Page 62 of The Lost Book of First Loves

When they neared the clearing and Beck’s workshop, Hank trotted ahead of her with his tail wagging as he headed through the wide doorway, the sliding barn door open to the morning air.

“Hey, bud,” she heard Beck say. “Where did you wander off to?”

She followed the dog. “Apparently, he came to escort me. I thought maybe you sent him.”

He smiled. “No. Wish I’d thought of it, though. Good morning.”

He looked gorgeous, wearing jeans and a navy blue T-shirt that showed off his wide shoulders and muscled forearms.

June did her best to ignore the sudden nerves fluttering through her.

“Are you still okay with me watching you work today?”

He grimaced. “I suppose. Are you sure you don’t have something more interesting to do? Like, I don’t know, watching grass grow?”

“Yes. Positive. I want to watch, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you would rather we forget it, I can head back home.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I need to set up.”

She watched as he placed three cameras at different angles, taking care to make sure they were focused on the work, not on him. She again had the thought that if he did ever film his face, his videos would definitely go viral. A hot guy working with his hands to create something beautiful and artistic was appealing on several different levels.

“I should have asked,” she said as he checked the cameras again. “Do I need to be quiet?”

He shook his head. “I never use the actual audio the cameras pick up. Who wants to hear power tools and all my occasional curse words when I screw something up?”

She laughed, earning a startled look from Beck.

“I speed it up, anyway,” he said. “Otherwise, each video would be hours long. If I’m going to use audio, I record commentary about what I’m doing separately, and the video editor dubs that in along with any music or sound effects.”

She found all of his videos fascinating, the silent ones and the few where he explained the process in that deep, arresting voice.

There was a very good chance she might have a small crush on her nearest neighbor.

She knew she should be horrified by the realization, but in an odd way, she found it comforting. She had come back from the dead only a few weeks ago. It was good to know the experience hadn’t left her completely altered. She could still feel tingles in all the right places, even if her attraction was completely futile and inappropriate.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

He pointed to a chair she didn’t remember being there earlier. “No. You can sit down and try not to be too distracting.”

Why would he find her distracting? she wondered as she sat down. Would he findanyonedistracting or was it something specific to her?

“Unless it’s too disruptive, do you mind explaining what you’re doing as you go?” she asked as he unrolled what looked like a thin piece of flooring, then picked up a couple of two-by-six boards. He spread a bead of wood glue on them and used another tool to angle them together.

He briefly looked up from his work then back down to the boards as he picked up a drill and began screwing them together on the angle. “I’m building a form here that is the size and dimensions of the tabletop I’m making. In this case, it’s going to be a coffee table. I use laminate on the bottom and then peel it away once the resin has dried.”

“Do you have to make a new form with every piece you make?”

This time he didn’t look up. “Yes. I have to destroy each form in the process. I try to reuse as much as I can, but that’s not always possible.”

He worked in silence and she almost thought he had forgotten she was there except for the occasional moments when he would look up and find her watching the process carefully.

“What made you start creating tables?”

“I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands. My grandpa is a contractor in California, and I worked with him after school and during summer breaks in high school and again when I was in college. I grew up watching him tinker with wood in his spare time when he wasn’t building or renovating houses. He loved creating beautiful pieces. Still does. He always says he finds it immensely satisfying to take a piece of wood and create something both beautiful and useful out of it. I guess I inherited that from him.”

“Are you close to your family?”

He smiled softly. “Yes. Very. They wanted me to move home to Los Angeles after... well, everything that happened with my wife.”

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