She kneels next to us, and I block an instinct to tell her to sit, rest, breathe, anything. Instead, I hand her a level.
“Okay,” I say, my voice low so I don't sound like a patronizing dick. “We shim behind the hinge side to pull the frame plumb. Watch the bubble. It needs to sit centered. Not bouncing like Dash when he gets one of his hair-brain ideas.”
“They all turn out genius.” Dash grins, then pauses. “Well, mostly.”
Claudia laughs in a soft focused way as she focuses. “Bubbles in the center.” She slides the shim.
“Perfect.”
“Now,” I continue, “we put the door back on the hinges. Except we have to notch a hair more on this mortise, so the hinge sits flush.”
She holds out her hand. “Chisel.”
Dash looks around like one might magically appear. She points. “Second drawer. By the junk screws and that weird Allen key thing that fits nothing.”
I hand her the chisel and mark the wood with a pencil. She leans in and carves the extra sliver. Clean. Steady. Focused.Girlboss carpentry edition.
We remount the door. It swings perfectly and is now straight.
“That is clean,” Dash breathes.
“Wood glue in those stripped screw holes,” I say, holding up the tube. “Tap a dowel, cut flush, re-drill pilot holes.”
Claudia takes the glue from my hand, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration. Which is rude. Heartattack-inducing. She fixes each hole, and I grab the screw gun. Dash hands me the drill.
“No,” she says. “I do it. Teach me.”
Teach me.
“Alright.” I reposition her hand on the drill like we are in a steamy Home Depot commercial. “Firm grip. Straight angle. Let the bit work. Do not force it.”
She sinks the screw. Perfect. Then the next. Then the last.
Dash whistles. “She is going to replace us.”
“She already did,” I say before my brain can stop my mouth. Claudia pauses. Looks up at me. There is a moment, just a second, that I see pride in her eyes and it’s stunning.
“Keypad next,” she announces, breaking the tension.
We mount the keypad and the deadbolt. She drills the final screws, clicks the final latch, and steps back.
The lock beeps. Door shuts. Turns smooth.
I exhale. “That is pro work.”
She bumps my shoulder. “We made a pretty great team.”
I nod. Then ruin it by staring one second too long. “Yeah. We did.”
“Now I am starving,” Dash announces like he did manual labor for seven hours instead an hour.
“Promised Paul fries.”
“We are getting Italian fromVia Lupo, and he wants French?” Dash blinks. “That man is testing international relations.”
Claudia shoots him a look like she is not sure if he is joking or an idiot. I chuckle. “He is joking.”
She exhales. “Okay, good. Because I was about to Google if Italian fries are a thing.”
