He shrugged. “Yes, I suppose I know the basics of cabinet building. But I haven’t really dabbled in it much since then. That was decades ago.”
“I suppose you need a well-equipped workshop,” she said, “to produce pieces like this. As an artist, I understand the need for space and tools.”
“I have a workshop.”
She looked around the small room. “Where?”
“Oh, it’s not here,” he explained. “It’s at my grandparents’ house.”
“But I thought they’d passed away years ago.”
“They did, but they left me their house. And my grandfather’s workshop is still there, complete with all his tools.”
“Do you think you’ll put them to use?” she asked. “I mean, after you retire.”
“That’s a thought.”
“I’d love to commission some cabinets like these,” she said. “They wouldn’t even need to be this beautiful, although I wouldn’t protest if they were. But I desperately need storage cabinets for my studio.” She peered curiously at him. “Any chance I can entice you to make some for me? I’ll pay you well, George. And perhaps I’d even make you breakfast again. Or maybe dinner. I’m great with Italian food.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know. I’m not sure I could really make what you want. I’m out of practice and—”
“I’m sure you could produce something that would work. As I said, I only need storage cabinets for my studio. They could be made out of simple plywood and I wouldn’t complain. Right now I’ve got supplies strewn all over the place.”
“I’ll think about it, Willow. Maybe after next week.”
“Yes, of course.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry to be so pushy, George. It’s just that I’m just so impressed by the craftsmanship here.” She studied him closely. “Do youenjoywoodworking?”
He considered this. “I did.”
“Then perhaps you would again.” She stepped back with a sigh. “Now I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome. I should probably be on my merry way.”
George felt torn. On one hand, he’d be relieved if she left ... on the other hand, well, he wasn’t sure. “Would you like to see my grandfather’s workshop?” he asked suddenly. “Ihad planned to walk up there today. I usually check on my grandparents’ house on the weekend.”
“I’d love to see the workshop,” she exclaimed. “Is it nearby?”
“About half a mile. On Talbot Hill.”
“Talbot Hill,” she said in a teasing tone. “Isn’t that where all the rich snobs live?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. My grandparents weren’t snobs.”
“Sorry. My grandparents probably said something like that. They lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Literally.” She laughed. “So, what are we waiting for?”
“Do you mind walking?”
“Not at all.”
He smiled. “I don’t have a car.”
“Seriously?”
He opened the front door. “Never saw the need for one.”
“Interesting.” She followed him outside, waiting as he locked the door. And since she was watching he refrained from checking it twice. “Let’s go.”
As they walked toward Talbot Hill, he told her a bit about his grandparents. “I never thought of them as that well off, but I guess they probably were. My mother’s side of the family owned the lumber mill in town.”
“You mean Rockwell Lumber?”
