I stood and made my way to the break room. I barely noticed the flavor of my lunch as I ate, my thoughts squarely on Randy.
When would I see him next? How could I flirt without being creepy and scaring him off?
The bucket of scraps was almost overflowing when I grabbed it from beside the saw. I carried it to the front and tipped it into the bin. I started to turn away when something caught my eye.
There, on top and fresh from the bucket I’d just emptied, was a small and stunning cut. Black spalting lines cut through a feathering grain pattern.
It was just the sort of piece my omega had asked for, and that I hadn’t been able to give him.
I picked up the piece and slid it into my pocket, then I returned the bucket to the back.
I rounded the front counter again and saw that Harrison had finished the job of cleaning. The crumbling lost-and-found box had been tossed in its entirety—a new box labeled and shoved into the space. His head was down as he studied the yellowed papers on the clipboards.
“Anything worth saving?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Doubt it. I’ll send the purchase orders up to be filed, but a lot of these are quotes that I think can be tossed… and probably could have been tossed years ago.”
He stood and smirked at me. “Maybe we should convince Randy to come in more often. This place will be spotless in no time.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s sweep and downstock before more customers come in.”
I helped him move boards from higher shelves to ones customers could easily access, then he took a customer while I used the wide contractor broom to remove the top layer of sawdust from the floor.
I returned to the counter once I put the broom away, and that was when the weight of the scrap in my pocket reminded me of its presence. I pulled it free and turned it end over end.
What would Randy make with it? It was too small to be a bowl. But he’d been hunting in the scraps for a reason.
The bell over the door jingled, and I looked up to see a man and his teenage son walking in.
I shoved the scrap piece of wood into the open area I’d made under the counter. Randy would be back, and hopefully he’d like it.
“Welcome,” I started as I approached my customers.
Chapter 5 - Randy
Ribbons of wood curled in the wake of my gouge.
My current piece had reached that stage where it was round—the lathe no longer shaking and wood not chipping. It was the point where I could see the soul of the work start to take shape.
I completed another pass, then turned off the lathe. I ran my hand over the surface of the wood, feeling for spots that were punky or dense.
Satisfied that there was nothing surface-level to worry about, I turned up the speed on my lathe and switched it on again. I gave it a moment, then nodded when everything seemed steady.
This was my favorite part of the process. My gouge was sharp; each cut revealing the inner beauty of the wood—and I was the first person to see it.
What would it tell me? Did it want to be a bowl or a hollowform? How could I best honor the tree and give it a second life as a piece of art?
I made several more passes, loving the ease with which the gouge moved across the wood. Then I turned off the lathe again.
I spun the piece, looking at the figure. After a few minutes, I decided that a closed-form bowl was the best way to highlight everything. I nodded, switched the lathe back on, and turned a tenon. Then I flipped the piece and started shaping it.
Ribbons of wood piled on my arm and the floor as the form changed from a round blank into something resembling a bowl.
Once I was satisfied with the outside profile, I bored a hole then moved my tool rest so that I could hollow the bowl. Finally, it was down to sanding and adding the first coat of a food-safe sealant.
I glanced at my shop clock as I removed the bowl and set it aside with several others to remove the tenon later—when I mounted a faceplate.
