Lilah Jean's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Lilah Jean scrolled her phone until her thumb ached. She had contacts for stylists, buyers, and old college friends. None of them could build a chair. She called two anyway. One laughed. One didn't pick up. The pink peacock strutted past her feet and out the door, and she followed it just to move. The bird led her down to the water. A pond sat there, wide and still, with a small waterfall spilling over stone. The falling water ran pink, catching the light. Cattails leaned along the edges. Lilah Jean stopped and stared. She had never seen this place. Across the pond stood an old house on stilts, its trim painted a faded pink, its porch sagging like a tired shoulder. A man stood on that porch. Tall, broad, arms filling a black shirt. He held a plank in one hand and a saw in the other. He wasn't building anything. He was just standing there, watching her the way you watch something you've been meaning to say hello to. Lilah Jean crossed the little footbridge. "Is this your workshop?" she asked. He looked at the house, then at her. "Was somebody's. Tools still work." He set the saw down. "I'm Nik." "Lilah Jean." She laughed, nervous, and something in his face shifted. He stood a little straighter, like the sound had landed somewhere. "I know your laugh," he said. Then he stopped, searching for words. "Heard it at your shop. Couldn't figure out how to say anything." Her cheeks went warm. She pulled the folded sketch from her bag instead. "I need this built. A chair. Shaped like a heart. Everyone I called says it can't be done here." Nik took the paper. He studied the curved back, the deep seat, the peaks. He didn't rush. Behind him, an old chair leaned against the wall, its pink paint chipped down to bare wood, cushions caved in. He nodded at it. "Fixed that one last winter," he said. "Yours is bigger. Harder." He looked up. "I can do it." "I can barely pay you," she said. "I spent everything on the lease." He folded the sketch along her creases and handed it back. "Didn't ask for money." He paused. "Ask me again when it's built." Lilah Jean's chest tightened, half relief, half something newer. She had a builder. She had wood, tools, and a man who noticed her before she noticed him. The chair could exist now. It would take weeks of trips to this leaning house by the pink water, hours beside him while he worked. She thought about that and didn't mind at all. "Deal," she said, and shook his hand. His grip was warm and sure. Neither of them let go right away.