“Only if I can magic another carpenter out of thin air, because my backup carpenter is also fully booked.” She gestures helplessly at the flavor board. “I can’t even decide between Butter Pecan and Black Raspberry Sorbet right now.”
I tip my cap back. “What if thin air delivers one to you?”
Addison blinks. “Pardon?”
“I’m in construction, remember.”
Her brows knit. “True. But between fighting fires, coaching Little League, and your day job — when would you have the time?”
“Little League is done. I am between contracts. I’ll make it work,” I assure her.
She chews her bottom lip. “That arch is elaborate, and benches need sanding so no silk dress snags.”
“I own a random orbital sander with your name on it.”
A laugh slips out, easing her shoulders from volcano-ready to merely tectonic. “Dylan, I appreciate the offer. Truly. But my budget is tight.”
I point to Perry’s ornate chalkboard of specials. “Payment in sprinkles?”
She rolls her eyes, but the crease in her brow softens. “Sprinkles won’t keep the lights on.”
“Fair.” I tap my chest. “Let’s barter. Birch Harbor Volunteer Fire Company holds its annual fundraiser next month. Live music, silent auction, maybe a dunk tank if Chief Hale allows it. We don’t have two nickels for professional planning, and last year’s chili challenge nearly sent half the town to the ER. You help me run a safe, profitable event, and I build whatever your panic-shark bride needs. Deal?”
Her phone buzzes again. She ignores it, eyes flicking over the crowd as though escape is tempting. Finally, she sighs. “Let me think. My reputation’s on the line.”
“Take your time, but Owen’s about to negotiate blow-torch sprinkles, so I might need to intervene.”
She snorts. “Fine. Meanwhile, help me choose an ice cream flavor before my brain bluescreens.”
“Chocolate peanut butter swirl. Can’t go wrong.”
“That feels… indulgent. But maybe a crisis warrants indulgence.”
“Exactly. Stress plus ice cream equals survival.” I step aside so she can order.
By the time we reach the pickup counter, Owen bounds over, proudly balancing a mountain of mint chip that leans like Pisa. “Look! Two and a half scoops. A compromise.”
“You’re a dangerous man,” I tell him. He grins, green smears already decorating his chin.
We snag the last small picnic table. Addison sets her cup down and studies the chocolate peanut butter swirl as if it might bite.
“Okay,” she says, spoon poised. “Walk me through your carpentry credentials, Mr. Swiss Army Knife.”
“Graduated from Sawdust College,” I deadpan. “Specialized in wedding arches for picky brides.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “References?”
“Hale and I built his patio last spring — still standing after last week’s barbecue, so that’s promising.”
She’s looking at me differently, I might be winning her over. “Oh, and I renovated the gazebo in downtown Birch Harbor last year for the city’s annual music festival.”
Addison raises a spoonful, looks from it to me. “If I say yes, you start when?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. In the morning, I’m helping clean up at the baseball field.”
“I need five benches, an eight-foot arch with a detachable floral trellis, and two directional signs that don’t look like a child painted them —”
“I’ve got a vinyl-cutter buddy for the lettering.”
