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I run my hand along the piece of wood lying on the table, feeling the imperfection of the oak under my fingers. Every single piece of lumber in this workshop has been meticulously handpicked by me. Some I even cut down with my grandpa.

I walk to the woodpile next to the furniture I’ve made over the years and kneel down with nostalgia. My grandfather taught me everything I know about wood. He always told me to take a good look at the grain. “It’ll reveal a lot about its history,” he used to say. “Look at it carefully, each detail, and the rest will come to you easily.” How to choose the right timber for the right project, how to bend and dry it to the exact shape you need, and how to sand and stain it to best reflect its natural color. We used to start early in the morning and stay buried in the shed until night set in and Grandma yelled at us to get our asses to the dinner table.

We built my cabin, right in this room, piece by piece.

For a long time, I couldn’t set foot in this place. It was too painful, too fresh. A constant reminder of my loss and the gaping hole he left.

But today, as I’m picking up a piece of cedar we chose together, I feel closer to him than I ever did during those last years. It’s as if he’s standing right here next to me, pressing the miter saw into the wood, his cologne and clean-soap scent wrapping me up in the comforting cocoon of my childhood.

“Ols!”

I turn around and spot Lola, eyes wide, standing in the doorway. I stop the saw, then take off my safety goggles.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I throw my gloves on the table, walk toward her, and pull her into a tight hug, noticing how dark it is outside. How did I miss the sun setting? I’ve been buried in here for hours.

“What are you doing? What’s happening? I haven’t seen you here in ages.” She moves around me, inspecting the wood on the table. She looks up at me. “Are you . . .?”

I nod. “Maybe.”

“Why? How? Since when?”

I laugh, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and drag her outside, toward my cabin. “Let me brew you a cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you all about it. I need a break anyway.”

“It’s freezing today.” She looks at my bare arms. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrug and open my front door. “I don’t mind the cold.”

“You know, you should get a dog,” Lola says as she hangs her coat in the entryway.

I snort. “Where is this coming from? And when do you think I’d have the time to take care of a dog?”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “The gang could take care of him or her when you’re away for work. It’d be good for you.”

“I’m sure you guys would love to, but you don’t need another excuse to come here more often.” I open the fridge. “Almond or cashew?”

Lola sighs. “Neither. I’m going full black today. I’m too tired.”

“Damn.” I whistle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink black coffee.” I reach for the mugs on my wooden shelves, pour the freshly pressed coffee in, and nod toward the door. “Muskoka Chairs?”

“Heck yes.”

“Bring the blanket!” I yell as I push the door handle with my elbow, the steamy mugs warming my hands.

I sit on one of the red chairs that faces the small natural lake bordering my cabin just as a heron dives into the water and emerges with its prize clutched in its beak. My gaze follows him as he flies off into the distance, his large wings engulfing the sky.

“I never get tired of seeing these magnificent creatures,” Lola sighs, blanket in hand. “You’re lucky; it’s a perfect playground for them here.”

“Did you know that although great blue herons possess some excellent fishing skills, they can sometimes choke trying to swallow prey that’s too big? Because of their long, S-shaped necks.”

Lola stares at me. “How do you think I would know that, Ols?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’m sure it’s a well-established fact.”

She takes a sip from her mug. Her mouth twists in disgust. “People are lying. They can’t possibly like drinking this.”

I shake my head and smile. “Not everyone likes two pounds of sugar in their coffee.”

She can be so silly when she decides to be. Sometimes, I wonder how she and I came to be so close. We’re so different, and to any outsiders looking in, our friendship probably wouldn’t make any sense, but to us, it does. She’s my oldest friend, my confidant, one of the few people on this earth who loves me for me.