The scent of sawdust and freshly brewed coffee hung thick in the air, a comforting blanket in Wayne’s cluttered workshop. He was hunched over a half-finished wooden birdhouse, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully sanded a delicate curve. Amber, perched on a stool near the doorway, watched him with an almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.
Amber had started coming by the workshop after school, a shy, inquisitive observer who seemed drawn to the quiet hum of creation and the rough beauty of Wayne’s craftsmanship. Wayne, a man of few words and hands that spoke volumes, hadn’t initially known what to make of her. He was a solitary creature, comfortable in the company of wood and his own thoughts. But Amber’s presence, initially a distraction, had slowly become a welcome warmth.
“That’s beautiful, Wayne,” she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “The curve, it looks almost like a wing.”
Wayne straightened up, his calloused fingers instinctively wiping dust from his brow. “Just trying to make it right for the birds,” he mumbled, a hint of gruffness in his voice that couldn’t quite hide the blush creeping up his neck.
He hadn’t expected her to notice details like that. Most people saw just a birdhouse. But Amber saw the intention, the care he poured into each piece.
She hopped off the stool and walked closer, her eyes studying the birdhouse. “What kind of birds do you think will live in it?”
Wayne shrugged. “Robins, maybe. Wrens, if they’re feeling lucky.”
She reached out a tentative hand and traced the curve he’d been working on. Their fingers brushed, a fleeting contact that sent a surprising jolt through Wayne. He hadn’t been touched that gently, that innocently, in years.
He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the cramped space, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon light, and the way Amber’s brown eyes held his. He felt an unfamiliar nervousness tightening his chest.
“You know,” he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended, “I could use another pair of hands. If you’re interested in learning.”
Amber’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling. “Really? I’d love to.”
Wayne gestured towards a pile of wood scraps. “Start by sanding these. Just follow the grain, keep it even.”
He showed her, his large hand briefly covering hers to guide the sandpaper. The warmth of her skin seared through him, leaving him momentarily breathless. He quickly withdrew his hand, feeling awkward and flustered.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle rasp of sandpaper against wood and the occasional chirping of birds outside. Wayne found himself stealing glances at Amber, noticing the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the way a smudge of sawdust adorned her cheek.
He wanted to brush it off, to tell her she had dust on her face, but the words caught in his throat. He was afraid to break the quiet intimacy that had settled between them.
Finally, Amber looked up, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “I think I’m getting the hang of it,” she said, holding up a piece of wood.
Wayne took it, turning it over in his hands. “Not bad,” he admitted, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “Not bad at all.”
He reached out, not thinking, and gently wiped the smudge of sawdust from her cheek with his thumb. Their eyes met, and the air crackled with unspoken feelings. The world seemed to shrink, the only reality the warmth of their connection in that small, sawdust-filled workshop.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Wayne’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words eluded him. He just stood there, close to Amber, feeling a pull towards her that he hadn’t experienced in years.
Then, the bell above the workshop door jingled, shattering the spell. A neighbor, inquiring about a repair job, broke the spell. Amber stepped back, a shy smile still playing on her lips.
“I should probably get going,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Wayne nodded, his mind still reeling. “See you tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” she replied, her smile widening just a fraction.
As she walked out, Wayne watched her go, the scent of sawdust and the memory of her touch lingering in the air. He knew, with a certainty that surprised even him, that things had changed. He and Amber, they were getting close. And he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about it. But he knew, deep down, that he didn’t want it to stop.