“Just don’t expect it to get you anywhere.”
“Ok.”
He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but the door opened, and a petite woman walked in.
“Welcome,” Harrison chirped, putting on his customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”
I made my way back to the processing side of the mill, grabbed the flatbed card of shorts, and moved it to the front. I paid attention to the grain patterns of each piece as I put them on the racks, but, once again, nothing stood out.
Harrison was still helping the other customer when I finished, and I decided to take a chance. I wheeled the cart into the warehouse portion of the mill and spotted Randy holding a burl.
I swallowed, forced down my desire, and paused near him.
“I just added some new pieces to the scrap bin,” I started. “I didn’t see anything that caught my eye, but maybe I missed something.”
He looked up and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Need a hand looking at any of those?” I offered. “I know the wet burls can be heavy.”
He chuckled. “I’m used to it. Try holding one of these one-handed while tightening a chuck with the other. Or getting it between centers.”
“You turn them wet? I thought you told Oscar a piece had to dry.”
He chuckled. “Depends on the piece.” He nodded to the burl in his hands. “Something like this? I’d rough turn it now and core it into bowl blanks, then seal it so it can dry before the final turning. The piece he sold me last month isn’t ideal for that, though, so it’s sitting in my drying shed.”
“You rough turn and core all burls?”
He laughed. “No. Like I said, it depends on the piece. Some are good for that, others I seal and dry as-is, especially if I think they might work for something other than bowls.”
“Do you ever,” I paused, trying to make sure I framed my question properly. “Do you ever turn a piece wet and not seal it to turn again later?”
He hummed. “I’ve tried it, and it can make some stunning pieces, but it’s not my style. You can get nice warping if turned thin enough and with the right wood. However, it’s too easy to lose a piece because it cracks. I’d rather not gamble with my time and resources.”
“I think I get it.”
An awkward silence fell as I tried to come up with some excuse to keep talking to him.
“I'd better get this to the back,” I finally said, giving up and motioning to my cart. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
The cart wheels rattled with nothing to weigh them down; the sound echoed in the warehouse as I steered it back. Then—not wanting to push my luck—I headed back to the counter.
“You good if I go to lunch?” Harrison asked.
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
He gave me a single nod. “Yeah. It’s pretty calm right now. Randy will browse for a bit longer, and you can probably handle anybody else who comes in. Oscar can come down if you get busy.”
His mouth said one thing, but his eyes held a different message: he was giving me the excuse to be at the counter when Randy was ready to check out, but he was trusting me to not be a creep.
I nodded. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“See ya in an hour.”
He strode off, shaking his head.
I… felt thoroughly chastised. Harrison was several years younger than me, but had needed to intervene when I’d alpha’d out like a teenager.
