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For a moment, I considered covering everything back up, pretending I hadn’t discovered his secret. But that seemed wrong. I couldn’t deny knowing about what he’d created.

So I stood there, pieces of the jewelry box in my hands, when Jake appeared in the workshop doorway.

He stopped short when he saw me, and several emotions crossed his face in quick succession. Surprise. Embarrassment. Maybe some vulnerability.

“Hey,” he said carefully.

“Hey.” I held up the box. “This is beautiful.”

“It’s not finished⁠—”

“It’s beautiful,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “And it’s master-level work. Your grandmother taught you well.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, outfitted in track pants and a hoodie emblazoned with the Blizzard logo. He pulled his hat off his head, and his red hair stood out at odd angles before he ran his hand through it.

He must have come straight from the rink, as he still looked flushed with exertion. The hoodie’s sleeves were shoved up over his forearms, which were dusted with fine hairs. I forced my gaze back to his creation before he caught me cataloging him like a piece of well-made furniture.

“She was so good at it. I try to live up to her standards. She said that if you were going to do something, you should do it right the first time. No shortcuts, no rushing, no compromising on quality just because something was difficult.”

“I think she’d be proud.” I gestured to the wall of hand planes and chisels. “Her tools?”

“Yeah.”

I set the jewelry box back on the workbench, then turned to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because you needed space for your equipment. Because this project⁠—”

“No.” My voice was sharper than it needed to be. But he also needed to hear me. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why didn’t you tell me you were a craftsman?”

Jake looked confused. “I’m not. I’m a hockey player who does some woodworking on the side to unwind.”

“Look at this.” I gestured to what he’d made, to the tool wall, to the workbench. It had been built with the same attention to detail as any piece of furniture. “This doesn’t seem like a hobby to me. I knew there was more to you when you started talking about bookmatched grain, and this proves it.”

“You’re exaggerating⁠—”

“I’m not.” I moved closer to him, needing him to understand. “I’ve been doing this as an apprentice and professional for a decade. I know the difference between someone who’s a hobbyist and someone who can create this. I’m not kidding when I say this is a masterwork.”

Jake stared at me, then looked around the corner that represented his connection to his grandmother. It was his private space for creating beauty with his hands.

“She would have liked you,” he said quietly.

“I would have liked to meet her. To thank her for teaching you that taking time to do something right is never time wasted.”

“She always said that working with your hands connected you to something bigger. All the craftsmen who came before, all the knowledge passed down through generations.” Jake touched one of the hand planes with obvious reverence. “She would have respected your work too.”

“Jake.” I waited until he looked at me. “You can’t hide this. These tools, this work, this connection to your family. You don’t shove that away because someone else needs space.”

“Where else would I put it? You need room for your commissions⁠—”

“I need about sixty percent of this massive space. You need maybe twenty percent.” I spread out my arms and gestured around us. “That leaves the rest for us to figure out how to work together.”

“Together.” He said it low, and heat climbed the back of my neck.

“If you want to. I think...” I hesitated, then decided honesty was worth the risk. “I think I’d like having someone around who understands what it means to care about getting the details right. It gets lonely sometimes, working by yourself.”

Jake studied my face. “What about schedules? When do you usually work?”

“It’s what I do all day. I guess I’d say I’m at my best in the early morning and late at night if I get into a flow.” I looked around the workshop, imagining it filled with the sounds of both of us working side by side. “What about you?”