“You planning to work through dinner?” Jack asked, stepping into the workshop.
Holly jumped slightly, then looked up with a startled smile. “Jack! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were pretty focused,” Jack said, moving closer to examine her progress. “This looks incredible, Holly. How long have you been at it?”
Holly glanced at her watch, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Oh my goodness. It’s almost six? I thought it was maybe four at the latest.”
“Time flies when you’re restoring furniture,” Jack said with a grin. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us.”
“Of course,” Holly said immediately, setting down her tools. “I’d love that. I just need a shower and a change of clothes first. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Jack said, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement in his chest.
“Should I dress up?” Holly asked. “Or is this casual?”
“Smart casual,” Jack told her. “Nothing too fancy, but nicer than jeans and a t-shirt.”
Holly nodded, already mentally planning her outfit,Jack could tell. Then she looked back at the dresser with obvious reluctance.
Jack moved closer to examine her work, genuinely impressed by what she’d accomplished in just a few hours. “Walk me through what you’ve done so far.”
Holly’s face lit up as she launched into an explanation. “Well, the first step was assessing the damage and the existing finish. This piece had been refinished at least twice before. You can see the layers here where someone used a really thick polyurethane that completely obscured the original wood grain.”
She ran her hand lovingly over the dresser’s top. “So I started with a chemical stripper to remove all those old layers. It’s tedious work because you have to be careful not to damage the original wood underneath. Victorian pieces like this were often made from mahogany or walnut, and the craftsmanship is exquisite. You don’t want to sand away any of the original detail.”
Jack listened, fascinated by her expertise and the passion in her voice.
“Once I got down to the bare wood, I could see the real beauty of the piece,” Holly continued. “Look at this carving on the drawer fronts. It’s all hand-done, probably by a master craftsman. And the wood is mahogany, just like I thought. Beautiful grain pattern.”
“It’s stunning,” Jack agreed. “What’s next?”
“Next, I’ll need to do some minor repairs. There are a few spots where the veneer has lifted slightly, and one drawer pull needs to be resecured. Then I’ll sand it smooth, apply a wood conditioner, and start building up thin layers of finish. I’m thinking a hand-rubbed oil finish rather than polyurethane. It’ll bring out the depth of the wood grain and give it that warm, aged look that’s appropriate for the period.”
“How long will the whole process take?” Jack asked.
“If I work on it steadily? Maybe two more days,” Holly said. “But it’ll be worth it. This piece will be the centerpiece of Room Eight. It’s going to look absolutely gorgeous with those antique chairs we restored last week.”
Jack felt a surge of admiration for this woman who could take something worn and damaged and restore it to beauty. It was a metaphor he didn’t want to examine too closely, but he felt it nonetheless.
“You’re amazing,” Jack said softly.
Holly looked up at him, surprise and pleasure mixing in her expression. “It’s just furniture restoration.”
“It’s more than that,” Jack said. “It’s bringing something back to life. Seeing the potential in something that other people might have given up on.”
Their eyes met and held, and Jack felt the air between them charge with electricity.
“I should go get ready,” Holly said finally, her voice slightly breathless. “Give me an hour?”
“That is perfect,” Jack said. “I’ll meet you at the front desk at seven.”
Holly nodded and hurried off toward her room, and Jack made his way back to his own quarters on the second floor.
An hour later, Jack stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt for the third time. He’d opted for dark slacks, a button-down shirt in deep blue that his mother said brought out his eyes, and a sport coat. Smart casual, just as he’d told Holly.
But his heart was racing like he was a teenager going on his first date instead of a fifty-eight-year-old man who’d been married before.
This felt different, though. Everything with Holly felt different. With Pamela, even in the early days, there had been an element of performance. Of trying to be the man he thought she wanted him to be. With Holly, he could just be himself, flawed, worried, struggling to save his family’s legacy, and she loved him anyway.
