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“Deal.” Jake held out his hand, and I shook it, feeling the calluses on his palm that matched my own.

“This is probably a terrible idea,” I said.

“Probably,” Jake agreed. “But the best ideas usually are.”

Three

Jake

“Please tell me you’re not doing something stupid.”

Tommy skipped right past hello when he answered. I was already on my second cup of coffee, staring out at the carriage house in the gray early light.

“Good morning to you too,” I said.

My to-do list for today was already longer than a hockey stick. Move Nico’s entire workshop over. Make room for two woodworkers in a place I’d never planned on sharing.

At least I hadn’t spread out in there yet.

I also needed to figure out why I was playing equipment mover for a guy I’d met only a couple of days ago.

The way Nico had looked standing on that sidewalk yesterday—lost and trying not to show it—had hit me harder than any check I’d ever taken. The man had just watched his life’s work potentially go up in smoke, and all he’d done was shake my hand and say “deal” when I offered my space. Pride like that deserved respect. And help, whether or not he wanted to admit he needed it.

“Sarah said you’re moving a certain furniture maker into your carriage house. A guy you literally met two days ago.”

I heard the concern in Tommy’s voice, the same tone he used when he thought I was about to do something stupid in a game. “His workshop caught fire. He needed help.”

“And you decided you were the guy to give it to him.”

“Apparently.” I looked out my kitchen window toward the carriage house, already mentally rearranging my work. “Are you going to help me move his stuff, or do I need to call up another of our friends who has a truck?”

Tommy was quiet. I could imagine what he was thinking, since I wasn’t usually this impulsive. “What time do you need me there?”

“Why don’t you come here around eight forty-five and we can caravan over. We’ll meet them there.”

“Them?”

“Nico and his friend Nadya are meeting us there. She had a studio in the same building, so we’re going to help her too.”

“This should be interesting.” I could practically hear him grinning. “See you soon.”

By eight-thirty, I was working out how to put my own things away. My setup looked small compared to the room. The space was generous, with built-ins along two walls for storage and a roomy worktable on wheels in the middle. I’d been looking forward to filling it with more, and maybe bigger projects.

For now, most of my gear sat on the workbench my dad had helped me build right after I’d moved in. There was a half-finished jewelry box on the surface that was supposed to be my mother’s Christmas present. My grandmother’s tools, arranged like she’d taught me, hung on the wall.

It seemed wrong to shove everything aside. But it was also wrong to leave it out where Nico would feel like he was displacing me.

I grabbed a tarp from a cabinet and covered my work, making sure all of it was out of sight. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would work until we figured out how to share the space.

Tommy’s truck pulled into my driveway right on time.

“So what’s the story with this guy?” he asked as we went into my kitchen where I’d made more coffee for the trip.

I stuck with the basics, hoping he’d leave it at that. “He’s a furniture maker. Does incredible work. You were there. Sarah recommended him.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What do you want me to say? There’s something about him.” I handed Tommy a travel mug and took a long sip from mine. “The way he talks about wood, about creating things that last. It reminds me of what Nana Mary used to say about craftsmanship being a dying art.”