Chapter 8 - Shavings And Sunlight
Two months later, the smell of fresh cedar shavings once again filled the main workshop of Northline Restorations.
The winter snow had begun to melt along the harbor wharves, giving way to the cold, bright sunshine of early spring. Outside, the harbor gulls wheeled and cried against the pale blue Maine sky.
The Sovereign Star sat in the center cradle of the workshop floor, illuminated by high-intensity workshop lights.
Its rotted timber transom had been completely removed, and fresh ribs of white oak were already steam-bent and bolted into place with gleaming silicon-bronze fasteners.
Nora stood on a low wooden stool, carefully running a smoothing plane along the outer edge of a mahogany hull plank.
Her baby bump was now clearly visible beneath her flannel work shirt and canvas apron. She worked with steady, rhythmic strokes, listening to the satisfying hiss of paper-thin wood curls falling to the concrete floor.
Footsteps echoed across the workshop bay.
Cassian walked in carrying two cardboard coffee trays and a box of fresh apple cider donuts from the bakery around the corner. He wore faded blue jeans, scuffed work boots, and a gray thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing his intricate tattoos to the morning sun.
He looked different.
The tense, predatory grace that had once defined his movements had softened into something grounded and peaceful. The ink on his arms looked less like armor and more like simple memories etched into skin.
"Decaf tea with lemon for the boss," Cassian said, stepping up to the work platform and offering her a paper cup. "And extra napkins."
Nora set her hand plane down and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist.
She took the cup with a small, contented smile.
"You're late for your shift, apprentice," she said teasingly.
"I was delayed at the municipal planning office," Cassian replied, leaning his forearms against the staging rail. "The deed for the dry dock expansion just cleared. The city approved your apprenticeship training school for local kids."
Nora felt a warm surge of pride spread through her chest.
She had dreamed of opening a free wooden-boat restoration school for harbor youth for five years, but she had never had the capital or the land rights to make it happen.
"You didn't have to buy the adjacent warehouse, Cassian," she said softly.
"I didn't buy it for me," he replied, looking up at her with clear, untroubled eyes. "I bought it for the next generation of builders. Our son or daughter should have a place to learn how to make things that last."
He reached out and gently laid his hand on her rounded stomach.
Under his palm, a tiny, distinct kick tapped against the canvas apron.
Cassian froze, his breath catching in his throat. His face lit up with an expression of pure, unadulterated wonder that made him look twenty years younger.
"Did you feel that?" he whispered, his voice hushed as if they were standing in a cathedral.
"He's been testing his sea legs all morning," Nora laughed softly, resting her hand over his.
Cassian stepped closer, leaning his forehead gently against her hip.
"I spent my entire life thinking power was something you built out of fear and secrets," he murmured against her apron. "I was wrong. Power is being able to stand in this room with you and not have to hide a single thing."
May you like
Nora threaded her fingers through his dark hair, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her side.
The cold sleet of that November night felt like a distant nightmare, washed clean by the honest smell of cedar and salt water.
