"Bit of sugar?" Lyra asked, from her crouch inspecting the table he'd been working on. "I gotta be honest with you, it's been a while since I made a table. Did an end table for a project in shop but that was a few years ago, and I've seen it done—" On YouTube, last night, when she'd sat cross legged on her bed watching different techniques, old ones, as old as she could find. He'd warned her he might have tools she wasn't familiar with, too, so she'd gone out of her way to figure out what they might be in advance. Theory wasn't the same as practice, obviously, but at least she wouldn't risk ignorance.
"I'm steady, though," she added as she straightened up, feeling like she needed to offer a bit more reassurance that she wasn't some novice and he wasn't making a mistake just cuz she hadn't had the opportunity to make a table in a long while. Where was the supposed to do it, the roof? (God, she'd love a workshop on the roof.) "And I know howta listen."