Crafted by Love, page 7
It was only when he took a break to make coffee that he sorted through the day's mail and saw Rolando's company letterhead.
Something in his chest tightened instantly.
The workshop’s usual sounds—Trent sanding, the hum of the air filter, the radiator’s pings - made things seem normal, despite the cold. Outside, the first serious snow of winter had begun, fat flakes drifting past the tall windows to accumulate on the building's flat roof.
Hudson slid his thumb under the envelope's flap, already suspecting what he would find inside. The letter was brief and impersonal:
"Dear Tenant,
Galvez Properties LLC is working with Meridian Development Group to change Bond Street into condos. As per your lease agreement, we are providing you with a notice of termination.
All tenants must vacate the premises by March 15th. Your security deposit refund depends on the lease terms and space condition.
We appreciate your understanding and cooperation during this transition.
Regards,
Rolando Galvez
There it was. It was not merely a rent increase, but complete eviction. The workshop he'd built over eight years, gone with a single sheet of paper. "Business is business," as Rolando had said during their last conversation.
"Hudson?" Trent's voice broke through his thoughts. "Everything okay?"
Hudson looked up to find his apprentice watching him with concern. Trent’s enthusiasm remained, and his faith in the future of skilled work was unchanged despite the money problems he faced.
"We need to talk," Hudson said, gesturing toward the small office area where they occasionally met with clients. "Bring your coffee."
Trent's expression shifted to wariness as he followed Hudson to the office, ceramic mug clutched in his hand. They settled into the mismatched chairs. Without preamble, Hudson handed over the letter.
Trent's eyes widened as he read, the color draining from his face. “Condominiums? Can they do that?
"They've obviously arranged a zoning variance," Hudson said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Rolando’s been hinting at development interest for months. I just didn't think it would happen this quickly."
"But your workshop—all the equipment—the custom ventilation system..." Trent gestured helplessly toward the prime space. "You can't just move all this in ninety days."
"I know," Hudson nodded. "But we don't have a choice."
Trent stared at him, realization dawning on his youthful face. "We? Hudson, what happens to my apprenticeship?"
The question pierced something vulnerable in Hudson's chest. Trent’s talent was undeniable.
"I don't know yet," Hudson admitted. "But I promise you this—I'll find a solution that honors our agreement. Your training won't be interrupted if I can help it."
The assurance seemed to calm Trent somewhat, though worry still creased his brow. "Do you have any idea where we could go? Other workshop spaces?"
Hudson shook his head. "Not yet. But I have some contacts to call." He gestured toward their current projects. "For now, we focus on completing the work we've committed to. One step at a time."
Hudson shut the door and sat down after Trent returned to his bench, shaken but determined. The crisis overwhelmed him.
His equipment alone would require specialized moving services and significant funds to reinstall elsewhere. The custom dust collection system had been built specifically for this space. Then there was the gallery area, the storage for seasoned wood, the finishing room with its carefully controlled environment...
The space had molded him, just as he molded it. His creative process included every scratch, fixture, and beam of light. The thought of starting over elsewhere felt like abandoning part of himself.
Hudson looked through his phone contacts to find other craftspeople who might know about industrial spaces. As he did, a text notification appeared—Dustin, checking if they were still on for dinner that evening.
His thumb hovered over the message, indecision churning in his stomach. They had been dating for weeks, and their relationship was becoming more serious.
Yet something held Hudson back from sharing this fresh crisis. Maybe it was pride, or the fear that Dustin would use his money to fix it instead of letting Hudson figure it out.
After a moment's hesitation, Hudson replied simply:
Looking forward to it. See you tonight.
He'd tell Dustin eventually—just not today, not until he had at least the outline of a plan. One problem at a time, as his first mentor had taught him. First, explore spaces. Then calculate costs. Then, determine which priorities can be sacrificed.
By late afternoon, Hudson had made a dozen calls with discouraging results. The places he looked at were too small, too far from his customers, or needed major repairs for his tools.
"I'm heading out," Trent said at five o'clock, hovering uncertainly at the office doorway. "Unless you need me to stay?"
Hudson shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile. "Go home. We'll start making concrete plans tomorrow."
Hudson remained at his desk, surrounded by hastily scribbled notes and discarded ideas. As evening came, the workshop grew quiet.
At 6:30, Hudson left his search and locked up the workshop, feeling a sadness that wasn’t because of physical fatigue. The dinner with Dustin was a delightful break, but it also highlighted their different lives.
While Hudson faced potential business dissolution, Dustin was completing renovation of a historic mansion.
A bistro, a neutral spot between downtown and the industrial area, was where the date was set. By the time Hudson arrived, Dustin was already waiting at their usual corner table.
The sight of him warmed Hudson, as it often did. Dustin’s face lit up as Hudson approached.
"Hey," Dustin said, standing to greet him with a brief kiss. "I was worried you'd gotten stuck in the snow."
"Just running late," Hudson replied, settling into the chair opposite. "Lost track of time at the workshop."
