Page 5 of Heartwood and Hardware
The only relationship I'm looking for is with a properly normalized database.
Jamie
Sure, Jan. Get some sleep.
I set my phone on the nightstand and climb into bed, but sleep feels impossible. My mind races through all the ways tomorrow could go wrong. What if I freeze up? What if no one asks questions? What if everyone asks questions I can't answer? What if I say something inappropriate because I misread the room?
I grab my tablet and pull up my presentation notes, reviewing them for the hundredth time. The content is solid. I know this material inside and out. It's everything else that's uncertain.
Eventually, I set the tablet aside and try a grounding exercise, focusing on the weight of the blanket, the coolness of the pillow, the rhythm of my breathing. As I finally drift toward sleep, my mind conjures a strange, comforting image: tiny wooden foxes arranged in a circle, standing guard against anxiety dreams.
Saturday morning arrives with unforgiving brightness. I've slept poorly, waking every hour to check the time, afraid I'd somehow sleep through my alarm. By the time I actually need to get up, I've been awake for an hour, scrolling through social media and fighting the urge to make last-minute changes to my presentation.
I follow my pre-event routine methodically: shower, breakfast (even though my stomach protests), outfit (the teal dress with black leggings underneath because convention center chairs are always uncomfortable), hair (simple ponytail to keep it out of my face), minimal makeup (just enough to not look washed out under the stage lights).
In the bathroom mirror, I practice my introduction. "Hi, I'm Riley Bennett. I'm a senior developer at Nexus Solutions, focusing on database optimization and ethical algorithm design." Simple. Direct. Professional.
I say it three more times, adjusting my tone until it sounds natural instead of rehearsed. Then I gather my things: laptop, backup slides on a USB drive, emergency kit with headphones and snacks, the lanyard with my speaker badge.
As I head for the door, my phone buzzes one more time.
Mia
Knock 'em dead, sis. Remember—you're the expert. That's why they invited you.
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders.
"I'm Riley Bennett," I whisper to myself. "I know what I'm talking about. I belong on this panel."
The mantra feels shaky, but it's the best I can do. I lock my apartment door behind me and head toward the convention center, where thousands of people—and one chainsaw carver with his tiny foxes—are waiting.
CHAPTER TWO
DEAN
Sawdust flies as my chainsaw bites into cedar, the familiar vibration traveling up my arms. The sharp, sweet scent fills my workshop. My body knows this dance by heart: the weight of the saw, the resistance of the wood, the way to coax what I see in my mind into physical form.
I step back, kill the engine, and survey the bear taking shape. Seven feet of red cedar, slowly revealing the creature I glimpsed inside it three weeks ago. The basic form is there now. I survey the powerful haunches, the curved back, the massive head turned slightly as if catching a scent on the wind.
This one's special. My showpiece for the Comic-Con this weekend. Not that I'd admit how much it matters to me.
I grab a chisel to refine the face, working in the quiet that follows the chainsaw's roar. This is the part I love most—the silence, the focus, the conversation between my hands and the wood. No need for words here. Just instinct and touch.
"Yo, Evans! You in there?"
Parker's voice shatters my concentration. I sigh, setting down the chisel.
"Back here," I call, wiping my hands on a rag that's more sawdust than cloth.
Parker Mitchell appears in the doorway, all six-foot-four of him grinning like he's caught me doing something embarrassing instead of just working. His leather apron and the faint smell of smoke tell me he's come straight from his own workshop.
"Still hiding in your cave, I see." He gestures around my workspace. "Though I gotta say, that bear is looking fierce."
I grunt in acknowledgment, running a hand along the cedar's grain. "Should be ready for Saturday."
"Better be. I've been talking you up to everyone." Parker helps himself to the coffee I brewed hours ago, grimacing at the first sip. "Man, this is awful. How do you drink this?"
"I don't drink it for the flavor."
