I could feel Serena seething behind me, which, really, didn’t help her case at all.

She may not realize that I was picky about who bought my furniture, that it wasn’t about the money for me, but about finding the right home for my work.

“Thank you so much. Enjoy,” I said to the customer after she paid and told me again how much she loved my work.

Then, with no one left in the workshop but Reardon, Chris, and Serena, I turned back around and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Do you need help getting the shelves home, Rear?” I asked, ignoring Serena’s frustrated sigh.

“Ah, no, we got it,” Reardon said, looking between Serena and me with a confused expression. He must have decided not to get involved, because he shrugged and added, “Well, we’d best be getting back. C’mon, Chris. Later, Jed, thanks … and, Serena, I’ll call you later.”

“Later,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Serena as they walked out.

We stood there for a few moments, in the middle of a standoff. Not speaking or moving, until Serena couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What do you mean no?” she asked, as if I’d just said it. “That is what you’re doing here, right, selling your creations?”

I nodded.

“Yes, I’m selling them, but I reserve the right to sell to who I want.”

“To whom,” Serena said automatically, then when my eyes narrowed she muttered, “Sorry,” probably realizing the way to get what she did not include correcting my grammar. “But, I don’t understand. Why won’t you let me buy it?”

I sighed. It’s not that I wanted to be a dick, but the river table was currently my favorite creation. I’d spent a lot of time getting it exactly the way I wanted, and had an internal debate over keeping it for myself. When I decided to sell it, I knew the buyer had to be perfect.

And yes, Serena fuming with her perfect face and gorgeous hair that begged to be tugged between my fingers was perfect for most things … but not for this.

“It’s a special piece,” I began, not sure how to explain it in a way that she would understand, without sounding like an idiot.

“I know it is,” she said loudly, cutting me off. “That’s why I want it. It’s beautiful … mesmerizing … absolutely perfect.”

Okay, I like what I’m hearing…

“But?” I prompted, expecting there to be one.

“No, no but,” Serena replied. “It’s a work of art and I know just what to do with it. Here … come with me.”

She walked past me and out the door, and when I didn’t follow, she stuck her head back inside and said, “Come on, I promise I won’t lock you in the basement or hit you with a tire iron.”

I blinked. Wow, those were a couple of random, violent options.

Serena winced and said, “Sorry, I was reading Stephen King last night … Forget I said that, just, follow me.”

Intrigued, I followed her out the door, then locked and shut my workshop before walking from my yard to hers and going through her gate. She marched toward her own workshop on the back of her property, hair swaying and hips swinging in a very appealing way, then paused to unlock the door.

Once she’d stepped inside and turned on the lights, I crossed the threshold after her.

Then I was the one who stopped in my tracks as I tried to take it all in, my mouth open.

I’d expected the space to be empty, since she’d only moved in a little over a week ago, but instead, it was full to bursting.

There was standard furniture, nice, good-quality furniture, but there was also art. Gorgeous paintings, sculptures, statement pieces … but more than that there were hand-crafted pieces that were in the same vein as what I did.

“What is all this?” I asked, trying to take it all in at once.

“I’m going to be managing the art gallery in town, and they are in the final stages of the remodel, so I’m keeping most of the pieces that I’ve ordered, and been collecting, here until I can have it all moved to the gallery.”

“So, these are all works of the artists you’ll be showcasing?” I asked, walking to the backside of her studio, drawn there by a painting that was so colorful and so lifelike, yet had a feeling a great sadness to it.

Serena cleared her throat, but I was standing in front the painting, mesmerized.

“Yes, some of them,” she answered, her voice getting louder as she crossed to me. “Others are pieces that will be used daily in the gallery, while still on display and available to purchase … That’s why I want your table. For the gallery. It’s a gorgeous piece that should be on display, and if you’re willing I’ll commission it from you to sell.”

I turned my face to look down at her, startled.

“You want to display it in the gallery?”

Serena nodded, her eyes on the painting.

“Yes, it deserves to be seen. To be lauded.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I was humbled, and felt like a giant ass for being such a jerk about her wanting to purchase the table.

“Can I think about it?” I asked, even though I knew I should jump at the opportunity.

“Of course,” she replied, all business now.

And since we were here, and talking business, I turned my attention back to the painting and asked, “And this … will this piece be displayed and available to purchase in the gallery?”

I’d never purchased art before. I tended to keep my walls bare and focused on filling my house with wood and furnishings that I either made myself, or found during my searches.

“No,” Serena replied, her voice low and rough. “This one is mine. I’ve never had a showing of my art.”

It took me a moment to realize she didn’t mean it was her painting, as in she bought it, but rather, she was the artist.

I looked down at her, slightly dumbfounded. Every time I thought I had Serena pegged, another facet was revealed.