“Wood filler, sandpaper, a lot of patience, and a few prayers.” He chuckled.
“This is so cool,” I told him, passing his phone back.
His jaw flexed as he dropped it in the center console. I wondered if I’d done something wrong. “Is everything okay?” I asked as he pulled up to another stoplight.
Bryce shook his head. “I’m fine, just surprised. I think you’re the first person not to make fun of me for my hobby.”
My brows knit together. “Why would I make fun of you?”
He twisted his lips to the side. “Most people think it’s silly that I could afford anything new and still prefer to fix up ‘trash.’”
“Why waste resources when you don’t have to?” I wondered. “You’re the one who makes the most sense to me. But maybe that’s because my grandma doesn’t even let me throw away ‘good’ pieces of foil.” I chuckled.
Bryce’s own laugh seemed relieved. “Today is big trash day in one of the older neighborhoods in town,” he explained, “so I thought we could drive around to see what we find, then work on it together?”
My lips tipped up into a smile.
“What?” Bryce asked.
“You keep surprising me is all,” I said. And then I looked out the window, letting my smile falter.What if Bryce was actually a nice guy?I wondered. What if this wasn’t all a scheme?I need to tell him the truth,I realized. But I still didn’t know him that well. I was determined to find out more on this date. “What are we looking for?” I finally asked.
“All-wood furniture is typically the easiest for us to work with so we don’t have to worry about reupholstering anything,” he explained. “Also, it’s best if it’s structurally good.”
“Gotcha—diamonds in the rough,” I replied.
“Exactly.” He smiled over at me, looking fully in his element. I liked Bryce in his suit. I liked seeing him solve problems for me at work or eating at a fancy restaurant—but here in his worn jeans and a T-shirt... it seemed like I was getting my own special version of him.
The neighborhood we were in was full of gorgeous farm-style homes. Most of them were two or three stories, and the landscaping added to the allure with short-cut grass and mature trees dripping with leaves in every shade of red, orange, and yellow.
I rolled down my window to get a better look and felt cool air gliding over my skin.
Several of the homes had piles of garbage along the road, from bags of leaves to construction trash, and even some older furniture.
“What about that one?” I asked, pointing toward a desk across the street.
Checking his mirrors, he crossed the road, pulling up alongside a wooden roll-top desk. “Looks promising!” He opened his doors, eyes lit up like he was on a treasure hunt, and said, “Let’s check it out.”
We got out of the truck, walking over short-and-somehow-still-lush grass to the desk. Bryce ran a thumb over the golden lock area, then the handles. “Looks like it still has the original fixtures.”
“That’s good, right?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Then he pulled out the drawer and knelt down. “That’s a good sign too. Dovetail joints.” He showed me how the drawers came together with what looked like puzzle-piece shapes. “They don’t make furniture like this anymore.”
Even though I’d never paid attention to furniture this close a day in my life, I loved seeing him light up like this. Everyone these days seemed to be so bored of everything—especially if it didn’t make money. And his interest was contagious. Here I was looking inside drawers for post-manufacture contact paper and wondering if WD-40 is all it would take to make the top slide easier.
“Think this is the one?” Bryce asked. “Or we could keep driving. The piece has to speak to you.”
I looked at that inanimate, mute hunk of wood and glue and said, “Yep, it’s talking to me. That’s the one.”
Bryce grinned over at me. “Let’s get it in.”
My stomach sank. “Oh, I can’t lift anything over twenty pounds. My... back.” I finished lamely.
He waved off my worry. “That’s okay. I usually do this by myself.”
And damn, did he have it by himself. I stood off to the side, getting my own personal show to Bryce Madigan’s muscles. Best supporting actor? That white T-shirt. Damn.
When the desk was in the back of his pickup, he stood, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.
