Page 18 of Storytime and Sawdust

We work silently, me drilling mounting points, Molly holding components. Our usual rhythm feels off-balance now. I'm overthinking everything, doubting decisions I'd been confident about hours ago.

"These really are beautiful, Cal," Molly says, touching the book-shaped door. "The children will be thrilled."

I grunt, focusing on aligning the next door.

"I love the tiny bookshelf inside this one. Like a library within our library."

"It was your idea," I say without looking up.

"But you made it real. That's what you do—make dreams tangible."

Her sincerity twists something inside me. I want to see myself through her eyes instead of Harold's.

"Harold's right about one thing," I say. "Maybe it's too complicated."

Molly's hand drops. "You don't believe that."

I shrug. "It's valid. Form over function."

"The form creates the function. The magic is the purpose."

"Magic doesn't hold up to daily use by a hundred kids."

She frowns. "What's going on? This doesn't sound like you."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think." It comes out too harsh.

Hurt flashes across her face. "Maybe not."

We finish in strained silence. Each fairy door fits perfectly, but I feel I've missed the mark—built something too fanciful.

"That's the last one," I say.

"It looks perfect. Exactly what we envisioned."

"What you envisioned. I just built it."

"This was a collaboration. Your ideas shaped every aspect."

I pack my tools. "The opening's tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. At 10:00. You'll be there?"

"I'll try. Depends on my schedule."

She looks hurt. "Of course. You must be busy."

I snap my toolbox closed. "Final invoice will be in your email tomorrow."

"Cal." I stop at the door. "Did I do something wrong?"

She stands beside our reading nook, arms wrapped around herself, eyes confused and hurt.

"No. You didn't do anything wrong. I just need to get back to the workshop."

"Thank you for everything. The reading nook is more beautiful than I imagined."

I should explain my doubts, tell her the problem is me, not her. Instead, I nod and leave.

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