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Maggie looked at him, her eyes bright with unwavering attention. “How do you mean?”

“Unfinished plans aren’t monuments to grief,” Ben said firmly, meeting her gaze. “They’re proof that the people we loved expected us to keep living. I didn’t begin carving this cardinal for Ruth just so I could hide it in a dark drawer. I knew she’d cherish having a red bird sitting in the window where the morning sun could hit the feathers, or hanging from our Christmas tree, singing unheard songs.”

He turned the carving in his hand before turning his attention back to Maggie. “And Tom didn’t write those harbor towns in your notebook so you’d lock the book in a sideboard drawer forever. He wrote them down because he loved showing you the coast and knew those memories would last forever.”

A sweet warmth spread through Maggie’s system, dissolving the lingering edge of her internal doubt. She looked at the red cedar cardinal resting on the cotton cloth. “Do you have extra sandpaper in that drawer?” Maggie asked, her face lighting up with an idea.

Ben looked at her, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he reached into the bench drawer and pulled out a fresh sheet of fine sandpaper. “I have plenty. And there’s a jar of red stain on the shelf behind you.”

Maggie pulled her wooden stool two inches closer to the edge of the workbench, shifting her position so her knees rested just beside Ben’s canvas pants. The brass lamp hanging overhead cast a wide circle across the polished pine surface, illuminating the cedar wood shavings scattered around the carving block. The shop was warm, quiet, and filled with the comforting heat of the wood stove burning in the corner.

Maggie folded the square sheet of fine sandpaper into four neat sections, testing the grit against the pad of her thumb. “Where should I start?” she asked.

Ben picked up his narrow steel chisel, guiding the wooden handle with experienced fingers. “Start along the tail feathers,” he replied, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he explained. “The cedar grain runs lengthwise down the tail, so hold the paper flat and use light, even pressure toward the tips. I’ll work on fixing the gouge in its wing.”

Maggie leaned over the bench, her thumb holding the sandpaper flat against the red wood. She began smoothing the small tail feathers, watching thin curls of aromatic cedar dust gather along the grain lines. Beside her, Ben worked with focused precision, his chisel paring away tiny slivers from the bird’s left wing until the rough wood matched the smooth curve of the right side.

They worked together in a comfortable, easy silence for half an hour, punctuated only by the scrape of sandpaper and the occasional tap of Ben’s carving mallet. The rhythm was natural and unhurried, a shared effort that made the large shop feel smaller and remarkably cozy against the winter wind outside.

When the entire bird was sanded to a velvet smoothness, Ben blew away the lingering wood dust. He set his chisel down on the leather tool mat and reached for a small glass jar resting on the upper shelf. He unscrewed the metal cap, revealing a rich, deep red wood stain that smelled of oil and pine resin.

He set the open jar on the bench alongside a small round horsehair artist brush. “The red stain takes quickly to fresh cedar,” Ben noted, dipping the tip of the brush into the dark liquid and wiping the excess against the rim. “It penetrates the grain without hiding the natural lines underneath.”

Maggie watched as his broad hand moved with delicate care, painting the bright red coat onto the cardinal’s crest and back. The pale reddish cedar transformed instantly under the wet brush, taking on a deep, rich crimson hue that seemed to glow beneath the yellow lamplight.

When he finished the main body, Ben handed her a second, smaller detail brush and a tiny tin of black enamel paint. “Would you like to do the eye ring and the beak trim?”

Maggie took the thin wooden brush, resting her wrist on the edge of the workbench to keep her hand steady. She dipped the fine bristles into the dark enamel, carefully tracing a neat black mask around the cardinal’s carved eyes and framing the short, pointed beak. Her heart beat with a calm rhythm, her concentration entirely caught up in the shared creation.

Ben leaned close beside her, his shoulder lightly brushing against hers as he watched her work. His presence was completely free of pressure or expectation.

When she lifted the fine brush away, the little red bird sat complete upon the cotton towel, its crimson feathers shining wetly under the brass lamp, its dark eyes sharp and defined.

Ben looked down at the finished carving for a long moment. His eyes were reflecting a deep contentment that smoothed the weathered lines around his brow.

“It turned out better than I imagined it ever would.” Ben’s voice was rough with genuine emotion.

“It looks beautiful,” Maggie agreed, setting her brush down on a paper towel. “Where are you going to keep it?”

Ben turned his head to look at her, his gaze clear in the lamplight. “Tonight, when we get back to the house, we’ll place it right on the top branch of the living room tree. Right beside the wooden stars.”

The words settled into Maggie’s heart with a touching weight. Bringing his late wife’s unfinished bird out of the dark drawer and placing it on the family tree with his grandson was a huge milestone. It wasn’t an act of moving on by forgetting the past; it was an act of courage, bringing love forward into the light of their present life.

Looking at his calm, handsome face under the yellow lamplight, Maggie felt a sudden, powerful wave of warmth and affection sweep through her body and soul. Every lingering shadow of her own hesitation dissolved into an unquestionable certainty.

Without planning the moment or holding back, Maggie leaned across the corner of the workbench. She reached out, her fingers gently touching his rough jawline as she brought her lips to his.

Ben froze for a fraction of a second in pleasant surprise before letting out a low sigh. He set the jar of stain down on the bench and wrapped his large, calloused hand gently around the back of her neck, his thumb resting against her cheek.

The kiss was completely different from their tentative moment the other night. It was warm and deeply certain, filled with passion and an absolute trust that needed no explanations or promises. She moved her lips against his with honest, open longing, offering everything her heart was feeling, and he returned the kiss with equal warmth and tender intensity.

He pulled her closer against the bench, his touch firm yet remarkably gentle, holding her as if she were the most precious creation in his shop. The lingering scent of red cedar and firewood enveloped them, creating a world where time seemed to stand completely still.

When Maggie finally pulled back a few inches, her cheeks were flushed with heat as she peered up into his heavy-lidded eyes. Her hand remained resting against his neck, his pulse fluttering against her skin.

Ben watched her, his dark brows lifted slightly, his eyes filled with a bright, luminous warmth that she hadn’t seen in him since the day they met.

“That was a very pleasant surprise,” Ben rasped, his voice thick with emotion.