Tyler took a step toward me, his hands deep in his pockets.

The sound of loose coins jingling in his khaki trousers was sharp in the quiet morning air.

He shook his head, a quick, dismissive twitch.

“I am not moving eight thousand two hundred dollars of custom cedar because of some rusty pins in the dirt,” he said.

“Do you have any idea what that would cost me?

The labor alone would run three thousand.

I am not doing it.”