You’re already mentally checking off your to-do list as you step out of your car, phone in one hand, eyes quickly scanning the text messages piling up. Another meeting this afternoon, a deadline tomorrow, an email that needs answering—and here you are, carving out precious time to meet some carpenter about your dining table.

You glance up at the workshop in front of you. It’s not exactly what you expected. Rustic, almost picturesque, tucked away off a quiet road. The smell of sawdust and fresh-cut wood hangs in the air, mingling with something faintly metallic, and there’s the faint sound of sanding or drilling coming from inside.

You smooth your jacket, ready to get in, give your ideas, and get out.

The door creaks open as you step inside, the noise of tools dying down. That’s when you see him—Matt.

He looks up from behind a massive wooden slab balanced on sawhorses. He’s wiping his hands on a rag, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with sawdust. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, hair pushed back messily. Definitely not what you were picturing when you heard carpenter.

“Hey,” he calls casually, voice deep and easy. “You must be the client.”