It looks like a simple design, but I know better. This is going to take careful lumber selection and mitered corners. This is the next test. Sure enough, he turns to Sawyer, and in an overly casual tone, asks, “What wood do you reckon we should use for this?”
“May I?” Sawyer gestures to the box, and my dad gestures like,Please do.Sawyer crouches to study it, running his finger over the joins. “Heartwood if you have it.”
My dad scoffs. “If I have it…” But his eyes twinkle because Sawyer is right: a heartwood will do best outdoors. “Go on and pick it then.”
I lead Sawyer to the lumber section. “You’re doing great. He’s already impressed. I can tell.”
“What about you?” He reaches for a piece of redwood, not looking at me, but I can tell he’s tuned toward me as he waits for my answer.
“Hey,” I say, taking the redwood plank from his hand. “You don’t have to impress me, Sawyer. All the most important things about you, I already know. I saw you in action for three summers. You impressed me then. I’m filling in blanks, learning details about you. But the big stuff? I know.”
His eyes darken and drift toward my lips. I sway toward him, and we might have jumped the gun and gone for the kiss if Evie hadn’t appeared right then, clapping her hands.
“Come on, guys. Let’s make it!”
I step back and hand back the plank. “Good choice.”
“I love that you know that,” he says.
My breath catches the tiniest bit at the word “love” hovering between us in any context, but I manage a low-key, “Same. You might be the first guy I’ve dated who did.”
“I was hands-on when I flipped houses,” he says. “Had to save where I could on labor. Learned to do a lot of carpentry.”
We follow Evie and spend the next two hours hanging out with my dad and making the box. I let Sawyer take the lead to see what he knows, and it’s a lot. My dad is impressed. But I don’t need any direction either, handling the tools and cuts with the comfort of someone who grew up around them.
At one point, my dad leaves to answer a question for a customer, and Sawyer leans over as I’m tucking a marking pencil behind my ear. “You are damn sexy.”
I nearly hammer my thumb and shoot him a hard scowl. He grins at me like he knows his words are undoing me.
When the box is done, my dad gives it a thorough inspection. “All right, son.” He sets down the box. “You can marry her.”
“Dad!”
But he only shrugs. “I figure that’s why you brought him here seeing as you’ve never brought another guy around. See you at the picnic.” Then he leaves to find Evie, who has wandered off in the last hour.
“Sorry about that.” I can’t even meet Sawyer’s eyes, so I busy myself by bending to tie my shoe but remember too late that I wore white sandals. I sort of dust my toes instead.
“Didn’t bother me,” Sawyer says, and I look up to see his face as relaxed as it’s been since he walked into Bixby’s.
“Okay, then.” I stand and smooth my shirt. “Ready for date two?”
“The picnic?” he guesses.
“You say picnic, I say gauntlet. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Which there will be a lot of, by the way. Mostly in competing salads.”
“Ready,” he says. “Bring on Creekville.”
“Careful what you wish for,” I mutter as I lead us out of the store.
Chapter 31
TheCreekvilleFourthofJuly picnic is in full swing when we arrive, the usual cheerful chaos of a hundred mismatched quilts and groaning food tables filling Founder’s Park.
Children run in between blankets, friends of all ages calling to each other and catching up. It’s loud and bright, and once again, Sawyer is smiling.
“Looks fun,” he says.
“I can’t be responsible for anything anyone might say to you.”
