Mr.Brightside

Chapter 47

 Jack's Lingering Doubts

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual. Clara was still asleep, curled up under the blankets, her breathing soft and steady. I carefully slid out of bed, trying not to wake her, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet, bathed in the soft light of the early dawn, and I found comfort in the stillness.

As I made coffee, my mind kept drifting back to the conversation we'd had last night. Clara meeting this Ethan Cole guy had triggered something in me, something I wasn't entirely proud of. It wasn't that I didn't trust Clara—of course, I did. But the way she had talked about him, about his work, had stirred up an unease I couldn't quite shake.

I knew it was irrational. Clara and I had been through so much together. But the idea of her collaborating with someone else—someone who clearly admired her—hit me harder than I expected. Maybe it was my own insecurities bubbling up, or maybe it was the fear of losing some part of her to this new, exciting world she was stepping into.

I stared out the window, watching the morning fog roll over the yard, and tried to push the feeling aside. I had no reason to doubt Clara. She was committed to us, to our family. But that didn't make it any easier to accept that there might be parts of her life where I couldn't follow.

Distractions in the Workshop

After breakfast, I headed out to the garage, my workshop, hoping that diving into my current project would distract me from the thoughts gnawing at the edges of my mind. The bookshelf for Mr. Caldwell was coming along, but the changes he'd requested were still weighing on me. I needed to focus if I was going to finish on time.

The smell of sawdust and wood stain filled the air as I sanded down one of the shelves, trying to get the surface smooth. Normally, working with my hands helped clear my head, but today, it wasn't enough. My mind kept wandering back to Clara, to Ethan, and to the idea of her stepping into a new creative partnership without me.

I grabbed my phone and opened up a few woodworking forums I followed, hoping to find some inspiration or maybe just distract myself. But even that didn't hold my attention for long. I found myself pacing the workshop, restless.

A Call from Greg Caldwell

Just as I was about to dive back into sanding, my phone rang. It was Greg Caldwell, the client for the bookshelf. I hesitated before answering, knowing that this conversation might bring more stress.

"Hey, Greg," I said, keeping my tone light. "What's up?"

"Jack, I've been looking at the progress photos you sent," Greg said, his voice clipped and businesslike as always. "The carvings look great, but I was wondering if we could make a small adjustment."

My stomach sank. "What kind of adjustment?"

"I'm thinking the top molding should have a more elaborate design, something that matches the Victorian style a bit more. I know it's a late change, but it would really elevate the whole piece."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my frustration in check. "Greg, we're pretty far along in the process. Making a change like that now would set us back at least a few days."

"I understand," Greg said, though his tone suggested he didn't really care. "But I'm willing to pay for the extra time. It's just important that this piece be perfect."

I sighed. "Let me take a look and see what I can do. I'll get back to you by the end of the day."

After I hung up, I stared at the nearly completed bookshelf, feeling the weight of the project settle on my shoulders. Greg had been difficult from the start, and I was beginning to wonder if agreeing to work with him had been a mistake. It was becoming harder to meet his ever-changing demands, and each new request chipped away at my enthusiasm.

But I couldn't back out now. The money was good, and I needed to prove that I could handle clients like Greg if I wanted my business to grow.

A Visit from Clara

A couple of hours later, Clara popped into the workshop. She had that familiar glint in her eye—the one she got when she was deep in thought about her art.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorway. "How's it going in here?"

I looked up from the bookshelf, wiping my hands on my jeans. "It's... going. Caldwell wants more changes."

She made a face. "Again?"

"Yeah. He wants the molding to be more detailed. It's going to take more time, but he's willing to pay for it."

Clara walked over to the piece, examining the carvings with her practiced eye. "You've done an incredible job so far. It looks amazing."

"Thanks," I said, though the compliment didn't ease the tension in my chest.

She glanced at me, sensing something was off. "Are you okay? You seem... distracted."

I hesitated, not sure how to bring up what had been bothering me. But I knew I couldn't keep it to myself forever. "I've just been thinking about last night. About Ethan."

Clara's expression softened. "What about him?"

"It's not him, exactly," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's just... I guess I'm worried. About you working with someone else, getting wrapped up in this new world. I don't know. It's stupid."

Clara stepped closer, her hand resting gently on my arm. "It's not stupid, Jack. I understand why you feel that way. But you have nothing to worry about. Ethan's just an artist I met. A collaboration doesn't change anything between us."

"I know," I said, though the words felt heavier than I wanted them to. "I just... I guess I didn't expect to feel this way."

She smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. "We're in this together. You, me, Olivia—we're a family. And no matter what happens with my art or your woodworking, that's not going to change."

I exhaled, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

Clara leaned in, kissing me softly. "You're stuck with me, Jack."

I chuckled, pulling her into a hug. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Finding a New Focus

After Clara left, I stood in the workshop for a moment, letting her words sink in. Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe the real issue wasn't Ethan at all, but my own insecurities—about my work, about where my business was headed, about whether I could keep up with everything.

I turned back to the bookshelf, studying the carvings with a renewed focus. It wasn't just about meeting Greg Caldwell's demands anymore. It was about proving to myself that I could handle whatever came my way, even when the path wasn't always clear.

With that thought in mind, I picked up my tools and got back to work, carving out a future I could be proud of.

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