Page 13 of The Crafting Con

“Hmm?” I wrench my gaze away from her mouth, brain scrambling to remember what we were talking about.

“I don’t go to conventions anymore,” Ava says, her gaze skipping to the top of my workbench where years of old con badges hang from the upper shelf. A tense kind of sadness creeps into her expression when she looks at them, and I have the sudden urge to rip them all down. “Is that what you need help with? Making something for OA Con?”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling incredibly awkward in my own skin. How is it possible for me to want to scream at someone and pull them in for a hug at the same time? “It’s a bit more than that. You see, Hiro and I helped run a prop-building workshop with Grady Wells last year—you might know him, he was in that YouTube show, Junkies, where they scavenge junk yards and make props out of their finds? Anyway, we were supposed to do it again this year, only Grady ended up double-booking himself. Rather than cancel the workshop and disappoint everyone who’s already signed up, he convinced the convention to let me and Hiro run the workshop in his place. Only now Hiro has some kind of grandparent party he has to go to in Spokane, so it’s down to just me. Which, whatever, I’m sure I could handle things just fine on my own, but the con was adamant that there be at least two experienced makers running things. Thus, Hiro’s so-called help in finding a substitute. Although I’m getting the feeling he didn’t bother telling you the specifics of what I needed help with.”

I suck in a breath, mirroring Ava’s pose with my hands shoved into the front pockets of my tattered shop jeans, and look up at the ceiling. The urge to over-share runs strong when I’m nervous, but I manage to keep the bit about Grady’s summer collab offer to myself. It’s not like she’d care much, anyway. “So it’s fine if you don’t want to get involved. I know you hate this stuff now.”

The unspoken and me hangs in the air between us.

I frown, forcing myself to lower my head and look her in the eye. Needing her to know how unbothered I am by her inevitable rejection.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other again, glances over her shoulder toward the open garage door. Looks back at me and frowns. “It’s not that I hate it, I just…” Her fists free themselves from her pockets, and she wraps her arms around her waist, gaze skirting off to the side. “It’s not that simple.”

There’s an understatement if I ever heard one. “Like I said, it’s fine. I’ll find someone else.”

Maybe.

Not likely.

She nods, but her face is crinkled with indecision. “Okay.” She turns, and a part of me feels like crying. From relief, of course. But then she pauses, looks back. “Are you sure, though? OA Con is only two weeks away.”

She knows the date? Pretty sure I didn’t mention that part. A flicker of something, let’s call it curiosity, sparks to life inside my chest. “Yeah, the fifth through the seventh. Workshop’s on Saturday.”

“That doesn’t give you much time to get ready, much less find someone else to help you.”

I shrug, watching the back and forth play out in her eyes. It almost feels like she actually cares. “It’ll be tight, but I’ll manage somehow.”

There’s a beat, and then her chin tilts up, determination edging out the uncertainty in her expression. “I’ll do it. We can run the workshop together.”

I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “You will?”

“Yes.”

Nope. Still doesn’t compute. “You’re going to attend Otakus Anonymous and help run a prop workshop,” I deadpan. “With me.”

Her complexion takes on a greenish hue, and I’m honestly concerned she might barf on the spot. I half-expect her to take it back, but her voice only wavers a little when she replies, “That’s right.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…” I trail off. Me and Ava, working side by side? Is that really a good idea? Running something of this magnitude takes planning and prep work, and what if she ends up bailing on me and I’m forced to cancel? It’s not like she hasn’t ditched me before. I’d be better off with someone else. Anyone else, really.

Only, she does know her way around the shop, and she’s certainly made her fair share of props in the past. Her skills may be rusty, but there’s no arguing that she’d be a credible asset. If she follows through, not only would I meet the con’s requirement, but I’d have a significantly better chance of impressing Grady with a well-run workshop. And I really, really want in on that collab…

“All right, you’re on. We’ll run the workshop together.”

She swallows. “Great.”

Silence fills the space between us, a distance that stretches with each awkward moment. Say something, already. “Thanks, by the way.”

She startles, as if this is the last thing she expected me to say. Which doesn’t say a whole lot about my present attitude. Should probably work on that. “Oh, um, you’re welcome.”

I scrub the back of my head, pick at a glob of hot glue on the workbench. “Also, I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean the things I said.”

When I pluck up the courage to look at her, I find her gazing back at me with an expression that can only be described as wistful. “It’s already forgotten,” she says, voice soft and low.

I nod. Clear my throat. “Great. So… I guess I’ll touch base with you once I have more specifics about the prop we’ll be making in the workshop. We’ll probably want to get together at least once beforehand, do a bit of a dry run.”

She frowns, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Won’t you need help getting all the materials prepped beforehand? I… I could help, if… if you want.”

“It’s fine. You’re already doing enough.”