Page 13 of Heartwood and Hardware
People are gathering now for my demonstration. I should be focusing on them, on the carving, but I find myself reluctant to end this moment with Riley.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it for more than just the phone fix. "Not many people would take the time."
"Not many people would give a stranger a hand-carved fox," she counters with a smile. "Consider us even."
As I turn to greet the small crowd, setting up my tools and explaining what I'll be demonstrating, I'm acutely aware of Riley sitting slightly apart, watching with genuine interest. When I make a joke about the bear's expression, her laugh rises clear above the others.
For the first time in years, I don't mind having an audience. Because it's not really an audience at all.
It's company. Her company.
And as I guide my chisel along the bear's face, revealing the character hidden in the wood, I realize something has shifted in me too—something that's been dormant for a long time, now slowly coming to life under her curious, accepting gaze.
Like the wood taking shape beneath my hands, I feel myself becoming more than I was before she wandered into my workspace.
CHAPTER FIVE
RILEY
The crowd around Dean's booth gradually disperses after his demonstration ends. I've stayed anchored to my seat, mesmerized by his hands as they transform wood into art. There's something hypnotic about watching someone so completely in their element—the confidence in each movement, the focus in his eyes, the way his entire body seems to know exactly what to do without conscious thought.
I recognize that state. It's how I feel when I'm deep in code, when the world narrows to just me and the problem I'm solving.
"That was amazing," I tell him as he sets down his tools. "The way you brought out the bear's expression—it's like you knew exactly where to carve to make it come alive."
Dean runs a hand through his hair, leaving a dusting of fine wood particles that catch the late afternoon light. "The bear tells me where to go. I just listen."
He smiles, that same warm expression that reaches his eyes and makes something flutter in my chest. "Hungry? There are some food trucks on the other side of the artist alley."
My stomach answers before my mouth can, growling audibly. I laugh, feeling my cheeks warm. "I guess that's a yes. I completely forgot to eat before my panel."
"I know a good taco place," Dean says, wiping his hands on a rag. "If you like tacos?"
"I'm pretty sure 'doesn't like tacos' is grounds for immediate suspicion," I reply. "Lead the way."
Dean secures his booth, asking the blacksmith next door—Parker, I learn—to keep an eye on things. Parker gives me a curious once-over, then shoots Dean a look I can't quite interpret before agreeing.
As we walk away, I catch Parker's voice: "Don't forget what I told you!"
Dean's shoulders tense slightly, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he gestures toward the colorful row of tents and booths ahead. "Artist Alley is on the way. Want to check it out?"
"Definitely!" I clutch my fox carving, which hasn't left my hand since Dean gave it to me. "I always find the best stuff there."
We walk through the alley, stopping whenever something catches our eye. At a comic artist's booth, I find myself explaining the difference between Marvel and DC storytelling approaches to Dean.
"So Marvel tends to focus on flawed heroes dealing with the consequences of their powers, while DC traditionally presents more archetypal, larger-than-life figures," I explain, gesturing to the artwork displayed. "Though that's oversimplified—both have evolved a lot."
Dean listens intently, asking questions that show he's genuinely interested, not just humoring me. When I realize I've been talking for several minutes straight, I stop abruptly.
"Sorry, I'm info-dumping again."
"Don't apologize." He touches my arm briefly, the contact sending a surprising warmth through me. "I like hearing you talk about things you're passionate about."
Something about his sincerity disarms me completely. Most people get that glazed look when I go into detail about my interests. Dean actually seems to want to hear more.
"What about you?" I ask as we continue walking. "Any comics you follow?"
"Hellboy," he answers without hesitation. "Mignola's art style—all those shadows and negative space—it's influenced some of my carving techniques."
