AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He sighs, his thumb stroking my hip. “Wish I could, but I can’t see it happening tonight.”
His phone dings with a message, and I see an unfamiliar name pop up.
“Who’s Justine?”
“A new intern that started with the company.”
“Since when does your company employ interns?”
“Since she’s related to Phillip, who obviously thinks I’m not busy enough,” he mutters while his fingers fly across his phone. He sends a message and pockets his phone.
“Rain check?” He says, dropping a peck on my lips, and before I can answer, he’s striding out the door, briefcase in hand.
*****
That damn coffee cup bugged me all night. That’s why I find myself walking into The Wood Room at a few minutes past nine with two muffins—blueberry and chocolate—and a new mug in hand. It took me forever to pick the right one. First, I grabbed the one with the sombrero that said “Nacho Average neighbor,” but then, annoyed with myself, put it back. It could be construed in kinda the same way as the previous one. I finally settled on a simple “Welcome to the Neighborhood” one.
It’s the smell that hits me first. A mixture of wood and fragrant oils or waxes, mingling together, smelling warm, earthy, and reassuring. Piper once told me that smell is the only sense directly connected to the brain. When you smell something, your brain uses the same areas it would use to process emotions and memories to process it. She said that the memories associated with smells tend to be older and thought about less often, meaning the recollection is very vivid when it happens. That must be why I’m just standing at the entrance, each deep breath layering my tongue with a woody fragrance while being transported to my childhood and running around on the farm, surrounded by the fresh scent of pine trees.
“Can I help you?”
The masculine voice startles me from my impromptu trip down memory lane, reminding me that I’m actually here for a purpose.
“Yes, sorry. I got lost there for a moment. I’m Bailey from across the road.”
I walk up to the counter, taking in the man lounging behind it. He blinks at me, the sandpaper and disk of wood in his hands forgotten.
I stick my hand out, and he quickly wipes his on his jeans before taking it.
“Andrew.”
Even though he’s seated behind the counter, I can tell he’s tall. I take him in, trying to figure out if he’s related to Kallan, but there’s no resemblance. Kallan’s all dark and broody with his black hair and dark brown eyes, whereas Andrew is blond with eyes the color of a freshly minted dime.
“What is that?”
“This,” he says, running his hand over the wood, “is going to be a Lazy Susan. I’m smoothing the surface before sealing it.”
“So, you work for Kallan?”
“Sort of.”
“Is he here?”
“He sure is,” he says, eying the muffins in my hand. “I think he’s hiding in the back. I’ll go get him for you.”
While he’s gone, I take my time to look around the shop. There are shelves and display tables filled with all kinds of items. Photo frames, trinket boxes, ring boxes, walking sticks, chopping boards, cheese boards. Anything you can think of that can be made of wood. Just like Kallan said. But it’s the crib standing in the corner that takes my breath away. I put the mug and muffins on the counter and walk over to it. It’s a beautiful dark red color, polished to a high shine. The front and back have solid sides, while the sides have thick, carved slats. I’m so tempted to whip out my phone and take a photo so I can put it on my Pinterest board.
I smell him before I see him. He smells like his store as if the scent of wood has infused itself into his pores.
“I had someone order it as a surprise for his wife, only to find out later that baby wasn’t his.”
“Ouch. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. Felt sorry for the guy, so I wasn't all that mad when he canceled the order. I was already halfway, so it would have been a waste not to finish it.”
“You did all this yourself?” I run my fingers over the moons and stars carved on the slats, catching his nod out of the corner of my eye.
“It’s the most beautiful crib I’ve ever seen. The kind of thing that you pass down through generations.”
