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She chuckles looking at the sign. “It’s Aglazing?”
“Pottery shop,” I answer the implied question.
“Puns and butt-dials. You are such a dad.” She barely pauses and I miss my chance to respond before she goes on to say, “I walk this way all the time after work. Never noticed it. To be fair, it’s usually this time of night and nothing’s open, so there’s not much point in noticing.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. She does like to ramble on. And say exactly what’s on her mind at that. I probably should be annoyed or offended that she hasn’t noticed my shop before or considered noticing it but instead, I’m charmed by her honesty. And a little concerned she regularly walks this way from The Parlor, half a mile away, this time of night. Alone.
"So, how'd dinner with your daughter go?"
"The gumbo was good. Other things could have gone better. Sorry about not sending the picture." It’s hard not to tell her why I didn’t. It feels like a lie to say nothing but that is not a conversation I want to have anymore. All I want now is to keep her talking and make up for not keeping my promise. And walk her to wherever she’s going. Or invite her in to talk a while first.
"Well, I'm glad I could help with the food. Too bad I couldn’t help with the other things too."
"Nothing anyone could have done to help that. You wanna come inside? It's a lot colder out here than I realized."
"Oh. Umm..."
Shit. Too far, too fast.She’s looking for a way out. Maybe if I give her a way out, I can save the moment and try again later.
But before I think of a way to excuse myself and let her go, she says, "I would. Totally. But my car's parked in a paid lot and if I don't get there soon, I'm going to have to pay for another block. That shit's expensive."
"I can validate for you." Hell, if it means she’ll stay, I’ll buy the whole damn lot.
"Really? Thank you! That would help so much. I've paid a small fortune to park there. I really should just ride the bus to and from work but riding the bus this time of night is scarier than walking. God, I can't believe we've been so close this whole time and—" When she steps inside the shop, her jaw drops along with whatever she was going to say next. "Wow..."
"What do you think?" I prod as Riley turns a circle sweeping her eyes over every surface covered with pots, cups, and plates. Decorative and practical alike.
"Did you make all of these?"
I nod pulling my hand through my hair. I can’t remember the last time I showed my work to someone I had no intention of selling to. For them to view it purely as something I created and not something I intend to sell. Feels good. Makes me want to throw another lump on the wheel even though I’m exhausted.
Riley picks up a vase and runs her hand along the curve. Each of her fingers is wrapped in blue bandage tape. "Rough night?" I ask.
"Occupational hazard.” Riley replaces the vase and wiggles her bandaged fingers at me. “Got a little too friendly with a pot handle. Thought it had cooled down enough to grab it barehanded. I was wrong."
I wince, sucking air through my teeth. "I keep a full med kit in the back. Complete with burn cream. I have my share of scars from the kiln."
"That would be great. It hurts like hell."
I make my way to the office intending to retrieve the cream and bandages but Riley follows me in and sits in the chair behind the desk like she owns the place.
My heart works overtime sending blood to an extremely inappropriate location.
I should ask her to leave.
But I can’t. I won’t. She belongs here and I want her here.
∞∞∞
RILEY
"I just can't get over how close your studio is to The Parlor and we've never run into each other before."
Daniel puts the first aid supplies on the desk before taking a knee on the floor in front of me. Conjuring all kinds of inappropriate thoughts before he takes my hand into his large work-worn palm and peels away the hastily applied bandages with his callused fingers.
"Oh. You don't have to do that.” My words come out ragged.
"I don't mind." After he frees my fingers, Daniel runs the tip of his index finger parallel with the straight line running across the inside of each of my fingers. "Those are some angry-looking welts." Then he lifts my fingers to his lips and kisses each one in turn. I don't flinch or pull away. All I do is watch and try to keep my heart from breaking through my ribs and plopping onto my lap.