Dustin studied him for a moment, something perceptive flickering in his dark eyes. "Everything okay? You seem tense."
The direct question presented an immediate choice. Hudson could either show Dustin the notice and share the problem, or not show it to protect his pride.
"Just a busy day," he said, choosing the second path. "How was your meeting with the heritage committee?"
Dustin accepted the deflection, but remained concerned. "Productive, finally. They've approved the restoration plan for the library woodwork exactly as we proposed."
"That's great news," Hudson said, genuinely pleased. "When do they start?"
“In January, assuming everything stays on track, which means you must be ready soon."
“I will,” Hudson replied, pushing aside thoughts about his future workplace in March.
While they ate, Dustin spoke of the renovation, and Hudson described a new technique for the library shelves, making conversation easier.
Hudson enjoyed the time with Dustin, forgetting the notice. Talking about the future highlighted his reality.
“Jonathan told me you might be interested in making art for his spring showcase, which will feature local artists who use sustainable practices.”
Hudson's fork paused halfway to his mouth, suspicion flickering through him. "Jonathan has mentioned nothing to me."
"He probably wants to approach you formally," Dustin said with a slight shrug. "I overheard him at the gallery when he was discussing it with another artist."
Hudson suspected Dustin wasn’t being fully honest. "I'll see what he has in mind when he reaches out," Hudson said noncommittally.
Dustin nodded, smoothly transitioning to another topic. During the rest of the night, Hudson felt a hidden tension between them, as if Dustin had a secret plan similar to Hudson’s secret problem.
Outside the restaurant, Dustin’s lingering kiss and tender touch on Hudson’s jaw were more upsetting than comforting. He’d feigned work commitment to avoid going to Dustin’s, and he felt guilty, but he needed to think about his future.
"Call me tomorrow?" Dustin asked, snow collecting on his dark hair and shoulders.
"I will."
Walking home in the gentle snow, Hudson felt his unspoken thoughts weigh on him heavily. He found a connection and compatibility with Dustin in the past few weeks.
During the difficult time, Hudson preferred to handle things alone, even though he knew Dustin could assist. He was proud and wanted to figure it out himself, to prove he could manage without help.
His phone buzzed with a text from Dustin: "Thank you for dinner. Missed saying this earlier, but I'm here if you need anything. Anything at all."
The brief message, sent at just the right moment, almost broke Hudson’s composure. His finger was ready to share it all; his eviction, the short deadline, and his fear of his business failing in ninety days after eight years of work.
Instead, he typed only: "Thanks. Goodnight, XOXO."
Tomorrow would begin the actual work of finding solutions. Tonight, he needed to process the reality of what he faced.
Dustin considered himself skilled at reading subtext. It benefited him in negotiations and meetings. He knew Hudson was hiding something important.
Hudson’s body language and conversational habits suggested he had a secret he wasn’t prepared to reveal. During dinner, Dustin didn’t pry, but he gave Hudson chances to share if he wanted to.
Concern overrode his usual patience, and he found waiting hard because of his feelings for Hudson.
He sat in his car, phone in hand. He rarely contacted Patrick Granston, Vanessa’s brother, a commercial real estate developer.
Patrick sounded surprised when he answered. "This is unexpected. Everything okay with Vanessa's work?"
"Vanessa's work is excellent as always," Dustin assured him. "I'm actually calling about something else. What do you know about a development company called Meridian Group?"
"Quite a bit, actually. They're one of our competitors for mid-size urban conversion projects." A pause, then caution entered Patrick's voice. "Why do you ask?"
Dustin said, trying to sound like he didn’t care, “I heard they’re making condos out of a factory on Bond Street.” "Seemed like an unusual choice of location."
A low whistle came through the phone. "That's Rolando Galvez's property, right? We looked at that building ourselves last year. Interesting bones, but the zoning was problematic."
"Apparently not anymore," Dustin observed.
"Interesting," Patrick mused. "They must have pulled some strings at the planning commission. Last I heard, that district was protected from residential conversion for several years." Another pause. "Dustin, why are you really asking about this? Planning to diversify your investment portfolio into real estate?"
Dustin hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. "One of the current tenants is... important to me. I'm concerned about their displacement."
“Displacement, unfortunately, characterizes urban development.”
"And if someone wanted to prevent the conversion? Or at least delay it?"
Patrick's tone shifted to genuine curiosity. "That would depend on many factors. Zoning challenges can be effective if there's evidence of irregular approval processes. Historical designation is another avenue if the building has significant architectural or cultural importance." He paused. "But Dustin, those approaches take time and considerable legal resources. They're not solutions for an individual tenant facing immediate eviction."
"I understand," Dustin said, mind already mapping potential strategies. "One more question—do you know of any comparable industrial spaces currently available for lease? Preferably with high ceilings, good natural light, appropriate for a woodworking workshop?"
"Woodworking," Patrick repeated, the final piece clicking into place. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your recent choice of furniture? The piece Vanna keeps complaining about?"
Dustin smiled despite himself. "Your sister has excellent taste, but a limited appreciation of traditional craftsmanship."
