Page 47 of When in December

I still have it.

The last time I had done something like this was before I’d met Lincoln, when I needed other side projects and hobbies to keep me busy, but it was basically like riding a bike.

All I had left was to push the shelves into place, fix up the paint on a few edges, and put together the shelf that would bracket into the back wall to create a cozy reading nook, just out of the way of the fireplace, which I could imagine seeping heat into the living room on Christmas Eve while everyone was curled up in their pajamas.

I was measuring the molding when the creak of feet came from down the hall. I tried to ignore it. Aaron was likely coming out of his room for food or water.

He remained standing outside of the hallway, looking at me as I marked my next measurement.

My eyes scanned from him down to his empty side. “Where’s your new companion?”

I twisted the piece of molding around. I nearly knocked myself in the face with it, feeling him watching me.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asked.

I huffed, “Yes.”

“Are you sure about that? You know, I’m pretty sure your fancy company hired those big, hairy guys who were here last week for a reason. Didn’t plan on their little homemaker running around with a handsaw. They’d probably like it more if you stuck to the kitchen, baking sourloaf or whatever.”

“It’s sourdough.”

“What?”

I stopped myself before I corrected him again. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m concerned about your well-being.”

I was sure he was.

“Also wondering how this luxury design, which I’m sure my sister is expecting, is going to pair with your … DIY?”

Setting down my work, I looked up at him from where I knelt on the floor.

“Yes, I know what I’m doing. No, I don’t need any more of your commentary,” I muttered. “And to be frank, as I believe we have decided to be as of yesterday evening, if you haven’t reconsidered calling my boss about what happened—which I truly appreciate you haven’t and that you’re giving me another chance—it would be best if you could give me some space right now so that I can do my job and what I set out to do here.”

“Poppy …” Aaron blinked a few times, as if taken aback.

I peered up at him through my lashes, but went no further to acknowledge him.

“About yesterday. I wanted to say …”

I waited for these words with bated breath.

“I think it’s best if we don’t talk unless you, as the homeowner, are genuinely having a concern. Okay? From now on, I want to make it clear that while I’m here working, I am keeping this strictly professional.”

“Professional?” he asked as if he’d never heard the word before.

“No more, no less.”

“Fine.” He clenched his jaw before he turned to look over his shoulder. “Right. Oz! Come on.”

The sound of dog nails tapped along the floor, coming toward us.

Aaron glanced at me one time before he made it toward the mudroom and headed outside into the cold.

Looking out the back door, I watched the dog I now knew was named Oz attempt to jump over mounds of snow. I’d noticed his limp before, along with the bent nature of his one ear, but he wasn’t letting that stop him. He yelled expletives at the dog who ran further and further around the cabin.

I snorted a laugh.