Chapter 4: A Contract and a Crack

The morning after the grocery store debacle, Lena stood in the empty shell of what would soon become Petal & Stem, her dream flower shop. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny fairies in the golden air. The space was perfect—high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and enough room for the vision that had sustained her through three years of city struggle.

But perfect spaces needed perfect fixtures, and that meant she needed a carpenter. In a town the size of Willow Creek, that meant she needed Cal.

She'd spent the better part of two days trying to find alternatives. She'd called contractors in neighboring towns, only to be quoted prices that would eat half her startup budget. She'd considered ordering pre-made shelving online, but nothing matched her vision of integrated display units that would showcase her arrangements like works of art.

Which brought her right back to the one man in town who could build exactly what she needed, the same man who'd made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with her.

The brass bell above the door chimed as Lena pushed into Thorne Woodcrafts' showroom. She'd never seen this part of Cal's business before—he'd expanded since high school, adding a professional front to his workshop that showcased his finest pieces. A dining set in rich cherry wood caught the light, its surfaces gleaming with the kind of finish that came from years of perfecting his craft. Built-in bookcases lined one wall, their clean lines speaking to a sophistication that took her breath away.

Cal had become more than just the talented boy she'd once known. He'd become a true artisan.

"We're closed," his voice came from the back room, rough with morning coffee and what sounded like resignation.

"The sign says you're open until five," Lena called back, running her fingers along the smooth edge of a coffee table. "And it's barely noon."

A long pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps. Cal appeared in the doorway, sawdust in his dark hair and a measuring tape in his hand. He looked tired, she realized, like he hadn't been sleeping well. The thought that she might be the cause of his insomnia sent an uncomfortable pang through her chest.

"What do you want, Lena?"

She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I want to hire you."

His laugh was sharp and humorless. "Try someone else."

"There is no one else. Not for what I need." She pulled out her phone, swiping to the photos she'd taken of the shop space. "I need custom display shelving for my flower shop. Built-ins that can handle weight and moisture, with integrated lighting and—"

"No."

The flat refusal hung between them like a wall. Lena felt her carefully prepared business pitch crumble, but she pressed on anyway.

"You haven't even heard my specifications yet. Or my budget."

"I don't care about your specifications or your budget." Cal crossed his arms, the gesture making his shoulders look even broader beneath his worn flannel shirt. "Find someone else."

"Cal, please. I know things are complicated between us, but this is business. I'm asking you to do what you do best, and I'm willing to pay your going rate."

"My going rate for you is unavailable at any price."

The words stung more than they should have. Lena had expected resistance, but the cold finality in his voice caught her off guard. She looked around the showroom again, taking in the evidence of his success, his skill, his absolute mastery of his craft.

"You're really going to let personal feelings interfere with your professional reputation?"

Something dangerous flashed in Cal's eyes. "Don't lecture me about professionalism. And don't pretend you know anything about my reputation."

"I know you're the best carpenter in three counties. I know Mrs. Henderson has been bragging about her dining table to anyone who'll listen. I know that bookcase in the corner is probably worth more than most people's cars." She gestured toward his work, her voice gaining strength. "And I know that turning down a legitimate job because of a ten-year-old grudge isn't like you."

"You don't know me anymore," Cal said quietly. "You made sure of that."

The accusation hit home, but Lena forced herself to stand her ground. "Maybe not. But I know your work, and I know what I need. Five custom display units, built to commercial standards, designed to showcase floral arrangements. It's a high-profile job in the center of town, the kind that brings in more customers."

Cal was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing over words he didn't want to say. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy with reluctance.

"Show me the space."

Hope fluttered in Lena's chest, but she kept her voice carefully neutral. "When?"

"Now. Before I change my mind."

The walk to her shop was tense and silent, both of them hyper-aware of the curious looks from passersby. Word of their grocery store encounter had clearly made the rounds, and Lena could practically feel the weight of small-town speculation following them down Main Street.

