“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Like what?”
“Just so intensely.”
“I like looking at nice things. Sue me.” I shrug, and color floods his cheeks. “My dad’s worried I’m not taking good enough care of you. What do you reckon?”
“I think you’ve taken care of me quite enough, angel.” His tone is dry, but he shifts in his seat ever so slightly, and his eyes darken a smidge. I know he’s been trying to come off unaffected by me since I got here, and he’s good at it. But we’re spending so much time together lately that I notice the tiny changes in him.
“I’m not sure I agree. I think I can takemuchbetter care of you.”
He curses softly, closing his eyes. “God, Este. We can’t keep doing this.”
My instinct is to push back, pulling him into the same game we’ve played two days in a row. But Sloane might have been on to something with her suggestion. All I’d have to do is keep provoking him until his desire wins out over his self-loathing. But then we’d be doing this same dance again tomorrow.
So, instead, I say, “Okay. Do you mind if I hang out in here while you work?”
A myriad of emotions cover Nico’s face. Confusion. Worry. Heat. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Mhmm. Because we both know you can say we can’t do it anymore as many times as you want, but we’re going to do it again, anyway. I can be patient.”
Nico opens and closes his mouth several times before sitting back in his chair, frowning.
“So, can I?” I ask, and he blinks.
“Can you what?”
“Be here while you work. I’d like to see what you do.”
Nico gives himself a shake. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
Oh boy, he is rattled.Thank you, Sloane.
As much as I like teasing him, I genuinely do want to watch him work. I’ve fallen down many video rabbit holes in my time and watched people building all kinds of things, but it’s different in person. The frame of the credenza he’s making is finished and resting on a drop cloth with some kind of shiny varnish on it. Now, he’s working on the details.
I can’t help but sit forward to watch. He’s sketching a design on a long oval piece of wood with a pencil. There’s a notebook with a messy reference sketch on the desk, but he’s barely glancing at it as he draws out the design, his tongue between his teeth. It doesn’t take him as long as I expect, given the intricate nature of the floral design.
He slides the pencil behind his ear, and I almost lose my mind.
“Is it typical for people to do both detail work and make bigger furniture pieces?” I ask. He looks surprised that I’m interested. Which is weird, because even if it wasn’t Nico, itwould be fascinating to watch. He’s making art. But I suppose he’s not used to having people around while he works.
“It can be, yeah. A lot of people focus on one or the other, but I like seeing things through from start to finish.”
I don’t point out the innuendo, and I’m proud of myself for it.
“What’s your favorite part? The bigger picture stuff, or the details?” I ask as he traces the pencil lines with a metal tool—not enough to score the wood, but like he’s learning the shapes of the flowers and vines he’s sketched out.
“I love it all. But this is my favorite part,” he says, sliding open a drawer in his workbench. There are a bunch of little slices of wood in various shapes. Most of them look like offcuts from other pieces. “This is all wood I’ve processed completely by myself, from trees here on my land. I don’t often use it for bigger projects—I save it for special ones—and I make sure I plant more trees than I process, but I always put a tiny piece somewhere in everything I make. This place has been my sanctuary for so long, and I like to think even a little slice will bring people a little more peace.”
I’m sure Pops isn’t the only one to poke fun at the fact that Nico has spent so long hiding away up here, but he speaks of his home with more reverence than I’ve ever heard anyone speak before.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmur, running my pinky over the raw edge of a little block of wood. “What kind of things have you made from this?”
“Stuff for Shay, mostly. Last year, I carved a little boatfor her and her girlfriend, Noelle, when they opened their bakery. And I made a bench for Georgie. It’s down in Wintermore, and Shay spends a lot of time there. I, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you remember, but I made you and Sloane memory boxes when your dad adopted you. I carved them from the first tree I cut down up here, actually. I’d been in a bit of a work slump, but when your dad told me he was adopting you and Sloane, I knew I had to make you both something. It was my way of making up for the fact I wasn’t there for him, I guess.”
As if the box wasn’t special enough. “I still use that box. I keep pictures in there, and I write down journal entries to remember the important things and tuck them away. And when I’m struggling with something, I go through the box. I did it a lot after the crash.”
Nico looks up, a surprised smile forming on his lips. “Really?” I nod, and his smile grows. “That… It’s nice to know. I’m glad it helps.”
