Page 54 of Home Ice

By midnight, he’d slowed down, seating himself on the stool and finishing the food. I went upstairs and retrieved bottles of water for each of us.

I picked up the block plane he’d squared to the bench edge, and there was nothing wrong with it. I set it back down where he’d put it. He watched.

“I moved that,” Rafe said. “When did I move that?”

“Trier’s sister-in-law. Somewhere in the middle of that story.”

“I do it at home. My mom used to move things crooked on purpose to see how long it would take me to fix them. Nobody’s supposed to see me do it.”

“I see everything in this shop,” I said. “It’s part of the job.”

Rafe swallowed the last bite of bread and chased it with a mouthful of water. He walked over to the shelves I’d been oiling.

“These are the Ravenswood ones.”

I looked at him. “How do you know that?”

“You said you were making shelves for somebody in Ravenswood.”

That had been a week ago. I’d mentioned it once. He ran his eyes down the boards without touching them. “This is the oil?”

“First coat.”

“What happens after?”

“It sits overnight. Tomorrow I sand it back and do it again.”

“So you do all this twice,” Rafe said.

“Three times.”

“That’s a lot.”

“And you play eighty-two games.”

He considered that. “Okay.” He looked at me. “I should let you sleep.”

“You should,” I said, but I didn’t move.

Out on the street, a car went by, and its headlights traced a path across the ceiling.

Rafe looked tired, but not unhappy. Just used up after such a big game. He stepped forward, reached out to touch my jaw, and kissed me.

His mouth was on mine, warm and certain, and for a second I stood there like a struck post. Then I kissed him back. I placed a hand flat on his chest.

The kiss was brief, and we each took a step back.

I know how to respond to everything. It’s the one skill I’ve never had to work at. Clients cry in my shop, and I know what to say. Max tells me about his latest scheme, and I know how to respond.

I stood a foot away from Rafe, and I had nothing.

He was silent, too. He nodded once and then squared his shoulders, smoothing his shirt with his hands.

I let him get all the way to the door in silence.

He reached out for the latch and then stopped. “Thanks for the sandwich,” he said.

Then he was gone. His truck started, and the headlights swept across the storefront as he pulled out onto the street.