couldn’t even give his family what they needed to save their favorite son, would he realize he was wasting his time? I’d rather disappoint him by rejecting him rather than let him get close and end up getting hurt. And if he was going to be working with the club for the foreseeable future, it’d just make things worse for both of us if we started something and things got messy.
The garage door to the workshop rumbled open, and Brennan grinned at me, waving me inside. He looked fucking annoyingly hot, at usual—today he was wearing paint-stained jeans that drew my eye to his ass and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and unbuttoned enough to show the dusting of red hair at his chest. I swallowed at the sight of it. There was just such an ease about him—he was always so open and comfortable, even now, welcoming me into his shop. I envied it, honestly. I wanted to be that comfortable anywhere. The only place I could really be that comfortable, that open, was with the kids at the hospital.
“Check it out,” Brennan said brightly as I walked into the shop. “How’s it look?”
The slab of wood on the workbench was, as promised, enormous. It took up the entire bench, and Brennan beamed as he smoothed his hand over it. “Came out great, huh? I had had one of my guys process the trunk this morning. Look at that grain, it’s beautiful.”
And it was beautiful. Pale and detailed, with knots and imperfections that proved it was real. Brennan had the chisels already out and lying on the slab of wood. It was all set up for me.
Suddenly, I was paralyzed. The slab of wood was so big, and there was so little room for error. Not like I could just chop down trees on the property until I got the sign exactly the way I wanted it. It needed to go right the first time. No do-overs.
When I finally tore my eyes away from the slab of wood, Brennan was watching me curiously, with his arms crossed over his chest.
I sucked my teeth and pressed my palm to the wood. “It’s big,” I said.
“Yeah,” Brennan said. He paused.
I didn’t know how to explain it. It just felt impossible, looking at this big piece of lumber. Where would I even begin?
And then, like he could read my mind, Brennan asked, “Where do you usually start with a carving?”
All the toys I’d made for Grace and the kids at the hospital jumped to mind. The funny thing was, there wasn’t really a process. My hands just knew what to do.
“It’s weird,” I admitted. “I sort of… See something inside the wood, in a way. And then I just have to figure out how to let it out.”
Brennan’s gaze focused on me, curiously, interestedly. “What do you mean? Like the shape’s already in the wood?”
Nerves twisted in my chest. I’d never really explained my whittling process to anyone before. “In a way, I guess so. A lot of times I just start carving without even knowing what the outcome will be. My hands just figure it out. Like the wood knows what it wants to be, I just have to set it free.”
A slow smile spread across Brennan’s face. He was so handsome it was unfair. I looked back down at the slab of wood.
“Do the same thing here,” Brennan offered. “It’s just a bigger piece of wood.”
He made it sound so simple.
And hearing him say it like that… maybe it was. Maybe I could do this.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Brennan said with a smile. He gripped my shoulder and squeezed encouragingly. As soon as his touch was gone, I wanted it back. “Just knock on the door if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I said, and watched with a twinge of disappointment as Brennan strolled back toward his house. God, those fucking pants were way too tight. I’d thought he might stick around for the work day—help me out, or offer his advice as I started the carving.
Hard to admit, but I just… I wanted his company. I liked spending time with him. I liked the way he took me seriously. He made me feel like I could actually do this. I tried to hang on to that feeling as I paced around the workbench, looking at the wood from every angle.
Of course, Brennan couldn’t just stay here and help me. He had a business to