AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I would love that,” he replied, gifting me one of his warm smiles. We started by taking each pot to the shelves, taking great care as some were a little on the wobbly side. “You did quite well with your pot, although I think Penny may have the edge with her pinch petal flowers.”
“Yeah, she will certainly take the blue ribbon in pink coil pots,” I replied as I began peeling tape from the corners of the placemats. Gibson chortled while doing the same on the other table. The squalls of gulls and the distant hum of tourists filtered through the screen door. The room was warm, probably from the kiln. “Are you going to bake the pots?”
“No, no, the clay we use for the little ones just needs to dry, then we’ll paint them. With the teen and adult classes, we fire some of the works.” He waved a dirty hand at the plates, cups, and vases on the shelves. “This is more of an hour of babysitting with clay play, to be honest. The adults get to have lunch or shop while I show the little ones some fun crafts.”
“You seem to enjoy it a great deal,” I said offhandedly, then toted the placemats to the sink to be washed off. “I’m not sure I could handle that many kids.”
“Nonsense, you did just fine. And yes, I do enjoy teaching children, even if it’s just hand-building a pot. Only the educated are free.” I looked over my shoulder at him in awe. “That last line wasn’t mine, that belongs to Epictetus, who was much wiser than me, rest assured.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re pretty damn smart,” I replied and returned to hosing off the placemats and then laying them on a dish drying rack.
“Not really. I just fob off quotes from the true thinkers to impress men I find attractive.” That got my attention. My sight flew from the brightly colored placemats to the man washing off tables with an old soapy sponge. He arched a brow. I felt my dick fatten, pressing against the pouch of my thong. “Did I offend?”
“No, God no, not at all. It’s been some time since…well since a man made a pass at me. That was a pass, right?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Elias, that was a pass. A bumbly one for sure, but a pass just the same.”
“Nothing about you is bumbly. I like hearing you talk.”
“Good! I tend to spend my evenings talking to myself and while I’m incredibly entertaining, I ruin all my jokes because I know the punchline.”
I laughed. “If you’re looking for someone to orate to, I’m available most nights.” The words popped into my brain and flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. He stared at me as if I were something he’d never seen before. “Or not. That was really pushy of me.”
I was sure he was going to turn me down. He should. After all, I was just some manic stranger who flew into his shop on the verge of a panic attack railing about some person—on an island full of tourists—with a camera. The more I thought about the whole incident, the stupider I felt. Then I showed up at his shopagainwith ice cream on my shirt and dove into a kid’s pottery class.
“That sounds fine. Why don’t you stop by this evening? I have some chicken in the crock pot with some seasonings from my pots. We can eat, sip wine, and delve into the reasons why you create films you dislike.”
Ugh, no. That sounds like therapy.
Yeah, it kind of did, but it also sounded fantastic.
“Or we can talk about the price of eggs,” he quickly amended while I battled with myself. “Don’t let me bore you. I tend to do that people are quick to say.”
“Dinner and deep discussions sound great. Much better than sitting in my room sulking while my career withers on the vine like a desiccated grape.”
He reached out to touch my arm. A whisper of electricity skipped down to my fingers.
“I’m sure your acting career is not in any danger of becoming a raisin,” he said, giving my bicep a squeeze.
“You have no idea what was said about me a few weeks ago but thank you for the kindness. And the dinner invitation.”
“You’re welcome. See you around seven?”
I nodded and left after that, leaving him to hang out his placemats on a line to dry in the warm breeze. I pushed my bike down a narrow gap between his shop and a local wine store. Feeling his gaze on my backside, I paused to look back. Catching him staring at my ass lit me up like a Roman candle. He flushed, smirked knowingly, and then ran a hand through his hair. A tiny smile played on my lips as I eased back into the crowded sidewalk, stopping to give the street a once over.
“Okay, so we have a dinner date,” I mumbled, pulled down my cap, and slid on my shades.
I headed back home, my legs screaming by the time I rolled into the drive for the inn. Uphill was much harder. My calves were not happy. Still, I had gotten a lockdown on where Gibson lived on the way back. I’d stopped to catch my breath at his skinny, overgrown drive, then pushed on toward home.
I took my old bike back to the shed, locked up things, and meandered through the inn. This time, I took in all the ceramics that were placed throughout the inn. Seafaring tones could be found on the pieces my father had purchased, for that motif fit perfectly given our locale.
Kimmy was behind the desk when I ambled past. She gave me a warm smile. I smiled back.
“Your father is napping,” she called to me. “Do you want me to wake him up?”
I shook my head as my mind raced. Did this employee just waltz into my father’s room when he was sleeping? That seemed odd to me.
“No, let him rest. He works too hard,” I said to her, moving toward the kitchen to tell Emelda that I would be skipping room service this evening. I had a dinner date with a cranky seagull and an utterly fascinating—and sexy as sin—ceramist.
