Could he tell she fresh-squeezed it just for him? Was it too sweet? Or not sweet enough? She didn’t have the guts to ask. She kicked her legs, and her heels tapped against the freezer. “It’s hot today.”

Crossing his arms, he settled against the workbench. “Today, I thought best to work in the shade. Tomorrow, I’ll prepare the ground.”

Some of the wood was sanded and clean, richly lustrous. The larger posts were rough hewn and still stippled with bark, as were many smaller pieces. “The gazebo looks beautiful already.”

Circling the lumber, he stopped in front of the fan. “I know much of the wood is rough, but when it’s assembled, I hope the structure becomes part of the forest—like it grew from the earth around the tree.”

The sky-blue shirt rippled across his shoulders, accentuating his waist. She swallowed. Where was Claire’s water bottle when she needed it? “I love that idea.”

“The design is inventive. I’ve never built anything like it.”

She recalled his backyard by lantern light. “Except your garden gate.” A bittersweet smile teased at the corners of his mouth.

He nodded.

The sun dipped behind a cloud, and the garage dimmed. The lines on his forehead deepened, and he held her gaze. He suddenly looked so sad she wanted to hug him or at least to make him smile. Sliding from the freezer, she waved a hand toward the kitchen. “You know, I have a radio that never once took a swim in a creek…if you’d like music while you work?” She bit her tongue. Did she overstep her bounds?

He slitted his eyes.

After all, he seemed reluctant to use the fan.

A slow smile crept across his face. “I’d like that very much.”

When she returned with the radio and the lemonade pitcher, she found him bent over the workbench, drilling a hole in a post with a hand drill. Placing the radio on the windowsill, she plugged it in above the fan. “It’s tuned to my dad’s oldies station, but you can put it on whatever you want.” She refilled his glass and set the pitcher on the freezer.

With each revolution of the handle, curls of fragrant cedar spiraled from the drill bit. Keeping his gaze steady on his work, he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Okay.” She nibbled the inside of her cheek. “Well, let me know if you need anything else.” Kneeling to weed the Shasta daisies just beyond the open garage door, she snuck a look from the corner of her eye.

Lowering the drill, he took up the radio and rotated it slowly in his hands. He flipped the power switch, and the sound of a staticky electric guitar poured from the speaker. Replacing the radio on the sill, he swiveled the antenna but didn’t change the station.