The Carpenter (Short Story)

It’s only one day.

In all other ways, to all other people, it was another day. A marker of time.

And there was the problem. Because the time it was marking was another year of my life.

32 years to the day, to be exact. 


I have a long history of bad birthdays. When I was 7, I invited my entire class to a party at McDonald’s except no one showed up.

When I was 13, I discovered my boyfriend and best friend kissing behind the school.

When I was 27, I became an orphan.

Turning onto my side, I burrowed deeper under the covers and shut my eyes against the harsh sunlight that streamed through the soft linen curtains. They were pretty but let in too much light. Replacing the horrid vertical blinds was the first thing I’d done when I bought this house a month ago and I now regretted not being able to skulk in the darkness.

Only one day.

After a shaky breath, I threw the covers off and padded downstairs, unlocking the door for Luca, who would no doubt be here any minute.

Two weeks ago, the local council had requested the restoration of five street-facing sash windows by my kitchen; and Luca, the young, sexy, highly out of my league Italian carpenter who I’d contracted to complete the job, was obsessively early each day.

On the upside, I’d discovered that pre-coffee, Luca’s accent became thicker; his voice rough with sleep, which was both wonderful and unfairly cruel.

My crush had started when he did and been steadily growing over the last two weeks.

If only he could be my birthday present.

Like clockwork, Luca’s rhythmic knocking sounded as I was pouring two cups of coffee. One white, one black, no sugar. I brought both cups with me as I greeted him, passing him the black coffee.

“You’re a goddess among mortals, Mia.” His dimple appeared under the light scruff of his beard as he took the cup from me and winked. A flush rose to my cheeks. Who even says stuff like that?

I managed some half laugh, half whimper in response, and he proceeded into the kitchen, coffee in one hand, toolbox in the other. As I closed the door behind him, I took the opportunity to ogle him. It was my daily indulgence.

Underneath his relaxed appearance hid a keen mind. Strong old worldly features that I could imagine carved in marble or stone. Broad enough to hold you safe and secure. Toned muscles, usually hidden under the loose shirts he favoured. But I could tell. As he worked, the soft cotton stretched across his back and I would catch myself staring as his muscles flexed beneath.

Honestly, he had no right being this attractive.

While he worked, I discovered a text from Alana. “Morning birthday girl! Wish I could be there! Last day of the reno, are you gonna make a move on your sexy builder already??”

A small laugh escaped me. “For the last time, NO! Also, why are you texting me when you’re on your honeymoon? Go enjoy yourself!”

Disappointment warred with my happiness for her. Despite all my usual arguments against making a big deal of my birthday, a part of me always wanted someone to make it special.

I missed my best friend like crazy, but she was far better off enjoying Hawaii than the night of takeout and movies that I had planned. Maybe I would finally pop that bottle of champagne I’ve been saving, though the idea of drinking alone made the ‘alone’ part worse somehow.

What I wouldn’t give to curl up next to someone who cared.

Luca surveyed the progress from yesterday. The windows were restored to what I could assume was their former beauty, although I’d chosen not to repaint them, deciding the wood added a warmth to the house. Luca was pleased, and that made me happier than it should have.

Now, all that was left was the addition of a window seat. I’d specifically requested it and now watched as he brought in the pre-cut panels and tools while explaining to me what he was going to do and how long it would take.

I nodded but was only half-listening, distracted by his calm voice and that accent that I imagined when I closed my eyes at night.

“Oh! I brought you something.“ He handed me a square box, the size of my hand. I recognized the label. “For you. To celebrate when I finish up. This is the type you like, yes?”

I blink down at the navy box, tied with a signature orange bow.

Chocolate.

He’s brought me chocolate. From the boutique chocolatier I liked. It was even my favourite flavour.

It must have been two weeks ago that I’d mentioned it; after he’d asked for Mother's Day ideas. He remembered.

He couldn’t have known the significance of today, or of this gift, the only one I expected to receive, but it meant something regardless. My throat tightened as a tidal wave of sadness hit me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Alana had brought me anything, birthday or not. It was the sweetest thing to happen to me in a long time.

So sweet that I didn’t know how to react. Besides crying.

I focused my attention on a wayward splash of paint on the tiles beneath my feet, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Luca.” As if those words could even come close to what I was feeling.

Quickly, I returned to my usual perch nearby. If he noticed that anything was wrong, he didn’t mention it, sparing a kind smile before continuing with his work.

My day job in the last year was as a freelance editor for technical manuals; which, while sounding like the most mind-numbing job on earth, actually paid well, allowed me to set my hours, and work from home. I missed my years of travel writing, but I had long since lost the urge to backpack and it was nice to put roots down.

Working from home also meant more time with Luca, and from my makeshift workstation on the kitchen island, he could talk to me as he worked, mostly because I’d been peppering him with questions the whole time.

