The sign above the picture window read “Cottage House Furniture.” On the second floor of the Shaker building, the wooden shingle for her own business dangled from a metal pole: “Kate Lawrence, Marriage Counseling Services.” She needed to remind Lucas to remove it; otherwise he’d leave it hanging for another year or until someone else rented the space.

Kate exited her car and slid her key into the rusty lock of the shop’s door. Once inside, she passed the stairs leading to her office and walked through the darkened maze of furniture to the back, where she hoped to find Lucas. She bumped an end table with her shin. Ow! That would leave a mark.

The high-pitched buzz of a power tool pierced the darkness, a good sign. “Lucas?” She rapped loudly on the metal door with her knuckles. The noise stopped.

“Come in.”

She opened the door. Lucas Wright looked up from his spot on the cement floor at the base of the gazebo, his too-long hair hanging over one eye. He looked her over, then turned back to the spindle and ran his thick hand over it as if testing the curves.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the beach?” he asked.

Kate crossed her arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He stood, agile for his size, and backed away from the gazebo. Sawdust from the floor clung to his faded jeans and black T-shirt. “I was just finishing.”

“You were supposed to be there an hour ago. The gazebo needs to be put in place before the sound system, and the florist has to decorate it, and there are people waiting to do their jobs.”

He faced her, looking into her in that way of his that made her feel like he could see clean through her. “Today’s the big day, huh?” Putting his tool on his workhorse, he dusted off his hands, moving in slow motion as though he’d decided tonight wouldn’t arrive until next week.

Kate checked her watch. “Do you think you can get this down to the beach sometime today?”

Walking around the piece, he studied it, hands on his hips, head cocked. “You like it?”

For the first time since the week before, Kate looked at the gazebo—the white lattice top, the hand-carved spindles, the gentle arch of the entry. At the top of the arch, a piece of wood curved gracefully, etched with clusters of daisies. The gazebo’s simple lines were characteristic of Lucas’s work, but she’d never known him to use such exquisite detail. The piece had an elegance that surpassed her expectations. He did beautiful work; she’d give him that.

“I do. I love the etching.” She sighed. Just when he irritated the snot out of her, he did something like this, caught her off guard. She always felt like she was tripping down the stairs when she was with him.