A simple black line caught Natalie’s eye as she skimmed the yellow pages. PETERSON’S CARPENTRY—45 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE—INSURED—CALL 555-7420 ANYTIME

"Anyone with that much experience should be able to fix Gram’s swing," she murmured. The swing was her last physical tie to her grandparents’ farm and the cracked seat broke her heart.

A memory of her grandfather’s work-roughened hands replacing a slat in the hickory seat surfaced as she dialed the number in the ad. A gruff-voiced older man answered and identified himself as Mr. Peterson. Natalie explained her problem and Mr. Peterson assured her that the broken swing sounded salvageable. Her spirits rose as she arranged an appointment. A bright red pickup truck slowed to a stop in front of the apartment building at precisely ten o’clock and a young man crossed the postage-stamp-sized yard. Natalie leaned over the wrought-iron railing and stared as he approached her balcony.

Her gaze settled on the infectious grin dancing across his face as she decided he had to be looking for Chrissy in 3-B. Adonis-type men didn’t beat a path to her door. In fact, no one had given her a second glance in weeks. She blamed her lack of male acquaintances on her refusal to hang out in the local clubs her co-workers raved about, but she secretly wondered if she was just too unsophisticated for the men she encountered.

He looked up and frowned. "I’m looking for Natalie Ross."

Natalie stared down into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. "I’m her. I mean she’s me..."

Why couldn’t she utter a simple sentence without babbling? She took a deep breath to calm her irrationally racing pulse and stammered, "I’m Natalie Ross. May I help you?"

"Actually, I think I’m here to help you." He nodded at the toolboxes mounted to the truck. "I’m Kyle Peterson, the carpenter. I’m here about a broken porch swing, but I don’t see a porch or a swing." "You? The man I spoke to was older." Natalie’s mind raced. "You can’t be a day over twenty-five. My swing’s twice your age." He laughed. "I’m twenty-seven. You talked to my grandfather. He answers the phone and sets appointments. Dad and I do the repair work."

Natalie sighed. Although Kyle Peterson was gorgeous, good looks weren’t a resume.

"Mr. Peterson, nothing personal, but I don’t think you’re quite what I’m looking for. I need a carpenter familiar with old-fashioned craftsmanship, not an apprentice, even if you are easy to look at." Natalie gasped. Why in the world had she spoken her thoughts aloud?

"You think I’m good-looking?"

"Never mind," she stammered. "We were talking about your obvious youth and the experience it will take to fix my swing."

Kyle’s smile faded. "I’m a card-carrying journeyman carpenter. Don’t you think I deserve a chance to see the swing before you decide I can’t fix it?"

Natalie’s cheeks burned. She hated being called naive by her co-workers because she’d grown up in the country, yet she considered Kyle incapable of fixing her swing because of his age. Dismissing him on sight wasn’t fair and she knew it.

"I’m sorry," she mumbled. "Of course you can see it."

"Where did you find such a beautiful piece of Americana?" he asked softly as he knelt beside the swing. "My grandfather made it for my grandmother when my dad was a baby. He said he wanted to sit beside her and watch the sun set. They shared sunsets from that swing for sixty-five years." "And that’s why it’s so important to you." His words were a statement, not a question.

Surprised by his obvious understanding, she nodded.

"Yes. They gave it to me when they sold the farm and moved to a retirement community in the south."

"I understand why it’s so important to you. It’s nice to meet someone who shares my view that family ties are important." He nodded toward his pickup truck. "I’m buying into Peterson Carpentry so I can work with Dad and Grandpa. My friends think I’m crazy for doing it instead of opening my own place, but I want to be part of my family’s business." A flush crept over his cheeks. "Sounds old-fashioned, doesn’t it?"

Natalie’s heart skipped a beat. "I think old-fashioned is a great way to be."

"Really?" His brows rose as he looked over his shoulder at the modern apartment complex behind them.

She followed his gaze. "Don’t let this place fool you. I grew up in the country. I came to the city for college and stayed when a dream job landed in my lap, but sometimes I miss living on the farm."

Kyle pulled a tape measure from his tool belt and knelt beside the swing. "I grew up seven blocks from here, but I’m a country boy at heart."

Natalie held her breath as Kyle surveyed the damaged swing seat. "Can you fix it?" "I’m not sure I’ll be able to find the right hickory to match the grain." He measured the broken slats and scribbled numbers in a small tablet.

Sadness washed over Natalie. "I was afraid of that."

Kyle squinted at the swing. "I have an idea. Grandpa has some hickory in the back of his workshop I might be able to use. I’d like to take the swing over there. Want to come with me?"

"I think you’d like the shop," Kyle continued. "Grandpa has a lot of antique and Americana furniture stashed in the back room, in addition to the things we’re fixing."

Trying to ignore a tiny flicker of hope, Natalie nodded. Her nose tingled from the sharp smell of newly-planed wood as she clambered into his truck. He described the shop during the short drive across town, but nothing he said prepared her for the feeling of deja-vu that washed over her when they arrived.

She wandered between rows of partially finished furniture, awash in memories. The tangy smell of wood shavings as they crunched beneath her feet reminded her so strongly of her grandfather she expected to hear his voice. But it was Kyle’s rich baritone that filled her ear.

"Good news. I found the hickory and it looks like it’s going to be a perfect match, so I should have your swing fixed by Saturday morning. I’ll call to set up a time to deliver it."

The unhappiness tinging his words puzzled her. "You don’t sound very happy. Are you worried you won’t be able to fix it after all?"

He laid the hickory board on the rough floor and turned to her. Her heart beat faster as she looked into his eyes. The sensation of jumping into a deep pool washed over her.

"Oh, I can fix it, but I won’t have an excuse to see you after I do, unless..."

He wanted to see her again? Her breath lodged in her throat, captive, as she stared into his sparkling green eyes.

"Unless what?" she asked quietly.

"Natalie, I know I’m probably not the kind of guy you usually date, but I was hoping you’d make an exception and come to a carpentry show with me Saturday."

"A carpentry show?"

"I know it probably sounds boring, but there will be a few pieces of old furniture I think you’d like to see. I can pick you up Saturday morning when I return your swing."

The idea of spending a day with Kyle seemed anything but boring. "I’ll go with you if you’ll help me hang the swing Saturday evening in time to share a sunset with me. I’m tired of watching the sun set alone."

His green eyes twinkled as he leaned closer. "I have a feeling you won’t be alone anymore, Natalie."

"So do I," Natalie whispered a second before Kyle’s hand covered hers.