Page 38 of Just This Once

“Oh…kay.” She proceeds to explain how she throws her pieces on the wheel first, letting them set up to dry before adding decorative elements. She shows me where she stores her clay and the different tools she uses to cut and shape the pieces. As she talks about it all, I can tell she loves it by how confident and animated she is, more than I’ve ever seen her.

“Do you fire everything here too?” I ask, using the opportunity of moving the now-empty crates to step closer to her.

“No. I take them to a studio downtown that has a kiln. It’s the only way I can get them properly fired.”

This woman is seriously talented. And doing it all in a cluttered basement? Even more impressive. “How long have you been doing this?”

Taryn thinks for a moment, her dark-chocolate eyes focused on some point in her mind as her bittersweet mouth purses. “I’ve always liked to draw and paint, and I loved art in high school. In college, I minored in it and fell in love with pottery. I love using my hands to make something beautiful.”

It’s so hard not to wrap my fingers around her neck and taste those lips of hers, swallow her words, pull her love and energy into my body, and keep all her dreams safe. That’s what I want for her. From her.

“I understand that,” I rasp, unable to be anything other than myself at this moment. A man at her feet. Mesmerized. Beholden. “I love seeing something old and making it new again or having nothing and suddenly…something.”

She slants her face toward mine, and she must have been chewing on candy at some point because her breath is sweet as it gently wafts across my mouth, warm and inviting. It would be nothing to close the last inch between us, but I want her to come to me. To offer what I want so badly, I feel it in my bones.

“I guess we’re both creators,” she says quietly, and I fist my hands at my sides, forcing myself to take a step back from her, putting a foot of space between us. Then another, two feet. Three feet. Until I can no longer feel the warmth of her body, smell the candy flavor on her tongue. Tempt me to do something I know she wouldn’t like.

My woman needs to make all the decisions on her own time.

I blink a few times to clear my head. “So, you said you have a shop?”

She stares down at her feet, as if she’s working through a fog too. “Uh, yeah. When… When I was married, I, um…” She clears her throat before lifting her gaze to me, and I can physically see her put on her metaphorical armor. The change in her body is immediate. How she tips her chin, sets her shoulders like she’s readying for combat. “When I was married, I did it as a hobby. It was something I did for myself when I didn’t have much that was mine. I still do it for myself now, but I also make money from it that isonlymine.”

My breath leaves my lungs in a rush. My beautiful warrior.

I can’t begin to guess what she’s been through, but I will make sure the way forward is paved in gold from here on out. She won’t need to fightfor anything.

“I know you don’t need to hear this because you already know, but you are incredible.”

Her cheeks redden as she shakes her head slightly.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Anyone can make an okay-looking ceramic dish. Even preschoolers.”

“Yours are more than okay-looking, and it isn’t only your pottery. It’s everything. Everything you do, everything you are. You’re incredible, and I am truly sorry because it seems like I was wrong. You do need to hear it. You haven’t heard it enough.” I lick my lips, reaching for her shoulders even though I know it’s a bad idea. “You are wildly talented and smart and so interesting that I look forward to what new fact I can learn about you every day. I’m sorry for whatever has happened in your past, but you have to know… You are more than a mother or an artist or a badass businesswoman—you are fucking remarkable. Truly.”

Her eyes water like she doesn’t know exactly how special she is, and I have the sudden urge to hammer something. Instead, I tighten my hold on her and bend, pulling her close, barely a sliver of daylight between her lips and mine. Every second, every millimeter of space between us is too much, but then she goes and whispers two heart-achingly soft words, vulnerability pouring out like water from a broken levee. “Thank you.”

I hate it.

I hate whoever made her believe she isn’t wonderful and perfect.

I hate every minute that she second-guesses herself.

I hate that she’d accept an organ before she’d accept a compliment, and unfortunately for both of us, I’ve got more compliments than I do organs. But I’d happily hand over the one rattling around in my chest right now.

I settle for kissing her cheek instead of her mouth then back away, fingers tingling with the need to return to her. Even my nerves know what I think my heart has known since I first laid eyes on her.

That I was meant to be with her.

That one, my heart said.

That one, my head agreed days later when the universe granted me another chance.

That one, my blood tells me now, rushing thick and fast through my veins, urging me back to her.

And all I can do is try to calm myself. Soon. Hopefully, soon, she’ll be mine.

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