Oh, hell, what’s happening to me?
Aidan looks away first. He clears his throat and says, ‘Comeon, then, Kenzie. I think I need a demonstration first, before I have a gomyself.’
‘Sorry?’ I’m still floating in a weird sort of daze. ‘Oh...yes, of course.’
This is not like me at all.
I suppose having had zero luck with the opposite sex, I’ve turnedinto a bit of a cynic when it comes to romance, determined to remain immune tomale charm.
For years, I’ve been slumbering happily like Sleeping Beauty,protected by that dense thorny hedge keeping out the enemy. But thanks to acertain Aidan Kirby, I finally appear to be stirring from my hundred years’sleep.
Feeling as if my legs don’t really belong to me, I step pasthim with an exaggerated movement, making sure I don’t touch any part of him,and I sit down at the wheel, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, as if I’mperforming to a full house at the Albert Hall, not simply showing oneinterested guy how it’s done.
Calm down!
I’ve thrown a simple pot so many times, I could do it in mysleep.
But the minute I start, I make a rookie error, slapping theclay onto the wheel slightly off-centre which means it’s instantly out ofcontrol. Laughing, I scrape it off and mould it in my hands again, and thistime, to my relief, it lands right in the middle, and I dip my hands in thewater as the wheel spins and off I go.
And all would probably be fine, except I’ve got that damnscene from my mum’s all-time favourite film running through my mind – the raunchybit inGhostwhen Patrick Swayze is sitting behind Demi Moore, watchingher as she works away at her potter’s wheel. She’s so distracted by hisnearness that she loses concentration and the pot collapses. Then she takes hishands so he can feel the slippery clay beneath his fingers, and they startmoulding a decidedly phallic-looking something-or-other until passion finallytakes over...
‘That’s amazing,’ murmurs Aidan, so close behind me I canfeel the whisper of his breath on my neck. ‘I keep thinking about that film.’ Hislow chuckle vibrates deep inside me. ‘What was it called?’
I swallow hard. ‘Film? I’ve no idea.’ Ripples of desire arecoursing through me and I’m finding it hard to breathe properly.
Talk about a Patrick-and-Demi moment!
‘Erm... could you get me some more waterin one of those jugs, please,’ I squeak in desperation, worried I might beabout to embarrass myself.
‘Jugs?’
He seems distracted, so I point and he mutters, ‘Oh, yes. Noproblem.’
While he’s away, filling the jug from the bucket of water inthe corner, I breathe freely again, forcing myself to concentrate on the wheel.And though my hands are trembling, I somehow manage to create a cute bud vaseand remove it from the wheel with the wire cutter in a very calm manner,considering.
As I get up to let Aidan take my place at the wheel, I feel alittle bead of perspiration slip down my back. I’ve made pots loads of times,with friends or family watching, but I’ve never, ever felt that nervous!
As I watch his capable hands moulding the clay on the wheel,I almost feel like I’m watching porn (which I never do because it makes meembarrassed). I’m so mesmerised by those long, strong fingers manipulating thepot, I keep forgetting to give him helpful instructions, which was actually thewhole point of his visit.
His pot collapses a few times but eventually, after muchhilarity, he manages to make a decent vase. He chats as he attempts to make thewalls thinner, asking me if I’d heard about the pottery wheel that exploded.
‘Er... no,’ I reply cautiously, this timeprepared for it to be a joke.
‘They had to notify its next of kiln.’ He turns with a grinto gauge my reaction – and as I start to laugh, the pot spins out of hiscontrol again, crumpling into a disaster.
Later, when he leaves, declaring that next time his claycreation will be perfect, I wave him off at the door and retreat inside to tryand pull myself together.
I knew I liked Aidan when we had coffee together, andtonight has just made me like him even more. My heart is beating faster evennow, just thinking about him, which is very worrying.
I flake out on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling.
Oh hell, what am I going to do?
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
As it turns out, I don’t have to do anything, becausethe next day, I bump into Aidan at the home improvements store on the outskirtsof Sunnybrook.
I’m there to buy paint.
