“I don’t believe that.” She rested her chin in her palm, studying me with unsettling focus. “You just don’t like telling it.”
She was too perceptive. I wasn’t sure whether that made me uneasy—or drawn in.
“I make furniture,” I said at last. “Custom work. Tables. Bed frames. Chairs. I sell through a shop in Asheville.”
Her face lit up like I’d flipped a switch. “You’re a woodworker?”
“Yes.”
“That’s incredible. You create things with your hands, live alone in a cabin in the mountains—” She shook her head slowly. “That’s straight out of a novel.”
“It’s just my life.”
“It’s a romantic life. Very brooding-craftsman energy.”
I didn’t respond. Josie didn’t seem bothered by my silence. She just smiled and took another bite.
“How’d you get into it?”
The truth wasn’t simple. It involved foster care and a shop teacher who’d taught me how to build things that didn’t walk away.
“Learned young,” I said. “Kept at it.”
“Do you love it?”
The question caught me off guard. “Yeah. I do.”
Her gaze softened. “That’s rare.”
“What about you? Law school your passion?”
She made a face. “I like it. I’m good at the research. It’s stable. But I think what I actually love is helping people. This is just the path that gets me there.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it?” She tipped her head. “Sometimes I feel like everyone else knows exactly where they’re going, and I’m just…trying not to screw it up.”
“You’re young.”
“Twenty-three,” she said. “But still.”
“How do you know I wasn’t guessing?”
“You didn’t hesitate.”
I shrugged. She kept studying me but let it drop.
“Here’s to being twenty-three and figuring it out.” She raised her glass.
Elsa drifted by, giving me one of her looks. I ignored it.
“So what now?” I asked. “You staying in town?”
Josie checked her phone. “Peyton says I can stay at Warrick’s. Apparently he has about a million guest rooms.” She hesitated. “It’s weird, though. Staying with someone I don’t know.”
“Warrick’s solid. You’d be safe.”
“I don’t know him.”
