.” It comes out a little awestruck, but I can’t help that now.
He lifts a shoulder. “You wore me down.”
My smile has passed “pleasantly surprised” and moved straight into “all I need is some face paint and a clown nose” levels, but I can’t do a thing about it. Reed’s mouth quirks with pleasure of his own. It’s not quite time to whip out my bird-watching notebook, but we’re inching nearer all the time.
Cassie leans closer and drops her voice. “You were saying something about a rugged Christmas tree farmer?”
We laugh softly together. Fine. Maybe there’s a reason I have men in flannel on the brain.
Pamela walks us through how to do the craft—trace an image onto the picture frame glass using black puffy paint, then fill in the “mosaics” with transparent glass paint. She has a lot of simple pictures printed out for us to choose from, along with a few complex ones for the more ambitious among us. I pick a sun coming over a mountain peak with rays extending into the sky that looks medium-hard to complete.
Reed picks a rooster. The man could not be cuter.
The room hums with chatter as we start working on our projects. Pamela slowly walks among the tables, offering advice as needed. Just like every month, someone pipes up to ask if anyone brought a bottle of wine, to titters of laughter.
I know it’s a whole thing, but tipsy painting sounds like it’d be a mess.
“I didn’t know you liked doing crafts, Reed.” Ada can’t stop smirking at the two of us.
“I do some woodworking.” His hands are remarkably steady as he traces the image onto his glass pane. My black tracing workalready has bubbly clumps from dragging the paint tip at varying speeds.
“Women love a man who’s skilled with his hands,” Isabel says. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”
Rosetta rolls her eyes at her friend. Cassie snickers softly. I focus on my tracing like I’m concentrating much too hard to hear what Isabel said. Beneath the table, Reed’s knee presses against mine.
Everyone at this table is determined to make me blush.
“Speaking of skilled hands,” Cassie says with a little cough. “Does anyone have a good local handyman recommendation? I need some help with a few projects around my house.”
“Is it just you, then?” Ada looks up from her half-completed geometric pattern. “Did you move down by yourself, or with a…?”
She leaves the options open. Boyfriend? Husband? Wife? Various dogs and farm animals?
“It’s just me. I don’t mind DIY, but I don’t have time for all these projects.”
“Are you in a fixer-upper?” Rosetta asks.
“More than I expected. I toured it twice before I bought it, but you learn a lot once you’re actually living in it.”
Ada shares a glance with each of her friends. “Why don’t you stop in and ask Luke at Bridger Hardware?”
“Luke is always so helpful,” Isabel adds. “He’ll be able to handle any project you have.”
Reed pauses his work to look up. “Luke’s not a handyman.”
