“They are,” Spencer agreed.
Especially when our mate is standing on it,his bear teased.
So true,Spencer said, his bad mood gone as he remembered sitting by Meryl’s side, eating blueberry muffins and drinking coffee.
They walked between the stacks, the smell of treated wood sharp and familiar. This was what Spencer understood. Straight timber. Sound grain.
What you like,his bear began,is that wood doesn’t argue back.
But mates do,Spencer replied,and sometimes they have reason.
Frank ran his hand along one of the beams. “This what you need?”
Spencer checked it for straightness, knots, and twist. The wood felt cool and solid beneath his hands, exactly as it should.
“This’ll work,” he said. “How much for the full sixteen feet?”
Frank did the figures and wrote the quote down. Spencer looked at the number and understood, all over again, why Meryl had gone pale. It was not outrageous for what it was. But if you were already counting costs, that did not matter.
“That’s if you pick it up,” Frank said, handing him the slip. “Delivery’s extra.”
Spencer folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“She’s making progress, then?” Frank asked.
“More than she thinks.”
Frank gave a quick nod. “Sometimes it can be hard to see what’s right in front of us.”
Spencer was not sure if Frank meant the cottage or its owner, and he did not ask.
Instead, he got in his truck and headed home, even though all his primal instincts told him to go back to Pine Cottage.
Home for Spencer was a small cabin set back from the road behind a stand of aspens, with the workshop behind it, bigger than the house and far better used. He parked, got out, and headed straight for it.
You’re avoiding her,his bear accused.
I’m giving her space,Spencer said.And myself.
The workshop door stuck for a second as he pushed it open before giving way. Inside, the place smelled of sawdust, oil, and old timber. Tools hung where he had left them. The bench was still cluttered with the remains of last week’s job.
This was where things made sense to him.
He crossed to the far corner where he kept his hardwoods, his hand passing over cherry, maple, and walnut before stopping at the quarter-sawn oak he had been saving for something special.
You know why you’re here,his bear said.
I’m checking inventory,Spencer muttered, pulling out a board and setting it on the bench.
His bear snorted.
Spencer ignored him as he examined the wood. The grain was straight and clean, with the kind of figure that would come alive once it was finished properly. He had bought it years ago but had never used it because it was too good to waste on just anything.
He reached for his tape measure.
Measurements for a window seat,his bear observed smugly.
Spencer paused.She might not even stay long enough to use it.
