Page 76 of Tainted Truth

I recognize Alma’s family, a few of the baristas from the Mudhouse, and some of the customers who come by Abstract Dreams regularly. But there are even more people I don’t recognize—people who look at each sculpture, vase, teapot, and jar with wonder and fascination.

Then, in walks Joey, and the waterworks pick up all over again. He’s wearing a tweed brown suit with a white shirt and deep maroon tie. We make eye contact, and I move to him as fast as one can in heels. I wrap my arms around him, shocking him. He takes a moment to adjust but then returns my embrace.

“Did you get where you needed to go, kid?”

I lean back, our arms still around each other. I glance over my shoulder to Rio and Zane then Asher by the door. “Yeah, Joey. I did.”

He gives me an endearing smile and then goes right back to business. “Good, because you look like shit.”

“And you look like a shriveled-up dick,” I reply through my tears.

“Now, let’s talk about you skipping out on your workouts.”

Laughing aloud, my nerves ease and I feel like I can finally breathe.

The next hour is spent mingling as consumers ask me every question under the sun.

Where did I get the idea for the sculpture of a bouquet of hyacinths and knives? What technique did I use for the high relief of women in shackles at an auction? Did Greek Cycladic figurines inspire the form of a dead woman with a hole in the chest and forehead?

I’m not sure how I answered each question. Those sixty minutes were a blur. My social meter is full and ready to burst. Asher is busy wandering the room, and not wanting to bother him, I sneak off to Clay Creations next door for a small reprieve.

When I shut the connecting door behind me, silence fills my ears, and I sag against it. Cleansing breaths fill my lungs as I breathe in the scent of dirt and clay, a smell that has always brought me peace, especially in the last few years.

The studio was closed all day today in preparation for the art show opening, so the floor is clean, the lights are dim, and all the stools are up on tables and pottery wheels. I take a stool off one of the canvas worktables and sink down onto it.

The door bursts open, and I almost fall out of the chair.

Asher shuts the door behind him and stomps over to me. “Goddammit, Spencer! You can’t just walk off like that right now.” He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the chair.

“Calm down, big guy. I just needed a moment to breathe. There are a lot of people over there and, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do well in crowds for long periods of time.”

He points to himself. “Then you get me. You get me, and I will take you somewhere. I thought you . . .” He cuts himself off.

My heart sinks. “You thought I had left.”

He turns his head to the side. “Maybe.”

Reaching up, I cup his cheeks in my hands and turn his face back to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I promise I will get you next time. I promise. Don’t push me away.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not.”

My heels give me a few inches, but I’m still not as tall as Asher. I pull his face to mine and give him a brief kiss. “Yes, you are. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” he repeats himself, emphasizing his earlier argument.

I give him a sad smile. “Repeating the words doesn’t make it true.”

His eyes meet mine. “I’m trying, Princess.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

We both lean into each other and our lips meet in a kiss where we finally aren’t battling for control. It’s a kiss of comfort, a kiss of reassurance. Reassurance that I’m here.

Laughter fills the room, and Asher and I break our kiss. His brows are scrunched while the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

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