"Same thing."
He positions my hand on the wood, his palm warm and rough over my knuckles, guiding my pressure. "Like this. Do you feel it?"
I feelsomething, but it's not the wood grain. It's the way his breath ghosts across my temple, the way his thumb presses against the back of my hand, the solid wall of him behind me.
"Yeah," I manage. "I feel it."
He pulls away, leaving cold air where warmth was. "Keep going. I'll work on the other piece."
We fall into a comfortable rhythm—the rasp of sandpaper, the crackle of fire, Bear's occasional snore. It should feel claustrophobic. Instead, it feels like the opposite of lonely.
"Why woodworking?" I ask after a while.
He doesn't stop sanding. "I needed something to do with my hands. Something that made sense."
"Makes sense how?"
"You start with rough edges, then you make them smooth. You put pieces together that fit." He blows sawdust from his piece. "It's logical."
Unlike people, I hear.Unlike war. Unlike whatever he left behind when he came here.
"It's beautiful work," I say quietly. "The furniture. The cabin. All of it."
"It's just wood."
"It's more than that." I run my finger along the table's edge, feeling the smooth join where two pieces meet seamlessly. "It's permanent. Beautiful.”
He looks at me then,reallylooks at me, and something passes between us that has nothing to do with woodworking.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I guess it is."
________
By evening, my stomach is growling loud enough to embarrass both of us.
"I'll make something," Red offers, already moving toward the kitchen.
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm hungry too."
He pulls out a pot, and ingredients appear quickly.
I hover, wanting to help but not knowing how to navigate his space. He moves like a man who's been cooking alone for years—no wasted motion or hesitation.
"Sit," he instructs without turning around.
"I can help?—"
"Sit, Cookie."
I sit.
Twenty minutes later, he sets a bowl in front of me, and the smell alone makes my mouth water. It’s venison stew—rich, dark, and full of vegetables I didn't know he had.
"Did you hunt this yourself?" I take a bite and have to suppress a moan.
"Yeah, last month." He settles across from me with his own bowl. "The freezer's full of it."
