Page 46 of No Contest
"We should—" I started.
"Yeah," he agreed, not letting go.
"In a minute."
"Yeah."
We stayed pressed against that wall, kissing hard, until my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled away reluctantly, breathing hard. "Damn."
"What?"
I checked the phone—client, asking about the cabinet timeline. "Work."
"Right. Work." He straightened, tried to smooth his hoodie, and only succeeded in spreading more sawdust. "I should—should I go?"
"No." I caught his wrist. "Stay. Just—give me five minutes to answer this."
His smile was crooked, still kiss-stunned. "Okay."
I typed out a quick response while he wandered back to the workbench, running his fingers over the stripped cabinet section. When I looked up, he was studying the grain pattern with the same careful attention he gave his knitting.
"It's stunning," he said quietly. "Under all that paint. You'd never know it was there unless someone took the time to find it."
I pocketed my phone and moved to stand beside him. "That's the job. Seeing what's underneath. Bringing it back."
He glanced at me sideways. "You thinking about expanding? Like, hiring someone?"
The question surprised me. "I've been considering it. There's enough work. And—" I paused, testing the words in my mouth. "I think I'm finally ready to build something that's mine. Not just what my dad left me."
"Yours?"
"Yeah." I touched the cabinet, feeling the grain under my palm. "For a long time, this place felt like an obligation. His business, his clients, and his reputation. Like I was just maintaining what he built instead of building anything myself."
"And now?"
"Now I'm starting to see it differently. Like—I can keep what was good about what he taught me and still make it my own." I looked at him. "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah. It does."
"You think I'd be a good teacher? If I hired an apprentice?"
"Are you serious?" He turned to face me. "You just spent twenty minutes explaining wood grain as if it were the most important thing in the world. You'd be a great teacher."
I exhaled. He saw me as a teacher. Not my father's son maintaining his legacy, but someone who could build something new. "Thanks."
"I mean it." He brushed sawdust from my shoulder. "You care about getting it right. About showing people how things work. That's what good teachers do."
I thought about him teaching eight kids to knit while his ribs screamed. About Jeremy asking for lessons, and about Mika hiding behind me until Hog crouched down with a tiny whale and made her feel safe.
"You'd know," I said.
"Yeah. I would." His thumb traced my collarbone through my shirt. "I've got a question."
"Shoot."
"What changed? Between last night and this morning?"
