“Exactly. The whole thing was supposed to be live edge. But the damn thing snapped off at the grain when I was planing it. I was devastated at first. And angry. But then I realized I could just do something a little bit different than I usually do. Give the table two sides. A polite side.” He pointed toward the side with the smooth beveled edge. “And the go-fuck-yourself side.” He pointed at the wild, knotty side.

To his delight, Via grinned at his choice of words, her dark eyes sparking and her hands jamming in her pockets. “Do you have a client in mind for that one? I feel like it would have to be a very special person who could handle all that...personality in one piece of furniture.”

He shrugged. “It was commissioned by an old friend of mine, but once the wood cracked, I knew he wouldn’t want it. I’ll work on something else for him. I think this one is meant for my house.”

He slicked a hand over the top of the table, like it was a prized stallion. It was far from finished, rough and blond in places.

“Well, it suits you. The two sides of it, I mean.”

“Lion among flamingos?” he teased her, straightening up and dusting his hands off.

She blushed, but this time there was less joy in it. She changed the subject. “I always like seeing an artist’s studio.”

“Have you seen a lot of them?”

She nodded. “Evan is an artist. Or...was. I guess I’m not sure anymore. He says he’s done with it, but he had so much talent. And a lot of passion.”

Seb picked up a stray chisel and hung it in its place on the wall, straightened a can of tung oil and tossed some dirty rags in the hamper he kept in the corner. “Oh? What kind of work does he do?”

“Mixed media. But mostly painting. Occasionally photography. He used to share a studio with a bunch of other artist friends. I spent a lot of time there and was always fascinated at how artists choose to organize their spaces. It says a lot about a person.”

He watched as she sidled around the garage, peeking in a small set of drawers, lightly touching a loose screw on the countertop, squinting at the labels on all the different glues he kept.

Sebastian followed after her, tossing the screw into its bowl, closing the drawers and chucking out one of the glue bottles that he saw was empty. “You think so? The studio says something about the artist?”

“Oh, definitely.” She nodded resolutely. “It’s almost more interesting to me than the art itself. No, no way. I take that back. But I think it sheds light on the art. I like a little window into the artist’s process.” She turned and took her lip between her teeth, her dark eyes staring at the ceiling of the garage, searching for the words. “I’ve been to MOMA, to the Met, places like that, but I’ve never really responded as much to art when it’s perfectly curated. You know, the right lighting with the right blurb, all of it lined up in perfect sequential order.”