The Pretty One(63)

“Eighth of an inch? So that makes it easier to cut.”

How cute. He’s trying to speak geek with me. “Yes, it does.”

“Is this Ahab’s ivory stool?” he asks, picking up a tiny stool from my dollhouse stash.

“You have a great memory,” I blurt out.

Ugh. I sound like one of my teachers.

“And what’s this going to be?” he asks, picking up a piece of wood that has a square peg attached to the bottom.

“That’s going to be his bed, but I haven’t finished yet.”

“What kind of tools do we need to finish it?” he asks, motioning toward all the equipment that I have scattered about the coffee table. I was not allowed to do this kind of thing in the living room since it was too easy to nick up furniture with all my saws and knives. But I don’t care. In an act of defiance against my mom and the lack of her parental support, I purposely defied the rules. Not that I’m worried, since Mom will never know. I’m too careful and skilled to nick furniture anymore.

“This looks like this could do some serious damage in the wrong hands.” Drew gingerly picks up my miter saw, which looks like a long, thin razor blade with a handle.

“That’s good for cutting little pieces of wood. And this,” I add, picking up the saw next to it, “is a jeweler’s saw. See this?” I point to the V-Block bench extension that I’ve hooked onto the coffee table. “I can put the wood on top and hold it in place so that I can cut shapes and designs into it.” I pick up the headboard for Ahab’s bed that I had cut in the shape of a whale and show it to him.

“Wow.” Drew’s hands touch mine as he traces his fingers around the tiny headboard in my hand.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I feel totally lightheaded and giddy, like the sugar rush I got from eating five glazed Krispy Kremes in a row (with custard filling).

“Can you teach me how to do this?” he asks, taking the circular saw.

“Make a diorama?”

“Sure,” he replies.

I feel like doing my George Longwell imitation and bursting into song, but mine would come with high leg kicks.

I put a piece of wood on the V block and wrap Drew’s fingers around the saw, showing him how to hold it. Even though he assures me he understands what he’s supposed to do, I can’t help but wince, since I’m pretty sure he’s going to cut off a finger or something. Amazingly enough, he doesn’t. It takes him a while, but he’s determined. And finally, he’s sawing through two pieces of wood. After he finishes, Drew holds them up for my approval.

“Well done, Drew,” I say.

Maybe I should just ask him to call me Miss Fletcher.

Drew puts down the wood and smiles at me while I imagine us in the production room, kissing. “Thanks, Megan. You’re pretty cool. There aren’t many beautiful girls who can handle a…what’s this called again?”

Beautiful? Drew just called me beautiful! I need to say something, but what? Should I thank him? Or does that seem too presumptuous? “Miter saw” is the only thing I can get out.

Obviously, Drew doesn’t interpret this as seductive come-on. Instead of grabbing me and throwing me on a bed of roses, he grabs Captain Ahab’s bed and places it in the diorama cabin. It immediately falls over. “Hmm,” he says. “I think we have a leg problem.”

I feel like whacking myself on the head for blowing a potential romantic moment. What is wrong with me? “It needs to be cut down a little.”

Drew sticks the bed on the butcher’s block. “Can I do it?”

“Yeah, just let me help you for a sec.” I lean back into him, purposely resting my arm against his as I show him how to work the saw.

“I think I’ve got it,” he says finally, taking the saw from me.

Another missed opportunity. Sheesh. “Be careful. That leg is kind of thick. It’ll be a little harder to cut than the boards.”

Drew slowly begins sawing off a little piece of the leg with the miter saw.

“Ouch!” he yelps as the saw knicks his finger.

Oh crap. I’ve killed him.

“Are you okay?” I shriek as I see red trickling down the palm of his hand.

“It’s nothing,” he says, wincing. “Just a little cut.”

I instinctively reach for his finger and put pressure on the wound, just like I’ve done for every single one of the freshman class. Even still, I’m borderline hysterical. “Maybe we should get you to a hospital!”

Drew laughs and leans his forehead against mine. This excites me in a way I never thought possible. “It’s no big deal, Megan. You’re pressing on my hand so hard you’ve definitely cut off my blood supply.”

I giggle, but the tone of it is anxious and worried.

Then Drew does something incredible. He kisses me softly on the forehead and says, “You’re so sweet.”


It’s funny. Even though I’ve shared my first kiss with Drew, and fantasized about having another one with him a million times afterward, this moment is far more intimate and thrilling than what we’ve already shared and what I’ve imagined might happen in the future. The reason why is because it’s unscripted. There are no stage directions telling us what to do. There is just him and me, standing close to each other, looking into each others eyes, waiting for someone else to make a bold move.