Chapter 86 The Best Gifts Are the Ones You Make Yourself

Eden's POV:

A woodwork workshop?

I can't believe that this is what Noah has been plotting. Stacey is grinning like the cheshire cat as she sits next to me. She's got that smug expression people get when they know something you don't.

Did Noah arrange all this for me? He says not. He says it's for a special project he wants the team to work on in the next few weeks, one that he refuses to tell me anything about, but Stacey seems to think it's more about me than the secret project. Although she has absolutely no evidence to back up her opinion and so I'm wary of believing her.

Mr Wigney - his name makes me giggle more than it should - is the sweetest old man I've ever met. I had the privilege of having lunch with him and he spent the majority of the time asking how I hurt my hands. Of course, I couldn't tell him the truth. That I'd cut them to shreds trying to carve furniture for the seventh Clancy house.

Instead I told him the lie that I'd given Stacey, that I was trying to make a present for a family member.

"You're putting a lot of effort in for a mere gift," he'd told me and I'd been certain he hadn't believed me, even when I told him that my grandma had always told me the most meaningful gifts were the ones you make yourself.

Now though, we're all sitting in the conference room as Mr Wigney explains where we're going wrong. For the most part, his words are the same as all the others, the ones from the online videos, but there are a couple of little titbits, tiny details that I'd missed before that I'm grateful for. What's more, just having him point out my mistakes helps a lot. That's one thing those online video people can't do, they can't see what I'm doing.

The entire afternoon is spent working on those skills that elude me. Rob picks it up quickly, mostly because he was 100% better than me to start with but for me it's slow progress. But for once I see an improvement. I cut myself less and my carving lines are less jagged.

Biting my lip, I grin down at the little chair, I've tried to carve. It's not perfect but it's far better than anything else I've tried to carve so far.

Noah comes to sit beside me. "Cute little chair."

"You like it?" I ask, a massive smile on my face as I hold it up for his inspection, grateful that it actually looks like what I intend it to be and not some rickety stool.

"Far better than anything I could do," he says, turning it around in his hands.

"You should give it a go," I suggest. "It's quite fun."

"No, thank you," he laughs but I refuse to accept his answer.

Grabbing a spare wooden block and knife, I pass them to him.

"Make me something," I ask sweetly.

He gives me a look that says he wants to refuse but he won't. "Are you going to teach me?" His eyes are teasing, downright flirty even.

"If you like," I say, shuffling closer.

We're at work and so I should definitely be keeping my distance. The last thing either of us want is to become the next topic for the company's gossip engine. But I don't want to keep my distance and I'm more than happy to exchange some flirty banter.

Giggling slightly, I have to tell him that he's holding the knife wrong, even dangerously several times but for the most part, he doesn't do too bad. He's better than I ever was when my dad first taught me. He refuses to tell me what he's making though. It's clearly not a piece of miniature furniture.

I'm so distracted by what he's doing that I'm not paying attention to my own carving and my finger slips. Hissing, I inspect my finger. It's just a tiny cut but it stings a lot. Noah looks over at me, noticing the blood.

"Did you cut yourself?" he asks, taking my hand to inspect it.

"It's nothing. Just a tiny cut."

"Another one to match all the rest?" he asks before blowing on it.

I'm highly conscious that the others could be watching. They're probably not, they're too noisy to be paying us any attention, but I still feel slightly paranoid. Pulling away, I tell him that I'm going to grab a plaster. When I return, Noah has finished his carving and is talking quietly to Mr Wigney, leaning back in his chair.

"This was brilliant," he's saying. "Really, I can't thank you enough."

I return to my seat as Mr Wigney replies that he's had a lovely time.

Noah is then suggesting that we could make a regular habit of it and perhaps involve the other design teams. "Of course, we really would want to pay you for your time," he says happily.

"Well, I suppose we could do that," Mr Wigney tells him. "I'm just looking forward to what you all plan to make."

"Me too," Noah says conspiratorially. "I really think it will be amazing."

"And Mrs Winters, you'll have to take a photo of that gift you're making. I'd love to see the finished product."

Nodding my head, I agree quickly even though there is no gift. I guess by the time I actually have to send the photo, my identity will have already been revealed and it won't matter what I am making. Noah walks Mr Wigney out while the rest of us clean up after the workshop.

When the conference room is back to normal, everyone else gathers their things, preparing to leave for the day while I wait for Noah. Pulling my stuff together, I sit down at my desk, looking at the little chair I made today. It's amazing how much of an improvement I've made today.

The chair I carved today might not be quite as good as my dad's but it's certainly far better than anything I've managed to make so far. I guess I have Noah to thank for that. Well... And Mr Wigney.