Claude didn't look up from where his hands were removing the bricks from inside the chair, he wondered whose bright idea that one was. So the squint went by unnoticed.

"I will be needing lumber sir" he responded, pausing as he lifted the block. "But the sir before said the land was paid for. I didd't want to go cutting down a tree without your okay" Claude added after he placed the block at his knee and looked up at the man... who seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps he had seen him around town before?

There was a vague familiarity to this man, though he figured it merely passing. The workman had … a face. Then Zechariah’s face flushed when the workman looked up from his prone position and, indeed, actually had a face. A face he could not imagine having forgotten easily, if only to resent all that was beautiful being forever out of his reach.

A face he could not imagine a moment in which anything might have overshadowed it, although it clearly had.

“You do not have your own materials?” he said skeptically.

Claude wondered what the flush was about for a mere moment, had he taken the man way from his exercise? Or perhaps he had rushed over? Claude hoped that wasn't the case, he was trying not to be a bother. Better pay that way. Yet at the question he felt slightly annoyed, not at Zechariah, not by any means, but at his father, which, in itself, was far from a new feeling.

"My boss forgot to mention the task sir" he responded, his hand waving towards his toolbox as if it was evidence of what he was saying. "I could return tomorrow if it is too much a hassle sir..."

Zechariah glared back at the first sign of annoyance. Once upon a time he had balked at the extreme separation between the classes, but Simon’s ‘legacy’ had been a stark lesson of why. His eyes followed the path the workman’s hand traced in the air, to the toolbox, and then back to Ezra with pursed lips.

“Very well,” he answered curtly. “Some time after five – but not too long after.”

Did Zechariah have plans tomorrow night? Strangely, not any more.

"Thank you sir" Claude responded with a very light, thankful smile before turning around to pull the damage leather completely from the seat. At least this he could fix over the night to have ready for replacement. Hopefully his father understood the situation, unlikely, but hopefully. He then moved to his feet and moved for his toolbox, sending one last look to the man before he departed for the night. "Is there a type of brown you like better?"

Whilst the young man (his age, give or take...) surveyed the couch seat, Zechariah found himself surveying his seat.

Had it been that long? … That was rhetorical.

This time, he met his gaze nonchalantly.

“Yes, but Mr. Schwartz has no taste. Match it as best you can.”

"Very well" he nodded, picked up a broken piece of the wood and, with a nod goodbye, left for the night.