“Did you have a construction question for me, or were you just craving sink water?”
He rattles the water in the glass and tips it toward me in cheers. “I know it’s a little early, but I’ve got to head out. I’m finished up for the day, and I thought you might like to see the wood that will become your bookshelves.”
I jump up and down a little. “ ‘Yes! A thousand times yes!’ ”
He stands, grinning. “If you’re quoting a Jane Austen movie, does that mean you’re happy?”
“I’m talking to a man who knows I’m quoting a Jane Austen movie. I’m ecstatic!”
He leads me downstairs, and holy crap. It doesn’t look like a bookstore yet, but it doesn’t look like a video store. Wood is stacked in a honey-gold pile, the ground drifting with shavings. He’s marked off the walls and started pulling up the carpet.
“How are you this fast?” I ask.
“When most people ask that, I can’t tell them it’s magic or I’d cough up a furball. But I can actually tell you. It’s magic. My knack. You know how they say ‘Measure twice, cut once’? I only have to measure once, and I’m always correct. It makes building a breeze.”
I run my fingers over a wood board. “What kind of wood is it?”
“Cherry. Normally, I’d consider it a luxury wood, but you found a fantastic deal.” He steps closer, so close I can see the sawdust caught in his hair. “Books and building. We make a good team.”
As much as I love the wood, the man who shaped it is more captivating by far. I turn to face him. We’re standing close now.And for once, he doesn’t seem conflicted at all. I look up, and he looks down. I reach to pull a little curl of wood shaving from behind his ear and toss it on the floor.
“Hey, isn’t the guy supposed to do that?” he asks playfully.
“Well, there’s nothing in my hair.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Actually, I think there might be something in your ear….” He reaches up and strokes my ear, sending shivers down my spine, before holding up a quarter.
“You do close-up magic?” I ask.
“What can I say? I was a weird kid.”
“Me too. I wonder if it’s a witch thing or an us thing?”
“Probably both.” He turns the quarter back and forth. “Now, most magicians would say you need to clean behind your ears, but I think that might kill the vibe.”
“What vibe is that?”
He reaches toward me—
And past me, running his finger along a board leaning against the wall. “The scent of freshly cut cherry, the crunch of sawdust under your feet, the silvery gleam of dropped nails in the golden-hour sun. It’s romantic.”
I nod and look at his lips. “A tale as old as time. Beauty and theBirch.”
He chuckles. “How do you do that?”
“Make terrible wood puns? I justteakabout it real hard.”
His eyes crinkle up, and he reaches for my face, his calloused fingers gentle on my jaw. “It’s adorable.”
And then his lips are on mine, soft and tender, and I close my eyes and melt.
But he pulls away.
His hands are still on my face, and I open my eyes to find him hovering there.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“I will literally die if you stop,” I tell him, because it’s true.
