Page 12

“What are you talking about? This is the friendliest cat in the world.”

As if to prove my point, the cat lifted herself up onto her hind legs to butt her head against my hand.

“She’s playing you,” he said. “Or she’s been playing me this whole time. She doesn’t even like Haider, and Haider is a total cat whisperer.” He glared at the cat for a moment and then snorted and shook his head, his expression softening with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” I lifted my grocery bag. “So, it’s lunch time. I have cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes for lunch?”

“I also bought subs.”

“Now you’re talking. Come on in.”

“What are you working on?” I asked as I followed him inside.

“Chairs,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

I studied the weird half-birdcage thing that was sitting on the bench. “That’s a chair?”

“It’s a sack-back Windsor chair,” he said. “Well, it’s part of it. Not my taste, but the guy wants eight of them. English-style too, which is narrower, so I’m using elm, which is stronger but a hell of a lot harder to shape in the steam box.”

“You just said a lot of words I didn’t understand.”

Ryan laughed faintly, looking at the ground while he rubbed the back of his neck again.

I didn’t like that he seemed unsure of whether or not I was praising him or making fun of him, so I said, “I think the stuff you can do is amazing.”

His cheeks pinked up, but he lifted his gaze and gave me a genuine smile. “Thanks. Most people zone out if I start talking about what I’m actually doing.”

“I would love to hear you talk about everything you do here,” I said, “even if I can’t even work a hammer without fucking it up.

Last month I tried to hang a picture in my apartment.

And now I can’t ever move it because there are three different holes behind it.

I don’t even know where I went wrong, but I kept doing it. ”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he said tentatively.

“Oh, I definitely am,” I said. “But I have other skills, like buying sandwiches.”

Ryan’s grin came back, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Well, that remains to be seen.”

“Challenge accepted.” I lifted the grocery bag onto a clearish space of his work bench, and pulled out the two wrapped subs.

“Salami, capicola, and pepperoni, with lettuce, tomato, onion, peppers, and Italian dressing. Or roast beef with cheddar, onions, peppers, and sriracha mayo.” I took a moment to preen at his obvious indecision. “Or, we can have half each.”

“Half each is good.” He crossed to the mini fridge by the canvas cot in the corner. “Soda or water?”

“Water’s fine,” I said.

We pulled up chairs in the sunlight outside the workshop to eat.

Ryan smelled of warmth and wood shavings, and I tried not to sniff him too obviously while I plotted becoming a millionaire by creating a cologne made out of the sweepings of his workshop floor.

The cat joined us, annoying Ryan by sitting within my reach but not his.

She crept forward for bits of salami and roast beef though.

She even allowed him to touch her head for a shred of capicola.

“Is it just the chairs you’re working on?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m still putting together stuff for Founders Day. I’ve got a stack of roughed out bowls I need to finish off. Bowls always sell well.”

“How long does it take to make a bowl?”

“To carve it out? For a basic one, a few minutes.”

“You make it sound easy, but I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Want to see?”

I shoved the last of my sub in my mouth, “Yes!”

“Cherry blank,” he said when we were back inside, setting the round block of wood down on the empty end of the workbench.

“First, I find the middle.” He pulled a compass with a pencil from the pocket of his apron and made a series of curved lines on the surface of the round.

“There it is. Now I drill a hole for the screw chuck.” As quickly said as done. “And now over to the lathe.”

I followed him to the lathe and, presumably, the screw chuck.

Ryan threaded a few discs of wood onto the metal bit sticking out the top of the lathe.

“We don’t need the shank to go too deep.

” Then he picked up the cherry blank and threaded it onto the shank as well.

“There’s a spare pair of eye protectors on the bench,” he said, nodding at them while he put his own on.

I slid them on, absolutely fascinated. I created things out of words, a process that from the outside looked like long periods of staring out the window interrupted only by wild flurries of typing, but Ryan’s process was real and tangible and somehow magical.

He took what looked like a hollowed-out chisel and positioned his hands so the tool was resting against the back of his left hand while his right controlled it. Then he turned on the lathe. “And now we make the first cut and shape the outside of the bowl.”

It was like watching a potter use a wheel, except it was sideways.

Under Ryan’s hands, the wood seemed as soft and malleable as clay, and I watched in amazement as a long curl of shaved wood spiraled off the edge of the cherry round like the ribbon off a Christmas gift.

The cherry round looked like a bowl now, with curved sides, a little decorative ridge halfway up, and even a small base.

Ryan stopped the lathe. “And now we do the inside.”

He removed the bowl from the lathe, then removed the shank and replaced it with a different attachment.

“Step jaws,” he said, when he saw me watching avidly. He fixed the bowl into the jaws, base first, and tightened it in there. “Now we drill a depth hole.” He drilled a hole in the top of the bowl, then turned the lathe back on. “Then we dig it out with a gouge.”

Twists of wood shavings flew into the air as he held his chisel-like tool and guided it against the wood, carving out a hollow space inside the bowl. It was again the work of seconds.

“And that’s it,” he said, turning off the lathe and removing the bowl. “For now, at least.”

He removed his eye protectors, so I did the same.

“What happens next?” I asked.

“I put it in a box for next year’s Founders Day,” Ryan said. “It has to have plenty of time to dry out. I’m working on the ones I started last year for this year.”

I took the bowl. “But it already looks finished.”

He shook his head with a smile. “Nah, they can shift as they dry. If I put one of last year’s on the lathe, you’d see it’d be wobbly when you turn it. You have to balance it before you finish shaping the outside.”

“Oh, so that’s the part that takes all the time.”

“Yeah, and then you have to sand it and finish it with linseed oil and beeswax.”

“Wow. It’s actually a lot like writing a book,” I said. I ran my fingers over the edge of the bowl. “This is just your first draft. Most of the work is still to come.”

Ryan reached out and picked a twist of wood shavings off my shirt. I dipped my chin to watch as his fingers skated across my chest, and warmth flooded through me.

Ryan dropped his hand, his cheeks pink. “So, ah, thanks for lunch.”

“We didn’t eat the cupcakes yet,” I pointed out.

He glanced at his half-made chair, forehead wrinkling.

“I’m keeping you from what you should be doing,” I said. “Tell you what, dinner tonight at the cabin? We can have cupcakes for dessert.”

“That sounds great,” he said.

“Come over whenever you’re finished up here,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “See you then.”

“See you then,” I echoed.

Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.