“Lucky guess.” Finn's smile was modest, but something in his eyes suggested the choice had been more deliberate. “Plus, your field notebook is sticking out of your jacket, and I can see the section headers.”
River glanced down. Finn was right—his research notes were visible, organized in his usual methodical format. But Finn's ability to interpret their significance suggested knowledge beyond casual reading.
“Are you sure you're just a book restorer?” River asked, half-joking but genuinely curious.
“I'm sure.” Finn laughed, but it carried an edge of uncertainty River didn't understand. “Sometimes I surprise myself with what I know, though. Like the information just appears when I need it.”
Something wistful in Finn's tone suggested the gaps in his knowledge troubled him, but before River could ask, Finn was already moving toward another section.
“If you're interested in restoration techniques, you should see the workshop upstairs,” Finn said, invitation carrying that same casual tone that felt like much more. “I could show you some methods for treating salt-water damage. Might be useful for your field equipment.”
River had already spent longer here than planned, and his truck was in a two-hour zone. But Finn's offer sparked genuine curiosity, and the prospect of more time in his company felt more appealing than returning to solitude.
“I'd like that,” River said, surprising himself with how much he meant it.
The workshop felt like stepping into a craftsman's sanctuary, where time moved differently and every tool had been chosen with reverence. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, illuminating work surfaces covered with restoration projects.
River moved through the space fascinated, watching mastery in an unfamiliar discipline. Microscopes and specialized tools occupied every surface, arranged with the same methodical care he brought to his own equipment. The air smelled of preservation chemicals and aged paper, but underneath lay something warmer—the scent of someone who spent days surrounded by stories.
“This is where the real work happens,” Finn said, settling at his main workstation with comfortable familiarity. “Everything downstairs is presentation. Up here, it's about saving things that would otherwise be lost.”
River watched Finn demonstrate the delicate process of separating water-damaged pages, hands moving with steady confidence despite the complexity. Each movement was deliberate, informed by years of experience.
“The key is patience,” Finn explained, voice taking on the tone of someone who genuinely enjoyed teaching. “Rush it, and you cause more damage. But take time to understand what you're working with, and amazing recoveries are possible.”
River found himself leaning closer, drawn by the parallels to his own work and the simple pleasure of watching Finn's competent hands bring order to chaos. Their shoulders brushed as River moved for a better view, and the brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through his nervous system.
“Want to try?” Finn asked, gesturing toward a practice volume showing similar damage. “The technique transfers to other materials. Might be useful for field notebooks that get soaked during storms.”
River accepted more eagerly than expected, genuinely curious but increasingly distracted by Finn's proximity. As Finn guided his hands through the technique, professional interest became secondary to the intimacy of shared work.
Finn stood close enough that River could feel his body heat, catch the subtle scent of lemon oil and old paper on his clothes. When Finn's hands covered his to demonstrate proper pressure, River's concentration shattered. All his attention focused on the warmth of Finn's skin, the careful way their fingers moved together.
“Like that,” Finn said softly, voice close to River's ear. “Feel how the page wants to move, then help it find its way.”
River nodded, not trusting his voice, focusing on the task with intensity that had nothing to do with book restoration and everything to do with the man whose presence seemed to fill empty spaces in his chest he hadn't known existed.
Time passed unnoticed as they worked in comfortable silence, their occasional contact—brushing hands, leaning close, the quiet intimacy of shared focus—charging the air between them with possibilities River hadn't allowed himself to consider in years.
“You're a natural,” Finn said as River successfully separated a stubborn page cluster. “Most people try to force it, but you're letting the materials guide you.”
“Good teacher,” River replied, but the compliment felt inadequate for what was happening between them, the way Finn's patient instruction was making him feel seen and understood in ways that extended far beyond professional appreciation.
The light shifted as afternoon moved toward evening, reminding River that the outside world still existed despite his growing absorption in Finn's company. He should leave. Should return to his research station and the familiar rhythms of solitary work.
But leaving felt like tearing away from something essential.
“This has been incredible,” River said reluctantly, setting down the tools with hands that wanted to keep working, keepfinding excuses to stay close to Finn's warmth. “I had no idea book restoration was so sophisticated.”
“Most people don't.” Finn's smile was pleased but tinged with something that looked like disappointment at River's departure. “It's specialized, and we don't get many visitors who understand the complexity.”
River hesitated at the stairs, torn between the rational need to leave and the inexplicable desire to stay. Finn seemed to be experiencing the same debate, expression hopeful but carefully controlled.
“Would you like some coffee?” Finn asked suddenly, the domestic gesture feeling surprisingly natural. “My apartment's upstairs, and I've got a decent espresso machine. We could keep talking about restoration techniques, or whatever comes up.”
“I'd like that,” River said, meaning it more than he'd meant anything in a long time.
Finn's apartment occupied the third floor, accessed by narrow stairs that felt like climbing toward a secret world. The space was small but perfectly arranged, every piece chosen for both function and beauty. Vintage furniture that suggested careful curation. Books everywhere, organized with the same attention that characterized the shop below.
