“What can we make you?” Birdie turned to me, taking my hand in hers. “A little picture frame? You can keep it. As a thank you.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a picture off my computer or camera to display. And all of a sudden, I was saddened by that thought.
“I’d love that. Thank you.”
The two of them got to work, Bart bringing the wood to the saw. I noticed him helping Birdie to line it up for him. When he asked her to go grab the broom, he quickly readjusted the wood once more before making his cut. Birdie swept the wood chips over to a large vacuum that sucked everything up into a pipe on the wall and out of the building. I became entranced with their work. Not only the work itself, but the way they worked. Confident Birdie setting things up, capable Bart adjusting and readjusting when Birdie’s back was turned. A dance of love and loss and gentleness. And I found I could not get enough.
Of course, there was exasperation at times too, like when Birdie brought the cut pieces closer to her face and realized Bart had brought over the wrong wood. But Bart’s pleading look toward me had me reassuring Birdie that I’d much rather have a picture frame made from pine than oak. They glued the pieces together and presented it to me. After I promised them I’d stain it any color I wanted, I had them pose together with several intricate birdhouses Birdie had made.
“Give her a kiss, Gramps,” Duke said. He was leaning against a workbench with his arms folded.
Bart turned to both of us and said, “You don’t have to ask me twice,” before he leaned forward and kissed his wife sweetly on her cherry-stained lips while I snapped a quick picture.
Bart and Birdie wandered back toward the house while Duke and I spent much of the next few hours pulling out each piece of furniture and placing it in front of the metal shop to take a picture. Neither of us were professionals, but with the natural light, the simple background, and Duke’s good camera phone, we cobbled together some pictures decent enough for the website.
“How’d you do?” Bart asked after he and Birdie came back out to check on us. They stood with their arms entwined after we closed up the shop.
“I think you’ll be happy,” I told them both. “You have the most beautiful furniture. I’m so impressed.”
A dash of pleasure stained both of their cheeks.
Duke reached for me, putting his arm around my shoulder and squeezing me in close. “Do you mind if we use your pond real quick? I promised Nora we could take a quick dip.”
Birdie’s face scrunched together. “The pond?”
Instantly, I was on guard, looking at Duke in question. “What’s wrong with the pond?”
“Nothing. You’ll love it.”
Half an hour later, I found myself wearing Duke’s baggy gym clothes as he led me to the unattached garage just off the house. Then he proceeded to wheel out a motorcycle that looked more fitting for a kid than a grown adult, much less two.
“Are you kidding me?”
He looked up, grinning. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I motioned toward the bike with my head. “We can’t both fit on there.”
He shrugged, amusement lighting his features. “I think we’d regret not giving it our best shot.”
My teeth tugged at my bottom lip as I contemplated my next move. I was Fun Nora today. And Fun Nora would probably say yes to sitting on Duke’s lap while we rode on the potential death trap to the pond Birdie looked nervous we were headed toward.
“I’m determined to be Fun Nora today,” I told him, suddenly needing him to be aware of my plan.
His amusement faded. “You’re always fun, Nora.”
I scoffed, looking down to stare at the dirt bike, trying to imagine myself with my arms wrapped around Duke as he drove us through the fields. It wasn’t the worst image I’d ever conjured up in—
“Hey.” Duke’s hand reached out and touched my chin, gently tugging my face upward to look at him. “If you’re not fun, then explain to me why you make me laugh more than anyone else,” he said as he released my face to grab my hand instead, leading me to the motorcycle. He held me steady as I climbed onto the machine, scooting as high onto the seat as I could go. Duke settled on behind me, somehow the two of us barely fitting, with me sitting halfway on his lap.
I sucked in a breath as his arms came around me. “Your friends are even lamer than me?” His response was to squeeze me tighter until I squealed.
“Nope.” His voice was gravelly in my ears, and I wondered if Fun Nora was going to get her fill today.
“You want to drive, Bucket List Lady?” Duke asked before he stomped on the kickstart a dozen times, revving the throttle and patiently waiting until the engine sputtered to life. For a moment, I sat mesmerized at how sexy and capable his hands looked starting a motorcycle.
“You driving?” he asked again, turning toward me with a knowing look, and my fate became irrevocably sealed to his. With a deep breath and a nod to all the romantic comedies I’d watched that included a motorcycle ride with the hot guy, I put my hand on the throttle and rotated it toward me.
The bike surged to life in both a forward and upward motion, the front wheel leaving the ground. I dropped my grip on the handle and screamed while Duke swore, took control of the handles, and quickly planted his feet on the ground, somehow stopping us from flipping over.
