Page 58 of Seven Year Itch
He exhales heavily and shoves a hand through his hair, mussingthe brunette locks into a perfectly tousled mess that hairstylists would spend hours trying to achieve. “They use me to do the grunt work on our job sites a lot, always assuming I have nothing better to do. I’m getting sick of it.”
“Why don’t you tell them that?”
“Because the shit still has to get done, so I just fucking do it.” He shrugs and hits me with a disappointed look, but his eyes suddenly soften around the edges. “I really do want to show you my stuff, though. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
My eyes widen at that rare sign of vulnerability. It’s unexpected but very appreciated, and I consider the fact that we all can have bad days from time to time. Even happy-go-lucky guys like Calder.
I resume our walk, appreciating the silence between us for a change until we reach our destination. It’s a small cedar-sided outbuilding with a green metal roof and tiny little windows. And when Calder opens the double doors, it feels like an entry into his mind.
It’s woodsy and messy and still strangely beautiful. It feels like the essence of him in a workshop form. Exposed bulbs hang from the rafters with a small TV mounted to the wall. There’s a stack of notepads filled with sketches of designs for various furniture pieces and power tools and hand tools and nails, and wood chunks scattered everywhere with a layer of sawdust clinging to it all. He has a huge assortment of beautiful, completed pieces placed everywhere, even some stored up in the rafters.
“What did you make all these for?” I ask, walking over to check out what looks like the porch swing he sent me a photo of the other day.
He slides his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know yet.”
“You just made them for fun?” I blink back my shock as I notice the intricate detailing along the arms.
“Yeah, I guess,” he replies, gripping the back of his neck. “I built this shop after my dad died. Woodworking was kind of our thing together, and I just sorta... never stopped making stuff. I watchgame shows while I work, so the time flies out here. My dad loved game shows.”
My eyes soften at this unexpectedly sentimental side of Calder. To build an entire shed dedicated to a hobby he had with his late father makes my heart squeeze in a way that it never has for him. I only met Steven a few times, but he left a mark.
If you looked at the Fletcher family as a whole, you would have thought they lived a charmed life. Two married parents with four sons who all worked for their father’s construction business. Max eventually paved his own path, but the other three stayed strong in the family business. And by all accounts, Wyatt, Calder, and Luke are the best of friends. Willingly working and living next to each other every day.
The death of Steven a few years ago rattled them. I remember seeing Calder at the funeral. I was showing up to pay my respects to Cozy and Max mostly, but it was Calder who drew my eye. He looked like a deer in the headlights. Like his entire world had been rocked. The normally outgoing, outspoken, life of the party, nothing-gets-me-down giant mountain man was truly broken. I’m guessing he built this shop to help himself grieve.
“What game shows do you usually watch?” I ask with a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Me and Cozy used to watchFamily Feudtogether all the time when we were kids. I was kind of obsessed.”
“That’s one of my favorites too,” Calder replies with a genuine smile. “But I likeWheel of Fortunetoo.”
“That’s so funny.” I blow some dust off the swing to feel the smooth wood beneath my hands. “I must have applied to be onFamily Feudlike ten times but never got picked. You don’t see too many divorced families with just one kid getting selected for that show.”
“Huh,” Calder frowns, fiddling with a tool he’d left out. “I guess I never noticed.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I always imagined what it would be like if my family got along like the ones you see on the show. Everyone works together and laughs and teases each other. It’s sweet. My family functions are like personality-disorder festivals. Your family would be a riot on that show.”
Calder chuckles as he props himself on a sawhorse in the middle of the space. “We could probably compete in a personality-disorder festival too.”
“Nah, you guys are solid,” I hear the longing in my voice while I muse over the image of all of the Fletcher brothers standing behind the table and answering those questions from Steve Harvey. They’d probably surprise me and be really good. I was always terrible at that game. I don’t think quick enough on my feet. I need to ponder something for a bit before I can decide on an answer. Impulsiveness isn’t really my style.
Except in Mexico, apparently.
I refocus on the furniture. “Do you think you’ll ever decide to sell these pieces?”
Calder grips the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable with my fondling of his work, which just makes me want to fondle it more. “Yeah, for sure. I just haven’t got around to it yet.”
“Have you sold anything before?”
“Nah, I just give them away usually. Gave Trista a chair for their gender-reveal party thing last year. She has it outside the barn and sits in it a lot. It’s nice giving them to people I get to see use them.”
He reminds me so much of Cozy. She loves making charcuterie boards, but it took a lot of convincing to get her to do them for money. What is with these people having talents and not wanting to monetize off them? I understand some things are just hobbies, but this level of talent goes well beyond that. Calder has to spend hours on these, pouring himself over them. They’d sell for a hell of a lot more than one of my T-shirts, that’s for sure. And he just... gives them away?
He moves over to his workbench and picks up a notebook,wiping some dust off it before flipping it open to a page. “This is what I was thinking for your shelves.”
My boots scrape on wood shavings as I walk over and look at a drawing he’s done. I grab the notebook from his hands for a closer look, my fingers stroking over his sketch, amazed that he drew this himself. I wouldn’t have pegged Calder as the artistic type.
“It’s a rotating cube shelf with a space on the left to display your graphic shirt design and a shelf beside it to hold the inventory. I want to do some rotary wheels at the base so people can spin it and see everything without having to walk around it. We can do two to fill those spaces you have open right now. I’m thinking maple to match the floors in your shop.”
“You noticed the floors in my shop?” I look up at him and he frowns back at me.
