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“Why do you think I let her pass the plate after Sunday services?” he teased. Jane waved us both off with a knowing smile.
“I think I might know someone who has a few extra dollars lying around that they’re looking to spend on a charitable contribution,” I replied, letting my sight roam over the front of the worn and weary theater before my eyes were drawn to a man with a big camera. My heart rate tripled as I made eye contact with Dumbo Ears. His camera came up quickly, then he took off his blue ball cap sitting atop his huge ears. Okay, that was no innocent tourist taking pictures of the local waterfowl. That camera had been right on me. The rat fucking bastard.
Anger flared up to replace the mellow vibes I’d been enjoying. I did my best to keep an eye on him as I maneuvered my bike through the crowds. I lost him immediately, his big ears disappearing from my line of sight when a family of about ten crossed in front of me, making me hit the handbrakes hard. When I looked up from the near collision, Big Ears was gone. I cussed under my breath the whole way back to the church. Jane and Billy were just as upset as I was when I relayed what was taking place and promised to keep an eye out for the man. They also extracted a promise from me to come to Sunday services with my father before they sent me off so Billy could actually work on his sermon.
I rode back to the inn, surly as a bear with a thorn in its paw, and slammed back to my room to glower out at the sunset. Honestly, was it askingthatmuch to be left alone to heal?
Chapter Six
MondayafternoonIwasback in town, enjoying an ice cream in the shade as I stared at the pottery shop. There was a sign in the front window which read CLOSED FOR LESSONS that had my attention. Licking at the rapidly melting mint chocolate chip cone, I found myself hurrying to finish my treat—I would not tell Katy about this—and making my way to the rear of the ceramic shop with my bike at my side.
Laughter and chatter flowed out of the back door as I neared. Several bikes were parked back here, many with fancy names and a billion speeds. I patted my old three speed then kicked the stand down to rest her beside a new shiny speedster of a bike. The moment I picked up Gibson’s hearty tones, my belly did this funny whoopy-doop that had nothing to do with ice cream. I’d been drawn to this man since we’d first met but was unsure of how to spend more time with him without looking desperate. I’d nonchalantly mentioned Gibson to Billy and Jane on Sunday after church and had gotten glowing reports about him. Working on my casual air, I took a deep breath, then rapped on the wooden screen door. The chit-chat inside quieted.
Gibson appeared on the other side of the screen. Good gods, the man was just as good-looking as he had been a week ago. Was it a week? It was hard to say. The days here on Kesside Isle kind of started to blend together after a while. His smile upon seeing me made all my blood rush from under my new Kesside Inn cap to my dick. The impact this man had on me was exhilarating. Yes, it had been a long time since I’d been with a lover, but wow, my reaction to this sexy mountain of beard was something else. I liked it, but it scared me. My past choices in men had been rather crummy, to put it mildly. Although Gibson was about as far away from a bratty twink as possible so that spoke well for my upgrade.
The sound of childish laughter floated past him as he opened the screen door wearing a huge smile.
“Good afternoon,” he said as I drank him in. Same outfit as the last time I’d been here. Pale tee, jeans, boots, and a dirty apron, but this time it was a cloth one with his store logo on it.
“Hi,” I replied, my command of the English language really coming to the fore.
“Is there someone pestering you again?” He took a step out to check the cramped rear area of the store.
“No, no, I’m not here to hide.” His attention came back to me, light blue eyes curious now. “I was…I’ve kind of gotten bored reading about life on the high seas with young Mr. Hornblower and thought I should get out more.” That much was true. The books at the inn had quickly bored me silly and one could only run so much in a day. Hiding in my room had also started to work on my nerves. While I was trying to lie low as the studio had asked, I also wanted to live my life just a little bit. So here I was, back at the tip of Kesside, ball cap and shades on, trying to be incognito, but not trying as hard as I probably should be. “So I came to town for an ice cream cone and pottery lessons. If you have room for one more student?”
“I just happen to have one seat left.” He held open the door for me, his gaze making my toes curl around the edge of my sandals. I took two steps in and saw that the tables were full of kids. About a dozen or so, maybe even a baker’s dozen, and all staring at me with those wide, inquisitive children’s eyes. “You can sit by me.” He walked around me, his bare arm sliding over mine. “Everyone, this is one of my new friends Elias. He’s here on vacation and is going to join us in making a ceramic coil pot. He’s very good at making coils.”
