Unable to focus on nothing else, my eyes traveled down to his wide hands. They straightened the apron out of the bulky ball I had thrown at him. In one swift movement, as if oblivious to the entire mess, he whipped the apron out to straighten it before pulling the neck strap over his head. With a few tugs, he finally got it to fit.
Smirking at the entire show, I patted the seat next to me. His frame seemed to dwarf the stool as he sat down.
That couldn’t be comfortable.
It only made me smile wider as I turned my attention back up to Sheila. She started to hand out large lumps of brown clay, cutting through it with what looked like string. She flopped a large chunk out for me. I stared at how it clunked down on my work tray, which would eventually end up spinning.
She handed Dom’s toward him in a much gentler manner.
“Don’t worry if you don’t get it right on the first try. This is all for fun. We are trying new things, and that’s brave,” she said, voice carrying through the space.
Dom gave the woman a wistful smile and put his hand toward his heart.
He was lucky that I didn’t throw up on sight.
Taking a deep breath, I slumped further down into my chair while the rest of the room rose into a sort of excited chatter among everyone. It looked like I was the only one who wasn’t intentionally there, let alone pleased to have my talent judged by the Mud Queen herself.
“All right, everyone, for our beginner class, our first goal is …”
We all waited. My first step was to get out of here, but that obviously was no longer an option.
“Getting the clay on the wheel, and we are already basically there. Some of you, I notice, have already jumped in. Amazing. Listen to those artist instincts.”
It was true. When I looked around, a few of the women on the other side of us already began to whisper among themselves as they formed the large chunk of clay in the palms of their hands. I thought this was a beginner class.
“If you haven’t already, please pick up the clay I gave you and hold it in your hands. Roll up your sleeves because we’re about to get messy. Pass the clay back and forth or roll it until you create a ball shape. It will almost end up looking like a little bun.” Sheila lifted her own light brown clay bun up into the air, perfectly smooth and round. Setting it back down, she smacked it twice. “Feel free to get your anger out now before we begin because for the rest of the class, we are working with one motto.”
“Don’t throw yourself into the kiln?” I muttered down toward my hands, low enough so no one could hear. I dropped my oblong ball of clay onto the muddied silver wheel.
“Don’t be afraid to make mistakes,” she told us all. “That is how we learn. Also, deep breaths.”
Deep breaths.
Seemed to be the motto of the day. Seemed to be the motto I’d tried to have ever since Dom had shown back up at my door.
I looked at him from where he was still rounding his ball of clay before dropping it on the wheel. Already somehow, he was covered in a damp film of clay and water up to the base of his wrists. On his one arm, his sleeve of tattoos ended right where the mud branched upward, another root and vine to add to his collection. At least for tonight.
His hand collided with the clay.
My eyes widened as I watched him make sure his blob was stuck and centered. The flat of his palm whacked down, once, twice, just as instructed, with a resounding smack. He made the aggressive movement one more time, gentler than before. I remembered the flat of that hand, sturdy yet somehow soft as it pressed against my skin and radiated up through my back until I became spineless.
Dom cleared his throat. His attention returned, back on my face, unmoving. “Having dirty thoughts, Ana?”
I quickly turned back to my own station. “Of course not.”
“Mmhmm.” He clearly wasn’t convinced.
My eyes flew up toward his. “Obviously not, unlike you today—half naked and begging for me in my bed a few hours ago.”
His eyes flared. He knew that hadn’t been the case. The women on his other side, however, did not. They both turned, highly intrigued by the possible gossip.
“You just can’t get that image out of your head, can you?” Dom smirked, reaching for the water. It dripped from his hand over the clay as he smoothed it into the top, covering any dry cracks that had formed.
“I’m not,” I said. “Certainly not about you.”
“Eyes on your own clay then, Sparkles.”
I forced myself to look away, hoping that my makeup stayed enough through the fiasco of the rest of the day’s tears to cover the blood that rushed to and from my cheeks.