Inside Petal & Stem, Cal's demeanor shifted. He moved through the space with professional focus, measuring walls and testing the electrical outlets, all traces of personal animosity temporarily set aside. Lena watched him work, remembering how he'd always transformed when he had tools in his hands—more confident, more sure of himself, like he'd found his element.

"Load-bearing wall here," he muttered, tapping the brick with his knuckles. "Good anchor points. You'll want the main display unit centered under this beam."

Despite everything between them, Lena found herself drawn into his vision. "With adjustable shelves?"

"Fixed shelves are stronger, but adjustable gives you flexibility." He pulled out a worn notebook, sketching quickly. "What's your typical arrangement size?"

For the next hour, they worked together with surprising efficiency. Cal asked technical questions about water drainage and lighting needs, while Lena described her vision of cascading displays that would draw customers deeper into the store. It felt almost normal, like they were just two professionals collaborating on a project.

Until the storm hit.

The first rumble of thunder was distant, barely noticeable over their discussion about wood finishes. But within minutes, the sky had darkened to an ominous green-black, and rain began pelting the windows with increasing intensity.

"Flash flood warning," Cal said, checking his phone. "This system came out of nowhere."

Lena moved to the window, watching the street outside transform into a rushing stream. "Should we wait it out?"

"Probably smart. These spring storms can be—"

A tremendous crack split the air, followed by a crash that shook the building. Through the rain-streaked glass, they could see a massive oak branch had broken away from the tree that straddled their property line, taking down a significant section of the fence between their houses.

"Shit," Cal breathed, staring at the destruction.

"Is that... our fence?" Lena asked, though the answer was obvious.

The storm continued to rage for another twenty minutes, trapping them in the shop together. Cal stood with his back to her, hands braced against the window frame as he surveyed the damage. The tension in his shoulders was visible even through his shirt, and Lena found herself fighting the urge to reach out, to offer comfort the way she once would have.

When the rain finally began to ease, they made a dash for their respective houses to assess the damage up close. The fallen branch was enormous, easily three feet in diameter, and it had taken out nearly twenty feet of fencing. Worse, it had fallen at an angle that blocked both their driveways, trapping Cal's truck and Lena's car.

"Insurance will cover the removal," Cal said, circling the massive trunk. "But it'll take at least a week to get a crew out here."

"What about the fence?"

"That's more complicated." He kicked at a splintered fence post. "Shared property line means shared responsibility. We'll need to agree on materials, height, style."

The implication hung between them: they would have to work together, make decisions together, coordinate repairs together. The physical barrier that had provided blessed separation between their properties was gone, leaving them literally and figuratively exposed.

"I can handle my half of the costs," Lena said quickly. "Whatever you think is best."

Cal turned to look at her, something unreadable in his expression. "Just like that? No questions about materials or timeline?"

"You're the expert. I trust your judgment."

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she saw Cal's face close off immediately. Trust was a loaded concept between them, a weapon that could cut both ways.

"Don't," he said softly. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it. About the fence, about the craftsmanship. I always trusted your work, Cal. That never changed."

He stared at her for a long moment, rain dripping from his hair, his blue eyes searching her face for something she wasn't sure she could give him. Finally, he looked away.

"I'll call the tree service tomorrow. Get quotes on the fence repair."

"And my shelving units?"

Another pause, longer this time. "I'll draw up some plans. Email them to you by Friday."

It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either. Lena felt a small spark of hope, the first real progress they'd made since her return.

"Thank you."

Cal nodded once, then headed toward his house, stepping carefully around the debris. At his front door, he paused and looked back at her.

"Lena? This is just business. Don't read anything else into it."

"I know," she said, but she was lying.

Because as she stood in her backyard, looking at the broken fence and the storm damage, she couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes the universe had its own ideas about barriers and boundaries. Sometimes things needed to be torn down before they could be rebuilt stronger.

The question was whether Cal would see it the same way, or if some walls were meant to stay broken forever.