Page 14 of Home Ice

Max: “we” is me and Rafe. keeping you informed. transparency is the foundation of brotherhood

Max: also. before you see this somewhere else, I want to be the one to show you this

He shared a link that connected to a photo. It was last night, outside the restaurant. Max wore his cream coat, and he tucked himself in against a hockey player the size of a barn door. Both were laughing at something. The hockey player had his hand on Max’s waist.

The caption read polite player from the Canadian prairie found himself a Chicago boy. It drew thousands of hearts and likes.

The phone buzzed one more time.

Max: you’re doing the face at your phone right now. the joint you’re working on can feel it. wood holds tension, you told me that

It was ten to one. I had a little over an hour if they arrived at two. I could get the rest of the tails sawn and maybe the waste chopped out of the first corner.

I picked the saw back up.

They arrived four minutes later.

The bell over the door hadn’t finished its first note before I heard Max’s voice.

”—and this is the shop. Yes, it is amazing. He built half of what you’re about to see. Act natural.“ He came in walking backward, holding the door with his shoulder, wearing a rust-colored sweater I hadn’t seen before. “Niko. We’re early. Before you look at the clock, remember time is a human construct.”

“You said two.”

“Practice ended, and the man was standing there, showered and available. Then the bakery line was short. All the signs pointed towards early arrival. You take the earlier plane when it’s offered.” He moved to the side, and Rafe Mikkelsen stepped forward.

He was tall, with broad shoulders; his complexion fair, with pink across the cheekbones from the cold air outside. He carried a bakery box in front of him with both hands, as if it contained precious jewels.

“Mr. Gregory,” he said. “Thanks for letting us stop by.”

“It’s Niko. The other one’s also Mr. Gregory.”

“Niko.” He balanced the box in one hand and offered the other to shake. “I’m Rafe.”

I shook it. The grip was perfectly firm, not crushing and not limp.

“These are for you.” He held out the box. “Max recommended the cherry ones.”

I looked at my brother.

“He asked what to get,” Max said. “I consulted. That’s what I do. I’m a consultant.”

“Thanks,” I said, and took the box, setting it on the end of the bench.

Rafe stood just inside the door with his hands loose at his sides and looked around the shop. He turned in a slow half-circle. “This is a great space.” It was a compliment delivered with underlying warmth.

“It works,” I said, and went back to the bench.

Behind me, Max picked up the tour without missing a step. “Okay, so, clamp wall, which is alphabetized.” He laughed. “It’s not alphabetized. They’re arranged by size, but I tell people it’s alphabetized to see their faces.” He gestured. “That’s the wood rack. Do not lean on the wood rack. I leaned on it once three years ago, and I’m still hearing about it.”

“You knocked over eleven hundred dollars of quartersawn oak,” I said.

“I interacted with it.”

I picked up the saw and checked my line for the third tail. Max pointed out Grandma’s chest. Rafe followed him across the room with unhurried steps on the concrete floor.

“Niko does full restorations. That sideboard by the door is a hundred years old. The client cried a little when he saw it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Rafe said.