Honestly, he could have just read me the damn phone book and I would have been happy.

Naturally, I got no work done in the hours he was around, but I didn’t mind working a few late nights if it meant making the most of my time with him.

Of course, that all ended after today.

Yes, I could ask him out finally and solve that problem, and I was working up to that. Or at least, telling myself that I was working up to it.

As the day continued, I felt Luca’s watchful eye on me, but anytime I took the chance to look in his direction, he busied himself with something else.

At least, he appeared to be busy. But I’d seen him finishing off that same seal yesterday, and he’d mentioned it only needed a single coat, so why was he going over it again today?

The more I studied him, the more I lost myself in a combination of opposites like he refused to be defined to a single trait. On the one hand, he was soft-spoken, calm and considered, patient. With kind eyes and pale skin. On the other was a strong lean body, muscular and capable, hands callused from use. In a different light he might seem distant and calculating, with a hard-set jaw, and an unwavering gaze, quiet and determined.

When he worked he was single-minded, never a movement or command out of place. I often daydreamed of having his mind (and hands) set on me. That meticulous concentration. That dexterous care.

He sensed me watching him, and turned those piercing grey eyes to me, waiting. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. If he saw the sadness. The longing.

I asked him something I’d been wanting to ask since he started. “How did you get into restorations?”

“I started working with wood in school and found I liked building things. Seeing them take shape, knowing every part of what was going into it. I started fixing the furniture in our house, recreating it as best I could. It meant giving life to things that would otherwise have been thrown away.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, “Plus I’m very good with my hands.”

I laughed, a little shocked. He might as well have plucked the thought from my mind; I’d imagined several things those hands would likely be good at. “You need to work on your lines.”

“That wasn’t a line!” I felt a rush when I spotted a faint blush spreading from his neck, and realized maybe I wasn’t alone in my attraction after all. Gosh, he was cute. I just wanted to walk over and melt into him.

He settled into a more comfortable position, and it felt like we were old friends conversing. “After school, I started working for a family friend who made furniture. It was good work, and I learned a lot, but it was all modern pieces.”

“You don’t like modern things?”

“I don’t mind them, but so many are boxy and lifeless. I prefer interesting pieces. Something with a story to tell. I find myself attracted to the curious.” The soft rasp of his voice sent a shiver through me.

“You’re in the right job then.”

“My mother says that I have always let passion guide me, but I think she is just glad that I was able to make a living out of something I love.”

“She must be very proud of you.”

Talking to him was easier than I expected, and yet I couldn’t be surprised. From what I’d seen over the last two weeks, he took care in every aspect of his work, never appeared stressed, and took any problem in stride. It was easy to warm to him.

“For this, she is. For other things…” He trails off.

“Come on. You can’t leave it there. I’m curious.”

His lips slid into a playful grin. “I’ve noticed that about you.”

Heat spread through me. I had to urge to fan myself as I scramble for words. Thankfully he continued.

“She would like me to find love outside of my work and reminds me of this every time I call. Doubly so when I visit.”

“She doesn’t live here?” Something in his tone suggested he missed her.

“No, Sydney. With my father and brothers. I moved to Perth a few years ago and still miss them terribly.”

“That’s understandable. It’s hard to be away from family, especially when you’re close.”

“It sounds like you speak from experience.”

“I uh, lost my parents a few years ago in an accident. So it’s just me now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

We settled back into our respective spaces for another hour, him working away and me pretending to work while I watched him.

After a while he stopped and turned, asking me, “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

“Of course, what do you need me to do?”

“Hold this.” I kneeled next to him on the floor and took hold of the drawer, our fingers brushing. “I’m going to adjust the railings, so keep it as steady as you can.”

“Ok.” I’d lowered my voice to a whisper. We were shoulder to shoulder, and in this proximity, I felt enveloped by his deep woody scent.

My focus had narrowed to the steady beat of my heart, the weight of the wood in my hands, and the dance of muscles on his hands as he worked to tighten the screws.

Puffs of air brushed over my forearm when he bent down to check something, his breath ghosting over my skin. Goosebumps were swift to sweep over me, briefing shaking the drawer. Without moving an inch, his eyes snapped up to mine, their grey hues sparkling in the light.

“All done.” He held my gaze. “Mia, I- “

The tenderness of his voice was suddenly too much. It had been so long since I’d let someone in, it overwhelmed me. Being vulnerable wasn’t something I had any practice in, and yet…

I wanted to let go. To let Luca in. But it also scared the life out of me.

I stood abruptly, cutting him off. “I should get back to work.” But I didn’t return to my laptop, walking upstairs and occupying myself with my laundry until I could breathe again.

The late afternoon light flooded the hardwood floor when I returned downstairs, and when I spotted the finished window seat, my heart sank.

