“I don’t mind doing it.” He picks up a piece of sandpaper and starts working on one of the unfinished hearts. “I just don’t think I’ll bring in much.”
“Why not?”
Another shrug. “I’m not good at...” He gestures vaguely with the sandpaper. “People.”
I think about the last ten minutes. The way he lit up talking about wood grain and oil finishes. The quiet passion in his voice when he described what the maple wanted to become.
“You’re good at people when you care about the subject.”
He looks up, and our eyes meet, and for a second I forget what I was going to say next.
He has nice eyes. Warm and steady, the same golden-brown as the honey in his scent. How have I never noticed that before?
“Trust me,” I manage. “I’ve organized three of these auctions. The quiet types with creative talents always do well. You’ll be fine.”
He holds my gaze for another beat, then nods and goes back to his sanding.
I should leave. I have emails piling up and a venue walkthrough and catering numbers to confirm. I should leave right now.
Instead, my eyes drift to the corner of the workshop, where something large sits partially hidden beneath a canvas drop cloth. Dark wood, curved edges. A shape that makes my omega instincts sit up and take notice.
“What’s that?”
I’m walking toward it before I finish asking. Elijah follows.
“Commission,” he says. “Custom piece.”
Even mostly covered, I can tell this is something special. The visible portion shows dark walnut, rich and warm, with a curved edge that sweeps upward like it’s waiting to embrace someone.
“Can I see it?”
A pause. Then: “Go ahead.”
I pull the drop cloth back, and the breath leaves my lungs.
It’s a nesting bench.
I’ve seen pictures in magazines—those high-end omega lifestyle spreads I always flip past because there’s no point wanting things you’re never going to have. Custom furniture with curved walls and soft interiors, designed to make an omega feel safe and held.
But this one is something else entirely.
The frame is black walnut, curved like a cocoon, with sides that sweep up and inward to create a protected hollow. Cream cushioning lines the interior, thick and inviting, with compartments built into the sides at perfect reaching height. The whole piece looks like it’s waiting for someone. Ready to wrap them up and keep them safe.
“Black walnut.” Elijah’s voice has gone warm again. “Locally sourced. See the figure here?”
He points to a section where the grain swirls in deep chocolate waves.
“This piece had exceptional figure, so I designed the whole bench to showcase it. The curve took three weeks to get right. Steam-bent, not cut.”
“Why steam?”
“Cutting would break the grain. Make it weaker.” He runs his palm along the curved arm. “Steam-bending follows the natural structure. Makes it stronger. And it feels different under your hands—warmer, somehow.”
I reach out before I can stop myself. My fingers brush the wood, and he’s right. It is warm. It feels almost alive under my touch.
“The compartments are cedar-lined.” He opens one to show me. “Holds scent better. Blankets, clothes, anything that carries pack scent.”
Pack scent.
