“Noted.”
That earned him another quiet laugh, and for a moment the whole thing felt absurdly easy.
As if today they had truly turned a corner in their relationship and were finally moving in the right direction.
What a difference a day makes,his bear said.
Don’t remind me,Spencer replied. He didn’t want anything spoiling this day.
They carried their plates to the table when everything was ready. Pasta, bread, and a little extra cheese shaved over the top. Nothing fancy. Nothing impressive. And yet Spencer could not remember the last time a meal had smelled so good.
“To thrown-together meals,” Meryl said, raising her water glass.
“And practical candles,” Spencer added.
She touched her glass lightly to his. “The most practical.”
The food was simple, but it was warm and filling and better than it had any right to be. Maybe because it had been thrown together. Maybe because she had made it. Or simply because of the company.
For a few minutes they ate in companionable silence.
Then Meryl said, “So how did you get into carpentry?”
Spencer shrugged. “It started off as a hobby, really. All of my brothers were good with food, either cooking it or growing it. Butnot me. I never had a knack for it. But I had an eye for a good piece of wood and what I could transform it into.”
“Brothers plural?” she asked, winding pasta around her fork. “How many?”
“Five.”
Her eyes widened. “Six Thornberg boys? Your poor mother.”
Spencer laughed. “She managed us just fine. Mostly because she’s tougher than all of us put together.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime,” Meryl said, and then looked faintly startled by her own words.
His bear sat up at once.
“She’d like you,” Spencer said, because that was true.
Meryl looked down at her plate for a moment before taking another bite.
The conversation moved more easily after that. Not into anything too deep, but beyond hinges and latches and what still needed stripping. He told her a little about his brothers. She told him more about growing up with a mother who moved them constantly, staying nowhere long enough to settle in properly.
“That must have been tough,” he said.
Meryl gave a short, dry laugh. “My mom saw it as a useful skill. And I guess growing up I didn’t know any different, so I didn’t know any other way.”
Spencer smiled, but did not interrupt. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about her.
“My mother hated being tied down,” she went on. “New place, new start. That was always the idea.” She looked around the half-finished kitchen. “Hilda was the opposite. She stayed long enough to make things matter.”
“And which are you?” he asked before he had quite decided to.
Meryl looked at him for a long moment, the candlelight picking out the thoughtful line of her face.
“I’m still working that out,” she said.
His bear shifted, alert and hopeful.
