Chapter 11 - The Return to Bennett & Pine Restoration
Forty-eight hours later, the rain had finally cleared, leaving the air in Portland crisp, clean, and smelling faintly of wet cedar and pine needles.
The front windows of Bennett & Pine Restoration were bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun as it dipped low over Casco Bay.
Inside the workshop, the nineteenth-century walnut sideboard rested in its original spot near the back wall, its damaged veneer now fully repaired, polished, and sealed with a flawless hand-rubbed shellac finish that gleamed under the hanging work lamps.
Nora stood near the workbench, wearing a simple canvas apron dusted with fine wood shavings, using a smoothing plane to put a final, razor-thin bevel on the edge of a new drawer pull.
The door chimes—which she had finally un-taped that morning—jingles softly as the heavy iron latch clicked open.
Footsteps crossed the polished pine floorboards, slow, steady, and entirely familiar.
Nora didn't look up immediately, though a small, soft smile touched the corners of her mouth.
“If you’re here to tell me my deli sandwiches are an insult to bread again, I’m locking the front door,” she called out over the rhythmic hiss of the plane against the walnut.
Julian stopped two feet away from her workbench, his charcoal sleeves rolled to his forearms, the thin black tattoo visible beneath his cuff.
“I’m here to inspect the dovetails,” Julian said, his voice carrying that low, gravelly warmth that always made her pulse skip a beat.
Nora paused, setting the plane aside and wiping her hands on her apron before finally looking up at him.
“The dovetails are flawless,” she said, her eyes locking onto his.
“And expensive.”
“Everything of real value is expensive, Nora,” Julian replied, taking a slow step closer until he was standing right beside her at the workbench.
He didn't hesitate this time.
His hands reached out, sliding gently around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest in front of the warm, sunlit windows of the workshop.
Nora let out a contented sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder without an ounce of hesitation, without a single lingering echo of Evan Mercer’s voice telling her she was too much.
“Vance?” she asked quietly against his collar.
“Gone back to Boston,” Julian murmured, his lips brushing the side of her hair.
“The board called an emergency audit to replace him. They realized the ledger is gone, and without proof of the old debts, their leverage over my operations evaporated overnight.”
“And us?” Nora asked, tilting her chin up to meet his dark, unwavering gaze.
“Us?” Julian smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that transformed his harsh features into something entirely tender.
“The organization is secure. The shop is safe. And according to my mother’s final rule...”
He paused, letting his thumb trace the warm curve of her jawline.
“I found a woman who fills the room.”
May you like
Nora laughed, the sound bright, loud, and echoing off the tin ceiling of the cedar-scented workshop, taking up every single inch of space without an apology in the world.
“You’re incorrigible, Julian Kang.”
