Chapter 3 - The Cold Saws of Monday
Monday morning arrived over Cincinnati with a biting river frost that painted the windows of Cole Restorations in delicate, crystalline ferns.
The shop was located in an old brick warehouse district near the river—a vast, high-ceilinged space that smelled wonderfully of cedar, linseed oil, fresh sawdust, and old iron. Sunlight cut through the high clerestory windows, highlighting the golden clouds of wood dust floating through the air.
Nathan stood at his heavy oak workbench, wearing a worn denim shirt over a gray t-shirt, his safety glasses resting on top of his head. He was hand-planing a eight-foot slab of reclaimed white oak, the long, paper-thin curls of wood shaving curling off his iron blade onto the concrete floor.
The heavy steel side door clicked open.
Emma walked in, wearing her yellow raincoat over her school uniform, dragging her heavy backpack across the sawdust.
"Grandma dropped me off," Emma announced, tossing her bag onto a wooden sawhorse. "She said you owe her twenty dollars for the pizza on Saturday."
"I paid her twenty dollars on Sunday," Nathan said without stopping his rhythmic planing.
"She said it was twenty dollars per night."
Nathan stopped, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "That's extortion."
"She calls it interest," Emma grinned, walking over to the bench. She picked up a curl of white oak, smelling it, before looking at her father with sharp, bright eyes. "So? How was the wedding?"
"It was fine," Nathan said casually, resuming his work.
"Daniel texted Grandma yesterday," Emma said, leaning against the bench with her chin in her hands. "He said you danced with a queen."
Nathan’s plane slipped slightly, carving a deeper groove into the oak than intended. He set the tool down, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm.
"Daniel exaggerates," Nathan said.
"He said she owns the hotel," Emma persisted, her brown eyes wide with uncurbed curiosity. "Is she rich, Dad?"
"She runs a very successful business, Em," Nathan said gently. "And she was just a guest who needed a break from a loud room."
"Did you get her number?"
"Emma."
"Did you give her your number?"
"She is the CEO of Bennett Hospitality Group, Emma," Nathan said, leaning his hands on the workbench, looking down into his daughter's persistent face. "I am a guy who fixes staircase railings. We live in entirely different worlds."
"Mom used to say worlds are just places people stand," Emma said softly, her voice losing its playful edge, turning quiet and sincere. "She said if two people are standing in the same direction, the world doesn't matter."
Nathan’s chest tightened. He reached out, gently ruffling Emma’s hair, pulling her into a quick, tight side-hug against his ribs.
"Your mother was much smarter than I am," Nathan murmured into her hair.
Before Emma could answer, the bell above the shop’s main entrance chimed—a deep, heavy brass sound that echoed through the high rafters.
Nathan looked toward the front glass doors.
A sleek, black European sedan was parked at the curb outside, its engine idling softly in the cold air.
The shop door opened, and a tall, impeccably dressed woman in a cream cashmere trench coat stepped into the dusty, wood-scented air of Cole Restorations.
It was Victoria.
She stood near the entrance, her dark eyes taking in the hanging saws, the stacks of raw timber, the iron clamps, and the heavy oak workbench in the center of the room. She held a large leather folder under her arm, her hair swept up in an elegant knot, looking completely out of place among the sawdust and iron—and entirely, breathtakingly striking.
Emma stared at her, her mouth slightly open.
Nathan froze, the iron hand plane still clamped in his hand.
May you like
Victoria looked across the vast shop floor, her eyes settling on Nathan. A small, nervous, utterly human smile touched her lips.
"Hello, Nathan," Victoria said, her deep, smooth voice carrying clearly across the quiet shop. "I hope I'm not interrupting the optimism."
