As she made a cylinder, her tongue stuck out between her lips.
She was a portrait in concentration—a cute one. Which had nothing to do with what she was working on.
Taryn glanced his way, catching his eye. “Have a question?”
“Nope.” If Garrett said more, he would incriminate himself. One support was halfway finished. Was that what led to the hammer mishap? He would start with it.
Garrett had built nothing since last summer, but he quickly found his rhythm. He took water breaks and wiped the sweat from his forehead, which was worse from his walk over, but soon he had the three supports constructed and attached to the board.
He stood before pressing against it. “This seems sturdy, even without the sandbags.”
“See what happens when you push the other way.”
He did, and the piece fell forward and thudded against the tarp. That would hurt if it hit someone. “The supports are an excellent idea. Where do you want this?”
“In front of the table, so we’ll get a feel for how this will look.”
As he carried the panel to the pop-up tent, a pssst sound caught his attention.
Taryn sprayed the first wire cylinder with plastic sealant. Long strips of foam came out.
He tried to picture what she was making with it—tried and failed.
“It might appear to be globs.” She added more between the others. “But it’ll look like a tree trunk when I’m finished.”
“I didn’t know you were a mind reader.”
“I’m not, but you looked the way I felt the first time I tried this, but thankfully the instructions I downloaded worked. No Pinterest fail with this.”
Garrett had to ask. “Your wording suggests you’ve suffered at least one fail in the past?”
“Maybe.” Her tone was playful. Taryn didn’t smile, but she wasn’t frowning.
That was a start. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She shot a sideward glance his way. “I didn’t realize attorneys have such active imaginations.”
“Many bestselling authors started as lawyers.” He tapped his chin with his finger. “You’ve got me curious now. Was your fail baking-related?”
She gasped before side-eyeing him. “Are you kidding me?”
He chuckled at her indignation. “I’ll take that as a no. So what was it?”
Taryn hesitated. Two lines formed above her nose. “Why do you want to know?”
“To prove you’re human and not a robot who does everything from baking to decorating perfectly.”
She laughed, a melodic sound he’d forgotten about but which brought back a memory of them making snow angels in this backyard. They’d shared some good times over the holidays.
“I wish, but I’m far from perfect.” She sprayed more lines of sealant. “If you don’t believe me, ask my dad.”
Garrett had never met her father, but if the man had Taryn doubting herself, he didn’t want to. “You still haven’t told me your fail.”
She lowered the can. “I wanted to make a string balloon art for the bakery’s front window. The result didn’t come close to resembling the photo in the instructions. Imagine the ugliest, abstract pieces of stiff string and multiply them by a thousand. We’re talking an epic fail.”
“That bad?”
“I still have nightmares about how it turned out.”
