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“Last store and then we’ll head to our dinner reservation,” he says, checking the time on his watch.
I’ll admit, the glass and pottery in this place is beautiful. As we browse delicate vases, intricate glassware, and beautifully sculpted statues, we come upon a woman at the back sitting behind a pottery wheel.
“Good afternoon,” she says while running her wet hands along a clump of dark clay. Instantly, the glob of material starts to take shape. She continues to work her wet hands upward, forming a long cylinder.
Ryan and I stop and watch as she hums along to the tune in her head while sculpting what I realize is a candlestick. Her delicate little fingers mold the clay, cutting grooves and decorative cords within the wet material. When the stick takes shape, she places her finger in the top and works in a groove to hold the candle. After the candlestick is complete, she turns off the machine and admires her handiwork.
“That’s beautiful,” I say absently, smiling at the finished product.
“Thank you. These are some of my best sellers. I go through probably ten pairs of candlesticks a week, and upwards of twenty a week during busy holiday weekends.” The little pixie woman walks over and places the completed piece on a shelf with six others beside the kiln to dry.
“You have a beautiful place,” Ryan adds, turning and looking at a glass place setting next to where we stand.
“I appreciate that. It’s a lot of work, but it’s my true passion. My glass shop is in a small building out back, and I work with pottery and ceramic back here. Feel free to browse around. If you need help with anything, just holler. I’m going to get the matching candlestick completed so they can dry together.”
Ryan and I watch her start the next candlestick before turning and perusing at several pieces on glass display shelves around the room. A gorgeous ocean blue glass bowl catches my attention. As I approach, I see etched seashells around the rim. It’s a stunning piece, one that would look amazing displayed in the center of a dining room table. Specifically, my dining room table.
The only problem is that I don’t have a dining room table. Yet. Not one of my own.
But this piece is too stunning to pass up. With steady hands, I gently pick up the glass object. In direct light, the blue is more vibrant and sparkles like sapphires. The etchings are subtle, each shell different from the one beside it. Flipping it over, I see $74.99. Ordinarily, it’s a little steep for my blood, especially for a piece of décor, but I have to have it. It’s exquisite.
“I like that,” Ryan says over my shoulder.
When I turn to face him, he’s holding a large bag with something wrapped in tissue paper. “What’s that?”
“Nothing for you to worry about right now,” he replies, that cocky smirk playing on the corners of his mouth.
Taking my purchase up to the counter, I retrieve my debit card from my purse. “This is a gorgeous bowl,” the woman who was making candlesticks says. “I love working with this blue glass. The outcome is always splendid, the colors rich and bold.”
“My eyes were drawn to this piece, and I couldn’t pass it up,” I state as I sign my name to the little slip of paper.
“Since you and your husband both made a purchase today,” she starts as she turns and grabs a small pottery vase off the display shelf closest to her. It’s a lighter shade of clay with vibrant flowers complexly weaved around the base of the vase. “I’m throwing in this piece. It will complement the bowl beautifully.”
As flattered as I am about the gift, I’m still trying to process her comment about my husband. “Oh, we’re not… I mean, I’m not married.”
“Oh.” She gazes deeply at me, her deep brown eyes piercing me straight to my soul. “My mistake. When I see a couple so clearly in love, I guess I just assume they’re married.”
I blush a dark shade of red. “It’s okay,” I whisper. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Ryan as he checks out some pieces by the front door. “Thank you for the vase. It’s beautiful,” I add as I take the proffered bag with the wrapped vase and bowl.
“Thank you. Enjoy your stay at Travelers End. If you’re back in the area soon, stop by and say hello,” she offers with a smile.
Offering a nod, I turn and head towards Ryan. We’re both silent as we head towards where we parked his truck. My thoughts are stuck on that one word: Husband. A single word that causes my breath to falter and my underarms to perspire.
But now, it doesn’t seem quite so scary. Now, the idea of a husband seems logical and pleasant. As Ryan and I walk together, I’m breathing harshly for another reason. I realize that the idea of Ryan as my husband isn’t terrifying. In fact, it’s completely the opposite. I feel at ease, peaceful.
It feels right.
