Page 3 of Wood Lessons

ANNA

P eter’s bruising grip should scare me. This kiss should scare me. Yet, fear isn’t the dominant emotion running through my veins—wild excitement is.

This afternoon hasn’t gone at all like I expected from the wayward ducks on the road, to showering in Peter’s home, and now his teeth nibbling at my lips. Maybe I should be more careful about what I wish for because I’m not sure how many life-altering events I can handle.

Though, as far as first kisses go, this is better than I expected.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Peter whispers as we separate, but he doesn’t release me. “You’re so goddamn pretty.”

The compliment warms me from the inside out; usually people comment on my intelligence or how reliable I am—never anything physical. The logical, feminist part of me thinks that’s how it should be, but as a woman, it’s nice to hear that I’m attractive, too.

A nervous chuckle escapes as I search for something to say before settling on the obvious. “Um, thank you...”

“But you didn’t like it?” He guesses as my sentence fades.

“No, I did! It’s just...” I lift my hands helplessly, confused. “How do people usually respond after a kiss?”

“You don’t know?” Curiosity instead of judgment coats his tone, but my brain still scrambles for a way to brush the question off. It’s not something I like to share—that I’ve never been kissed.

Throughout high school I assumed it would eventually happen, then I graduated and pinned my hopes on college. Neither panned out, and as I slowly became a hermit, any chance of my kissing status changing floated further and further away.

Silence lingers between us, turning awkward. Dropping my hold on his arms, I attempt to put space between us—to form an invisible layer of protection around myself—but Peter refuses to let go. Resigned, I decide to take the plunge and lay my cards on the table.

“This was my first kiss.”

His hands flex on my waist, and I catch a glimpse of kindness in his eyes. “Why’s that, baby?”

“I’m not the most outgoing person; it’s difficult for me to make friends. Not the greatest dynamic for guys wanting to know me—let alone, kiss me.” My jaw clenches at the explanation; I hate admitting to failing at something everyone else seems to have mastered.

“It’s not your fault—being shy isn’t an excuse for a man to ignore you. In my mind, it just means I need to work harder to make you feel comfortable enough to trust me with your thoughts and feelings.”

The earnest sentiment sends butterflies fluttering around my stomach; his sincerity leaves no doubt that he means it. “Well, you’re the exception, though I’m not sure how much I made you work before our kiss.”

“To be fair, you tumbled into my arms without much warning. How could I resist the temptation?” He grins, revealing the small gap between his teeth.

Many men have... My insecurity pipes up.

“If we’re being honest, you’re my exception.” The assertion startles me, and I study his serious expression. “My life consists of work and home; I don’t really get out much. But when I saw you...”

He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the short layers. “Something clicked, and I found myself offering these lessons before I could even think through why.”

The fact that my presence compelled him to break his usual routine boosts my ego—especially in light of my own recent confession. This man has all the right words, but is he too good to be true?

“Looks like we’re both stepping out of our comfort zones.”

“Guess so.” We share a look of understanding, a fragile bond of intimacy weaving between us. And optimism sprouts as I consider the possibilities of our growing friendship.

***

L ATER, I FIND MYSELF in a crowded bar with my co-worker, Jess. Double-booking my schedule with two separate meet-ups pleased me even as social fatigue began to cloud my brain.

Don’t complain; this is what you wanted.

A social life meant hanging out with people when they were available—even if it was nearing my bedtime.

Off-key singing belts from the stage towards the back of the bar as Karaoke Night commences.

I don’t plan on signing up but supporting Jess is doable.

Maybe one day all of my baby steps will lead me to taking the stage; however, tonight I’d settle for cheering from my seat.

“So, how was your thing today? Didn’t you say you were meeting some guy about wood lessons? What does that even mean?” Jess downs a shot of tequila and grabs another while I sip my cocktail. She’s fielding a ton of free drinks from men, and I’m a little impressed by her haul.

“He’s teaching me the basics of building chairs, tables, and whatever.”

Her nose scrunches while a short laugh bursts out. “And why do you need to learn these skills? Planning a career change?”

I laugh and shake my head, dislodging a curl from my bobby pins. “No, I just thought it’d be a fun opportunity to try something new.”

“Hmm... And what about this Peter? Is he hot?” The music cuts out as the song ends, so her shouted words draw attention to us. I want to sink into the sticky floor as prying eyes focus on our conversation.

Keeping my voice low and even, I lean forward. “Yes, he is, but that’s not why I agreed to the sessions.”

Liar.

“Oh, tell me more. Do you have a picture?” Jess’s excitement is catching, and the tiredness I felt earlier starts to fade at the ability to divulge my feelings and gossip about the man in my life.

He’s not officially your man, though, is he?

But he’s close enough if our kiss counts for anything, and I’m not above milking it. With friends back home dating and getting married, usually, I’m on the other end of these conversations. The switch in roles feels good.

“Of course not! It would’ve been weird to snap a photo, but he’s tall and.

..” The rest of the night passes with Jess gushing over my good fortune while I bask in the praise.

Peter may not be my boyfriend—he may not want more than a short fling, if that—but I’d enjoy this fluttery emotion of a crush until we say our final farewell.