Chapter 10 - The Last Bench in the Workshop
Three months later, the walnut dust was settling over my workshop floor just like it always did.
The afternoon sun was slicing through the drafty windows, casting golden bars across the lumber racks and the heavy wooden workbenches.
A familiar pair of boots clicked against the concrete floor.
I didn't even have to look up from the custom dining table I was planing to know who it was. The scent of vanilla and sea salt always gave her away before she even reached the workbench.
"You missed dinner," Brooke’s voice echoed through the high ceilings of the shop.
I set the hand plane down on the wood and turned around. She was wearing my old college sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, holding two paper cups of coffee from the cafe down the street.
"I was busy," I said, leaning back against the edge of the workbench.
"Busy doing what?" She walked over, stopping just inches away from me. Her left hand rested casually against my chest, her fingers tracing the edge of my flannel shirt. On her ring finger, the dark walnut and silver ring caught the afternoon light.
"Building something," I said softly.
Brooke raised an eyebrow, a familiar, teasing smirk touching her lips. "Another coffee table for an impatient client?"
"No," I smiled, reaching down to take her hand in mine, feeling the solid, perfect weight of her fingers intertwined with my own. "Something much more permanent."
She looked up at me, her stormy emerald eyes softening into something quiet, deep, and entirely at peace. "Is it structurally sound?"
May you like
"The best I’ve ever made," I whispered.
And as she leaned in and kissed me, right there in the middle of the sawdust and the wood shavings, with the rest of our lives waiting just outside the door, I knew we had finally built something that nothing in the world could ever break.
