Page 6 of Storytime and Sawdust

"Board members, library staff, including our children's librarian. She's remarkable—has the children practically eating out of her hand duringstorytime." Margaret smiles. "She'll have valuable input on what would work best for the little ones."

I close the folder, conflicted. "I don't typically do institutional work."

"This isn't institutional. It's personal." Margaret reaches for her bag. "Just think about it, Cal. You have a gift for seeing the soul in a piece of wood. Imagine what you could create for children discovering the magic of books for the first time."

Something stirs in me—a whisper of possibility. I think of Grandpa reading to me in this very workshop, my small body tucked against his side on the bench he built just for that purpose. The smell of sawdust and old pages. The worlds that opened between those covers.

"No promises," I say finally.

"That's all I ask." Margaret heads toward the door, then pauses. "One more thing. The committee is particularly interested in interactive elements. Something children can touch, explore, make their own."

After she leaves, I stand in the quiet workshop, the folder heavy in my hands. The bookshelf waiting for its final inspection seems suddenly ordinary—beautiful but expected. Safe.

When was the last time I built something unexpected?

I move to my drafting table, clearing space among the sketches and measurements. Opening the folder again, I study the library photos more carefully. The corner has potential with its high ceilings and windows on two sides. My mind begins to work, unbidden. A tree-like structure, perhaps. Branches forming natural shelves. Reading pods nestled like bird's nests. Secret cubbies where shy children could retreat with their treasures.

I find myself reaching for a pencil, rough shapes forming on the blank page. The wood doesn't tell me what it wants to be this time. Instead, I'm telling it a story. A story about hiding places and discoveries, about worlds within worlds.

My phone buzzes with a text from my next client, reminding me of tomorrow's delivery time. Reality intrudes. I set down the pencil and close the folder.

I have a business to run. Commitments to honor. A reputation for reliability to uphold.

But that night, after finishing the bookshelf and prepping materials for the dining table, I find myself back at the drafting table. The lamp casts a warm circle on the paper as my pencil moves with growing confidence. I sketch until my hand cramps, until the workshop grows cold around me.

When I finally step back, rubbing my stiff neck, the design taking shape surprises me. It's whimsical, unlike anything I've built before. Risky. Challenging.

Something Grandpa would have loved.

I make coffee as dawn breaks, staring at the sketches with critical eyes. It would require techniques I haven't used in years. Materials I'd need to source specially. Time I'm not sure I can spare.

But for the first time in longer than I care to admit, I feel a spark of genuine excitement. Not just satisfaction in craftsmanship, but the thrill of creation. Of building something that matters.

I pull out my phone and text Margaret before I can talk myself out of it.

Cal

I'll submit a proposal. No promises it's what you're looking for.

Her response comes minutes later.

Margaret

It will be exactly what we didn't know we needed.

I tuck the phone away and turn to the lumber rack, running my hand along a slab of cherry I've been saving for something special. The wood feels warm under my palm, alive with possibility.

"What do you think, Grandpa?" I ask the empty workshop. "Ready to build something magical?"

The morning light strengthens, dust motes dancing in the beams. For a moment, I swear I can hear his gruff chuckle, feel his hand on my shoulder.About time, boy. About time.

CHAPTER THREE

MOLLY

"Does everyone have a copy of the submission packets?" Elaine passes the last folder to Margaret at the head of the conference table.

I flip open the one in front of me, excitement bubbling through my veins. After two weeks of anticipation, today we finally review the artisan proposals for our children's reading nook. I've already peeked at the library director's copies—I couldn't help myself—but now I get to officially weigh in.

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