Page 6 of Heartwood and Hardware
"Clearly." He sets the mug down and picks up one of the small fox figures from my workbench. "I see you're well-stock with anxiety foxes."
I nod, suddenly self-conscious. The foxes are personal—something I carve between the larger commissioned pieces. Each one fits in the palm of a hand, detailed down to the individual fur tufts and alert expressions.
"They're good luck," I mutter.
"For the con?"
"For whenever things get too..." I trail off, not sure how to explain.
"Too people-y?" Parker supplies, turning the fox over in his calloused hands.
"Something like that."
He sets the fox down gently. "You know, most people deal with social anxiety by having a drink. Or therapy."
"I prefer wood."
"So I've noticed." Parker leans against my workbench, crossing his arms. "Speaking of preferences, when was the last time you went on a date?"
I pick up my chisel again, focusing intently on the bear's eye. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying, man. You spend more time with your chainsaw than with actual humans."
"Chainsaws don't make small talk."
Parker laughs. "Fair point. But seriously, Dean. It's been what—two years since Vanessa?"
I flinch at the name. "Three."
"Three years! Jesus. Even trees need pollination sometimes."
I point the chisel at him. "You did not just compare my love life to tree reproduction."
"I absolutely did." He grins, unrepentant. "Look, I'm not saying you need to hit the bars or download some hookup app. Just... be open to possibilities."
I return to the bear, carving a slight furrow above its eye to suggest wariness. Feels appropriate.
"I'm bringing this up," Parker continues, undeterred by my silence, "because I might have mentioned you to someone."
My hand stills. "You did what?"
"Relax! It's not a setup. Well, not exactly." He has the decency to look slightly guilty. "Remember that dating agency I told you about?"
"That one for curvy women?"
"My point is that it isn't just any dating service. They're matchmakers. Old school, personal. They find people who actually fit together, not just swipe right on a photo."
I turn back to my bear. "I don't need matchmaking."
"Said the man who hasn't had a date since the Obama administration."
"It hasn't been that long," I mutter.
"Close enough." Parker picks up another fox, this one with its head tilted quizzically. "All I did was mention you to one of thematchmakers. Said you'd be at Comic-Con this weekend. That's it."
I eye him suspiciously. "That's it?"
"Well..." He sets the fox down carefully. "I might have shown her your Instagram. The one with your carvings."