“I’m almost finished. You’ll no doubt be glad to get me out of your hair after two weeks.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s been nice having someone around, especially today.” It slipped out before I could stop it, and I froze.

“Oh? What’s today?”

Shit.

“Nothing. You must be glad to be finished,” I said, changing the subject. “You must have lots of other customers to help.”

“None as intriguing as you.”

I avoided his eye and felt rather than saw him step away to collect his things. “This is the last of it. I’ll pack up my truck and be out of your way.”

After he’s left, regret eats at me sure that I’ve missed the first opportunity in forever to have something meaningful. At least, that’s what I had hoped for.

It hadn’t been easy to let people in since the accident, and after so many years learning how to be on my own, I’m not even sure I know how to open up to someone new.

But I want to.

I should call him. Should I?

The familiar orange bow catches my eye, and upon seeing the chocolate Luca had brought me, I know he is the someone special I’ve been missing.

Before I could second guess myself, I begin to text him, writing and deleting tens of messages. Too shy to ask him out, I suggest he’s left his glasses here. It’s silly but I want to see him again. 


In an effort to distract myself, I throw together a brownie mix and found staring at my oven was only slightly less nerve-wracking than staring at my phone.

It was almost done, the smell of rich chocolate filling the room, when I heard that familiar knock on my door. The one that is unmistakably Luca. Immediately, my pulse was racing.

He’s wearing the same clothes and warm smile he was earlier. He’s also wearing his glasses, and a flush of embarrassment coursed through me until I saw that in his hands was a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries.

Confusion settled on my face, but he just smiled that same disarming smile. “I found my glasses.”

“I can see that.”

Out of sheer awkwardness I motioned for him to come inside. When we make it to the kitchen, I’m about to ask him why he’s here but he beats me to it, asking, “Something smells delicious, are you baking?”

“I am. I thought I’d use the chocolate you brought me for brownies.”

“What’s the occasion?”

My heart thumped against my ribcage. Stealing a look at Luca, I saw him waiting, patient as always. I took a chance. “It’s my birthday.”

“Happy Birthday.” His voice is gentle. A caress. “Is that why you seem sadder today? I had hoped it was because you’d miss me.”

“Yes.” It was the answer to both.

“Are you spending it alone?”

Emotion tightened in my gut. At my small nod, he moved closer, until I could feel the warmth emanating from him. “That would be a crime. Would you let me cook you dinner?”

“I, uh…” Clearing my throat, I tried again, playing my nerves off with a joke. “The, uh, last time someone cooked me dinner I was on a date.”

“Good. So is this.” And while I’m stunned into silence, he begins to unpack the groceries; fettuccine, garlic, chilli, oil, parmesan. “I hope you don’t mind something simple; this was all I could find on short notice.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

I poured us each a glass of wine while he prepped the ingredients. Then watched as he rummaged around my mostly bare cupboards until he found the pans he was looking for. I tried not to get too excited at how at home he looked in my kitchen. How at home I felt with him there.

He threw a smile over his shoulder as he continued to prepare dinner. “You don’t cook much.” It was said without judgement.

I laughed. “Not much no. After years of travelling and not having anyone to cook for, I’ve become lazy.”

He hummed an agreement, focused entirely on the stove as he lowered the pasta into the boiling water. When he was satisfied, he turned back to face me, and I held his gaze.

Gosh, he was beautiful. How were his eyelashes so long?

I toyed with the rim of my glass. “Do you cook much?”

“Yes. My mother made sure of it. There’s nothing like the pleasure of cooking for someone special, don’t you agree?”

I nodded, images of my own mother in the kitchen playing across my mind. She’d have liked him.

“I could teach you if you’d like,” he added.

My lips curled easily into a smile. “I’d like that.”

Dinner was, of course, delicious. It seemed everything this man touched was amazing.

After we’d finished, Luca grabbed a clean plate while I cut generous slices of the still warm brownie. I was licking wayward chocolate off my fingers when I caught him watching me, eyes dark with desire.

It wouldn’t take much to lean over and kiss him.

Instinctively, I moved closer. “Why did you come back tonight?”

“I like you.” His eyes darted to my lips.

“You barely know me.”

“I know that you appreciate history, because of this house. You love to travel, and your family, but you miss them both. You’re curious and smart. You’re sad, but you don’t like to share that with anyone. You’re kind. You’re beautiful.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just one thing.” I moved closer still.

“Oh?” The little hitch in his breath stoked the fire in me.

“Yes.” My fingers curled around his neck and threaded through his hair, pulling him in until our noses touched. At the first touch of his lips, I felt his arms circle my waist.

When we finally parted to breath, I smiled, answering his question. “I have excellent taste in carpenters.”

THE END