I passed by his desk and saw the sketches were variants of a mantel above a fireplace. The sketch of the room remained the same but the mantels changed, some ornate and complicated, others simple and rustic. The drawings were very good and I was wondering what they were for when I heard him come into the room.

“It’s a piece I’m working on for a client, they want a custom mantel, I’m still trying to convince them to stick with the style of the home and do something more arts & crafts less Victorian.”

“They are all beautiful.” I said as I thumbed through the stack of sketches.

“Which one do you like?” he asked expectantly.

“This one is my favorite,” I say, holding up a sketch of a mantel with a geometric design repeating through the wood, knots and grain visible in the unbroken surfaces.

He smiled.

“Why do you smile,” I asked.

“You picked the right one, maybe you could convince them,” his voice trailed off.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked.

“Sure.” I said.

“Red or white”

“I’d prefer red.”

I followed Dylan into the kitchen, and sat on one of the benches while he opened the wine.

“Did you design all those?” I asked.

“Design and build, I used to just make what other people designed but I’ve been designing more of my own stuff.”

“I didn’t know you did this,” I said with some disbelief, “you’ve never talked about it. What other things have you done?”

“The table you’re sitting at, the desk, my bed, most of the furniture in this house, almost ten pieces now done custom for other people from design to build.”

“How did you learn to do this?” I asked in amazement looking at everything differently, knowing he built it with his hands. So that’s where those arms came from.

“My grandpa was a carpenter, I spent a lot of time with him growing up and he taught me much of what he knew and the rest, I learned by trial and error. Anyone can do it if you take the time to figure it out.”

“That’s not true Dylan, this is artful, not just a couple of nails and some wood glue, this is solid wood, beautiful lines and these are dovetailed corners, I said running my hand over the smooth seams where the table sides came together.”

“Thank you,” he said and handed me a glass

“Do you have any major likes or dislikes?” He said, changing the subject, as he bent over and sifted through the contents of the refrigerator.

“Are we talking about food?” I asked.

“Let’s start there,” he laughed.

“I don’t like any hairy fish,” I stated plainly.

“Hairy fish?”

“You know, sardines, herring, gefilte or any fish that’s packed in anything oily or gooey.”

“Well, thankfully they didn’t have anything like that at the farmer’s market.”

“Anything else you don’t like?”

“No that’s it.”

"You’re easy” he said as he pulled bags from the refrigerator and tossed them on the counter.

“Yes, and I like a variety of foods,” I teased.