Page 30 of Off the Trail

“They have classes and stuff. Let’s go check it out.”

Chapter 12

Shawn

Blaze gets out of the truck before I can put up any argument, so I have to follow. I’m just happy to be with him. I don’t know what’s inside the narrow storefront, but I’m excited to find out.

In turns out to hold dozens of wooden display shelves and tables full of handmade wood items, all for sale. The options range from decorative, like little carved bears on their hind legs, to functional pieces such as cutting boards and breadboxes.

We’re greeted by a small, slightly stooped man without a single hair on his head. “Is that Blaze Hardy?” he asks, craning his neck so he can look us in the eye.

Until now, I didn’t know Blaze’s last name. I like it. Solid and sturdy, like him.

“That’s me, Joe,” he says. “I brought someone who’s interested in woodworking. You got any classes coming up?”

“Shawn Camden,” I say, offering the man a hand, which he shakes with surprising vigor. Stooped he may be, but he’s strong.

“Shawn,” Joe says in acknowledgment. “Well, we’ve got a weekly beginner class starting next week; runs through the week before Christmas.”

It sounds awesome, but I can hardly expect to be at the retreat two months from now.

“And we’ve got a class tomorrow, in fact. Stool building.”

“Got room for one more?” Blaze asks.

“You have eighty bucks, I have room for one more,” Joe says, looking at me. “You got any experience?”

“I took woodshop in college, but that was a long time ago,” I confess.

“It’ll come back to you. Bring work gloves if you have ’em. Two o’clock.”

Blaze grins. “Great, he’ll be there.”

I can’t think of a reason to turn down the offer, so I smile at Joe. “If that’s okay.”

“Just said it was, didn’t I?” he says with New England saltiness. “Holler if you need something.” He retreats to the back of the room where work benches are lined up, with a few in-progress pieces on some of them.

“It’s a workshop in the back and a retail space here in the front,” Blaze explains. “They sell pieces made by their students and by Joe’s wife. Cora’s an award-winning artist.”

I browse the pieces on display, see a couple of items I wouldn’t mind having in my own kitchen at home. One of the simple but impeccably crafted trunks would make a terrific gift for Callie, too.

“This place is incredible,” I murmur to Blaze. “You came up with this on the spur of the moment?”

“Well, you mentioned woodworking. My dad was friends with Joe and Cora. They taught him everything he knew.”

“Well, thanks for thinking of it.” How does Blaze always know the exact thing I need right when I need it? Having something constructive to do with my hands is appealing. “Wait—I don’t have any work gloves.”

“You can borrow a pair of mine,” he says, like it’s nothing. He glances at my hands, frowns. “Unless they won’t fit. Your hands are enormous.”

I hold one up. “My secret weapon. Makes it easier to catch the ball. But they can’t be much bigger than yours.” Impulsively, I grab his hand and press our palms together. My fingers are longer, but our palms are roughly the same size. His skin is warm against mine, and it feels good. “See?”

He looks at me without saying anything, and it reminds me of the moment on the couch after we’d finished the movie when it almost seemed like he wanted something from me. Like maybe he wanted to do something to me.

He had a boyfriend in college.

And I can’t stop thinking about if his beard would be scratchy or soft against my face.

I drop my hand quickly.