Chapter 2 - Sawdust and Cinnamon
Six days passed. I didn't hear from her.
I tried to convince myself it was for the best. I was a widower with a house full of memories; she was a single mother carrying the weight of the world. What business did I have dragging her into my complicated orbit?
I buried myself in work. I was building a massive ten-foot dining table out of reclaimed black walnut. The physical labor usually quieted my mind, but the roar of the planer and the bite of the sander couldn't drown out the memory of Lily's giggle or Clara's tired, beautiful eyes.
On Thursday afternoon, the heavy rolling door of my shop slid open.
A gust of freezing air rushed in, carrying the scent of impending snow. I turned off the table saw, wiping sawdust from my forehead with the back of my arm.
Standing in the doorway was Clara.
She was wearing the same olive parka, holding a cardboard tray with two large coffees. She looked around the massive, dust-covered warehouse, taking in the stacks of raw timber, the heavy machinery, and the intricate, half-finished furniture.
"I hope it's okay I just showed up," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Your address was on the card."
"It's more than okay," I said, grabbing a rag to wipe the grease off my hands as I walked toward her. "Where's the astrophysicist?"
"Kindergarten," Clara smiled, handing me a cup. "Black. Like you ordered at the diner. I wanted to come by and properly thank you. For last week. I was so humiliated, Julian. If you hadn't sat down..."
"He was a coward," I interrupted gently. "You and Lily are not baggage. Anyone who thinks that isn't worth the air in your lungs."
She looked down at her boots, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "It's hard. Being a single mom. Her father... he left when she was one. Said he wasn't ready to be tied down. Ever since then, I've just been trying to prove that she is enough. That we are enough."
"You are," I said. The certainty in my voice surprised both of us.
I gave her a tour of the shop. I showed her the walnut table, explaining how you could read the history of the tree in the rings. She listened intently, running her fingers over the smooth, sanded wood. There was a quiet peace between us, a natural rhythm that usually took years to build.
May you like
Before she left, she turned to me. "Lily has been asking about the man who doesn't believe the moon is made of cheese. There's a winter festival in the town square this Saturday. We're going. If you're not busy..."
"I'll be there," I said, before she could even finish the sentence.