"That's diplomatic," Patrick chuckled. "Look, I don't know of anything offhand that would suit a woodworking operation, but I can make some calls. It's a tough market for that kind of space right now, though. Everything suitable is being converted exactly like Galvez's building."
"I'd appreciate any leads," Dustin said. "And Patrick—I'd rather this stayed between us for now."
"Of course," Patrick agreed easily. "I'll be discreet. And Dustin? Whoever this craftsperson is, they must be pretty special."
After hanging up, Dustin considered what he’d heard. Eviction, not just higher rent, was the problem, and options were scarce. No wonder Hudson had seemed distracted and tense.
The question now was what to do with this information. Interfering could upset Hudson’s strong will, which might hurt their growing trust. It felt wrong to do nothing while Hudson’s business failed.
He planned an approach. Not a solution imposed from outside, but a doorway Hudson could choose to walk through, or not, and on his own terms.
The next morning, Dustin called Jonathan.
Jonathan greeted Dustin warmly. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Looking to add to your collection?"
"Not exactly," Dustin replied. "I wanted to discuss Hudson Reid's work, specifically how it's presented in your gallery."
"Reid's pieces have been selling exceptionally well lately," Jonathan noted. "In fact, I've just about run out of inventory from him."
"That's partly why I'm calling. I understand that you sometimes provide special display areas for artists whose work does well and fits your gallery’s look.”
"We do, but it's a significant commitment on both sides, though. The artisan agrees to provide a steady flow of new pieces, and we provide premium floor space and marketing support."
"I think Hudson's work merits that level of representation," Dustin said carefully. "And I'm willing to guarantee any financial risk you might perceive in making such an offer."
Silence stretched briefly before Jonathan responded. Dustin, your offer is generous, but I’m unclear about your role. Are you his patron?”
"Not a patron," Dustin corrected. "Think of it as an insurance policy. You offer Hudson the featured artisan space based solely on the merit of his work and its sales performance. If the arrangement doesn't meet your financial expectations, I'll privately make up the difference."
Another pause. "This is... unusual."
"Consider it an investment in maintaining the city's craft tradition," Dustin suggested. Hudson’s craftsmanship is increasingly rare.
"That part is certainly true," Jonathan acknowledged. "His work attracts a discerning clientele." He hesitated, then added more tentatively: "Dustin, forgive my directness, but is there a personal connection here I should know?"
The question struck close to the heart of Dustin's dilemma—how to support Hudson without undermining his autonomy or pride.
"Hudson is important to me," he admitted finally. "But this isn't about my personal feelings. It's about recognizing exceptional talent and ensuring it has the platform it deserves."
"I see. Well, I had been considering approaching Reid about that already. Clients have been asking specifically for his work."
"So you'll make the offer?" Dustin pressed.
"Yes," Jonathan confirmed. "Though I should note that a dedicated display space typically requires an inventory volume that might be challenging for a solo craftsman to maintain."
"Leave that concern to Hudson," Dustin said, confidence in his voice. "He'll rise to the opportunity if it's presented honestly."
After finishing the call, Dustin sat at his desk. He helped Hudson by giving him a chance to use his talent, not by interfering directly or feeling sorry for him.
It remained to be seen whether Hudson would recognize it as the lifeline. While a gallery wouldn’t stop the workshop’s eviction, it would offer more exposure, stable money, and help in finding a new place.
His mind was on Hudson, working in his soon-to-be-lost workshop.
Dustin quietly repeated Hudson’s words: “One step at a time.” "Solve the problem in front of you first."
He only hoped Hudson would recognize that people sometimes couldn’t solve the most troublesome problems alone.
Five days later, Hudson sat in the gallery’s spacious office with Jonathan Mercer.
"A dedicated display area?" he repeated, certain he'd misunderstood. "For my work only?"
“The front alcove has excellent natural light and street/gallery views,” Jonathan nodded. “It’s about two hundred square feet.”
"Why now?" Hudson asked, suspicion stirring despite the apparent opportunity. The timing felt suspicious, coinciding with his eviction and Dustin’s showcase mention.
Jonathan said as he moved the sales report, “Your work consistently sells well. Several clients have specifically requested advance notice of when your recent work arrives." He leaned forward. "In this business, Hudson, we recognize patterns. Your craftsmanship has found its audience."
"What would this arrangement require from me?" he asked cautiously.
“Keep about eight to twelve pieces in stock and switch them out often with newer work.”
The terms were standard for featured artists, Hudson knew. The timing was unusual, as these offers usually happened after years of working with the gallery, not just a few months.
"This would begin when?" Hudson asked, mind calculating how this might affect his workshop transition.
"We could announce in January, with the display area ready by February 1st," Jonathan said. “We’ll need a workspace to photograph.”
The mention of a workshop sent a sharp pang through Hudson's chest. “That could complicate matters as my workspace might be gone soon.”
A flicker of concern crossed Jonathan's features before his professional mask returned. "I see. Well, location changes happen in any business. Perhaps your new space will offer even better visual opportunities for our marketing team."
