Page 19 of Heartwood and Hardware
Dean
The chainsaw vibrates in my hands, but my focus is shattered. Riley's abrupt departure plays on repeat in my mind—her wide eyes, the hurt in her expression, the way she shook her head before disappearing into the crowd. Something went wrong, but I have no idea what.
I kill the engine mid-cut, earning confused murmurs from the audience.
"Sorry, folks. Technical issue." I set the saw down, scanning the crowd for any sign of Riley. Nothing. "Let's take five minutes."
Parker approaches as the crowd disperses. "Everything okay? You never stop mid-demonstration."
"Riley left." I wipe sawdust from my hands with more force than necessary. "Something happened. She looked upset."
"Ah." Parker's expression shifts, guilt flashing across his features. "About that..."
My stomach drops. "What did you do?"
"Nothing bad! I was just talking to Mike about how well you two hit it off, and how the matchmaking worked perfectly, and?—"
"Wait, is this that thing you were talking about earlier?" I grab Parker's arm, pieces clicking into place. "The thing that you assured me wasn't you setting me up?"
Parker winces. "I might have mentioned you to them. And they might have arranged for Riley to find her way to your booth after her panel."
"Jesus, Parker." I release his arm, stepping back. "So this whole day—meeting Riley, everything—it was all orchestrated?"
"The meeting was arranged," Parker admits. "But everything after that was real. You can't fake the connection you two have."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a message from Riley.
Riley
Did you know about Zaftig?
My heart sinks. She overheard. She thinks I was in on it.
"She thinks I knew," I tell Parker, my voice tight. "She thinks I was playing her."
"That's not?—"
"Not what you intended? Doesn't matter." I type quickly, asking what Zaftig is, trying to understand
Her responses make the situation painfully clear. She believes our entire connection was manufactured—a setup orchestrated by strangers with an agenda.
"I need to find her." I pocket my phone. "Cover for me."
"Dean, I'm sorry. I thought?—"
"Not now." I cut him off, already moving toward the convention center entrance. "We'll talk later."
Outside, the evening air carries a hint of autumn. I scan the area, looking for Riley's familiar figure among the dispersing convention-goers. Nothing.
I try calling, but it goes straight to voicemail. She's turned off her phone.
"Dammit, Riley." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated and worried. "Where are you?"
For a moment, I consider returning to my booth. Maybe she'll come back when she's ready to talk. But the thought of waiting, of doing nothing while she believes I deceived her, is unbearable.
I start walking, checking side streets and nearby coffee shops. The wooden fox I carved for her sits in my pocket, twin to the one I gave her earlier. I'd been planning to surprise her with the matched set, to explain how foxes are solitary creatures until they find their mate.
Now that explanation feels hollow, tainted by Parker's well-intentioned meddling.
