I was exhausted.

Working twelve hours on a construction site would do that to you.

It had been a long week. With working all day, then coming home and heading to my workshop to finish up my projects, I hadn’t had a lot of time to do more than eat and catch a few hours of sleep.

Luckily, it was Sunday, and although the thought of staying in bed and actually getting eight hours for once had merit, I had some stuff to do before I opened my house to potential clients.

A couple months ago, once I had the inventory, and the confidence, I’d begun opening my doors on the last Sunday of the month for people to come shop.

I’d advertised in the paper, on social media, and, of course, by word of mouth. The first Sunday had a better turnout than I’d expected, because I hadn’t expected anyone … the second was even better than the first.

I was excited, nervous, and a little uneasy about the third.

Selling my own creations was much different than working construction on someone else’s vision. I put a lot of thought, effort, and time into the pieces I made, and I wanted to make sure they went to people who would love and appreciate them as much as I did.

Did that make me a little crazy? A little neurotic? Probably, but I was okay with that.

I showered, put on my work pants and a T-shirt, then ate a quick bowl of oatmeal and threw back some coffee. I made another cup to go and took it with me outside. As I passed through my yard, I glanced over at Serena’s house, which was still dark.

It had been over a week since we’d gone to the bar with Reardon, and I’d only seen her in passing. So far, there hadn’t been any more issues, or evidence of rudeness and superiority, so I was thinking I was right in the assumption she’d just been having a bad day. Which was good, since I was sure we’d be thrown together often.

After I unlocked my studio and turned on the lights and the music, I got down to the business of putting the finishing touches on my projects, then cleaning up the space as best as I could. Once nine in the morning was about to hit, I lowered my music and opened the gate to allow people into my backyard.

“Hello,” I said, a bit startled to see a woman waiting on the other side of my gate, and another car parking in the street behind her.

“Hi,” the pretty blonde said with a shy smile. “I’m not early, am I?”

“Not at all,” I assured her, pleased to already have customers. “Please, come on back.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, trailing a step behind me, so I almost didn’t hear her. “I actually saw your Instagram post, the one that Gabriel Lewis reposted, with the wagon wheel table … Do you still have it?”

“Yeah,” I replied, stopping at the outside of my studio and motioning for her to enter before me. “It’s right in the back there.”

She walked past me and hurried toward the table, her hand covering her mouth as she made ahhhing noises and walked around the table, looking it over and placing her hand gently on the surface.

Yeah, she was the perfect kind of customer to me, and I smiled as I thought of my treasured table finding a home with her.

“It’s perfect,” she said, glancing up at me briefly before looking back at the polished table. “My husband has been looking for one of these since we vacationed in Tennessee. He’s not going to believe I found one.”

Before I could reply, another woman came in, this one an older brunette, and she was followed by an older woman who I assumed was a relative, based on the resemblance.

“Good morning,” I said in greeting, then stepped back to allow them space to look over my items.

Within the first three hours, I’d sold the wagon wheel table, two Adirondack chairs, a bench, and an antique dresser that I’d refurbished. I didn’t do much refurbishing, preferring to build things from scratch, but every once in a while, a piece spoke to me and I picked it up.

I was standing outside, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and the sound of customers chatting happily in my shop, when I felt eyes on me and turned my head.

At first, I didn’t see anything but Serena’s house, but when I looked closer, I saw the curtains move and grinned. Looked like someone was a nosy neighbor.

“Jed.”

I turned toward the sound of my name and waved when I saw Reardon and his soon to be stepson Chris coming around back.

“Hey, guys, how’s it going?” I asked, moving to shake their hands.

“I meant to come earlier, but couldn’t break away. I’m hoping you still have that bookshelf you were working on last week, it’ll be perfect for the baby’s room,” Reardon said, looking over my shoulder anxiously, as if ready to pounce on anyone he saw coming out with the bookshelf.

“I still got it,” I assured him, motioning for them to follow me inside. “There,” I said, pointing to the shelves that I’d finished this morning.

Reardon sighed with relief and grinned.

“Thank God,” he said, and when I looked at him with a questioning gaze, he clarified, “I showed Chloe the picture I’d taken of it, and she wanted it … bad. She would’ve killed me if I came home empty-handed.”

“She really would,” Chris agreed with a nod. “She’s got cabin fever … bad. We all need this baby to come soon, or my mom’s gonna lose it.”

I chuckled and said, “Well, you won’t have to worry about her killing you today, the shelves are yours.”