Page 27 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

“From teaching so many classes?”

I wasn’t sure why this gorgeous, sweet woman was so interested in my process, but I was flattered. “From woodworking in general. Every project I make has a lead-up process where I decide on details, and the biggest one is what wood I want to use. I consider things like weight, cost, availability, grain-size, absorbency, hardness… I could go on and on.”

“Why don’t you then? I’m not in a rush. Are you?”

My brain sputtered a bit, and it felt like being in high school where I never knew what to do when I was around a woman who impressed me. Come on, I was a grown man now. I was nearly forty!

“I am not,” I said slowly. “But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than listen to me drone on about all the qualities of different wood types.”

“I kind of like how you talk about wood.”

Now that had to be intentional. “Do you?” I asked. “Either you gained a new special interest, or you’re trying to flatter me.”

“Perhaps I have gained a special interest, but I don’t think it’s woodworking.”

I had to be hallucinating, because there was no way she was hitting on me, right? Once more, that worry of being an asshole creep who couldn’t have a woman be friendly with him without being completely gross about it welled up in me.

What if I’m misinterpreting?

“Ah, I see. Sixty Minutes–style interviews with generic people then?”

There was that look again, the one where it felt like she was gazing into the depth of my mind to puzzle something out. Normally that would be incredibly invasive. But with her, a woman I hardly knew, it felt like I was being seen properly.

“Do you think you’re generic?” she asked, and it didn’t feel like a gotcha. Nothing she said did. In fact, it came across as if she was trying to understand me.

“Well, I’m certainly nothing special,” I said on instinct, because that was the truth, wasn’t it? The world was full of guys like me: recently reformed mama’s boys who were behind on all of life’s milestones with no idea how to bridge the gap, or even if it could be bridged.

“I would disagree on that,” she said with such resolution in her tone that it threw me for a loop yet again.

“You sayin’ that you think I’m special? Some of my former teachers would agree with you, that’s for sure.”

She stared at me with those kohl-lined eyes of life-giving earth and priceless amber. I’d left a wide opening for her to make a Special Ed joke, and I was ready for it, but that look told me she wasn’t going to. “I’m saying I can see that you’re special, but what any of your former teachers think is irrelevant to that.”

She paused, and for a moment I thought that was it. Honestly, I was up shit creek without a paddle because I had absolutely zero idea what I was supposed to say to that. She might as well have been speaking a rare dialect of Mandarin when she complimented me outright like that because she short-circuited my brain in the same manner.

Fortunately, she saved me from having to think of any sort of witty repartee, because she kept going, her voice more serious.

“I know this is only our second class, but you have a demeanor that really puts people at ease. Stuff like this can be scary, especially for your older students, but you make it a safe space to fail, and to ask for help.”

Fuck.

It was hard not to believe she’d hacked my brain, because that was what I’d always wanted. Yes, I’d started the classes to keep myself occupied and try to squeeze some sort of purpose out of life when I felt so adrift, but after seeing my mother thrive in an environment where she was encouraged to try new things, I wanted to provide that to my students too.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “That means a lot to me.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned so broadly at me that I was temporarily blinded. “Part of what makes you special.”

It was too much talking about me, that was for sure, so I scrambled to flip it around. “Same could be said about you. You’re a pleasure to have in class.”

“Oh? You have a particular fondness for students who turn chisels into potential shuriken?”

Shuriken? Did I detect a nerd? She just got even more interesting.

“I have a fondness for people who are curious, and people who know what they want,” I said frankly. That was probably beyond the bounds of what was even remotely professional to say, but whatever. Class was over.

“You think I know what I want?” she murmured, and strangely enough, it was like I watched her morph into the much less certain version of herself from the first class. The one I’d had a nice conversation with but hadn’t really thought more about until I’d seen how strong she was, and then the adorable look of shock after she’d been startled.

“Don’t you?” I asked.