I felt a warm blush on my cheeks. He remembered my snakes.
“Hi, everyone,” I said as I followed Gibson around the table and then sat in what I assumed had been his chair. I removed my sunglasses and ball cap, relatively sure that this group of under tens had no clue who I was. If their parents let them watch the Connor Days films, they were incredibly bad parents. If I ever had a kid, I’d not let them watch the movies I made until they were college graduates. Maybe not even then. The longer I spent in seclusion here on Kesside, the more shame I felt over my body of work. Guess being outed made one more introspective or something. To be honest, I’d always been a little uncomfortable with some of the tropes that were played out on the set. I’d even asked a few producers and/or directors to possibly tone down the rampant sexism and gay taunts that were in the scripts. Of course, I was shot down and told to go be a good actor and read the lines as they were written.
Obnoxious assholes.
Gibson gathered up some clay and an apron for me. Mine was mint green with the Sea Song Ceramist logo of a pot and some waves. I tied it on and settled down to make some coils. As Gibson had said, I was a damn fine clay coil roller. Using the tiny toy rolling pin was huge fun, as was pressing out the globs of clay. The kids were loud, giggling, but totally into the lesson, just as I was. I had a moment of unease when I thought about what would happen if someone who knew me saw me sitting here with a bunch of kids rolling out clay-like pie dough with a toy rolling pin.
Like the world could think you were any odder? Who cares what the rest of the world thinks?
Yeah, who cared what the world thought of me? I was being me. Finally. I was doing what Elias wanted to do. Who gave two shits about the studio and the irate fans?! Okay, I did. I cared quite a bit.
“Good, okay. Now we’re going to move on to creating our pots. What we’ll do next is make a round base that looks like a cookie. Do not eat the base,” Gibson was quick to tack on. I chuckled, then set into rolling out a nice round base. We used a cookie cutter to cut out our bases.
“You should paint your pot pink,” a little girl of around five told me. She was a cute little thing with dark pigtails and big brown eyes. “Pink is a good color for boys too.”
“You’re right. It is. Mr. Vale, can I have pink paint?”
“Of course, Elias.” He was barely holding back his mirth. I looked at the young miss beside me. She nodded, then returned to her work. After my base was made, we moved on to laying the snake around and around, piling the snakes atop each other. “You’re all doing really well. Now we get to play in some water!”
The kids all cheered. I sat back, enjoying the hell out of watching this bruiser of a man interacting so well with these tiny humans. I’d never really spent a lot of time around kids so while I was polite to them because being rude to children was uncool even if you weren’t Connor Days, I tended to interact with teenagers and adults more as they were my fan base. It was obvious to me that Gibson loved being with children. That was probably why he’d gone into teaching.
Tiny bowls of water were passed around. We then were told to smooth out the seams of our coil pot. After that, we made braided ropes for the top of our pots. Gibson had to help the other students with their braided toppers, but I had no trouble making mine.
“Why, Elias, you did really well with your braiding. Why don’t you see if you can assist Penny with hers?” Gibson nodded at the girl beside me. Since he was busy with the other dozen kids, I felt I could certainly help one, so Penny and I made her a lovely, braided top for her pot. Since her pot was a little lopsided, there were some adjustments to be made to her base.
“I think you and I will have the best pink pots,” I whispered to Penny, who nodded sagely and then spritzed clay water at the girl across the table from her. A few tears were shed. Gibson was so kind and gentle to the kids it made me like him even more.
“So when you come back next week, your pots will be dry and we can paint them,” Gibson told the class just as some adults started to file in. I got a few looks from the grown-ups but for the most part they were polite. I wondered if the whole island knew I was here. Probably. Those kinds of secrets didn’t stay hidden for long. A few of the dads gave me funny looks as if they were trying to not remember that the man they had admired for over ten years was currently wearing a soft rose thong and bralette. Still, overall, the vibe was accepting. As the kids left, Penny waved goodbye to me, and then it was just Gibson, me, and one hell of a mess on the worktables.
“Would you like a hand cleaning up?” I asked, surveying the wet mess of clay bits, plastic place mats that had been taped to the tables, and murky white water puddles.
