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“Don’t you look nice,” he says when I slip into the passenger seat.
“Thank you. And I appreciate you taking me to Bran’s studio,” I say.
“It’s no trouble. I’ve got to run by the hardware store, and it’s on the way.”
He drops me at the door and waits until Bran unlocks the door and escorts me inside before he drives away.
Bran
Ilock the door behind her, take her hand, and lead her to the workshop, stopping at the swinging doors.
She looks confused for a moment until I look up and she follows my gaze.
“Mistletoe,” she mutters.
I take her face in my hands—it’s the first time I’m able to use both of them—and I guide her mouth to mine. This time, I don’t hold back, and I kiss her thoroughly before I release her mouth. I reach up and snatch a white berry and place it in my pocket.
She shakes her head and walks past me to the table on my side of the shop.
I join her, and she examines the piece I’m currently working on.
“It’s a tree of life with the lumber company’s logo carved at its roots.”
“It’s huge.”
“That’s what she said,” I crack.
She gives me a look.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Marty ordered a six-inch-diameter globe featuring the tree with a music box that plays ‘The Christmas Waltz’ and a light feature to reflect the white snow and iridescent glitter.”
I take one of the completed globes from the box behind us and unwrap it. “This is what the finished product looks like.”
She takes it in her hand and winds the music box, which prompts the light feature to glow. Giving it a good shake, she watches with rapt attention as the glitter illuminates and dances to the sound of the waltz.
“It’s spectacular. I can’t believe you hand-blow this glass; it’s so clear.”
“It took a lot of practice. Each one is unique; no two globes match exactly. But only a trained eye would catch the difference.”
“I’m awed,” she says.
“I aim to impress,” I tell her.
“How many do you have left to do?”
“I have all the bases carved, and the stain has to set. I’ll start on the glass tomorrow, so we can go,” I reply.
“Sounds good.”
I shut everything off and lock up the studio before leading her to the sidewalk for the short trek to Nawab, the new Indian restaurant down the street.
“I hope you like Indian. I’ve been dying to try this place,” I say as I open the door for her.
“I love it.”
I made a reservation, so the hostess immediately seats us at a candlelit booth in the front window.
We order a round of cocktails and a naan bread appetizer before deciding on our entrées.
