Page 24 of I'll Be There
She barely noticed the burn in her arm, the way her muscles, still healing, fought against even the gentle pressure she applied to the bowl. The bowl glistened under the lights.
Holding the rim between two fingers, she pressed down with another finger, just long enough to create a flat lip. Moving to the outside of the bowl, she pressed her right hand against the base, pulling up with her left to grow the bowl. She set the lip again, always dousing the bowl with the water from the sponge, keeping it pliable.
That was the key—keeping the pot from leathering out before she finished. Because if it dried, even on the wheel, the clay set and became harder to move. She’d have to break it, re-wet it, and start over.
A song started, deep inside, a hum that built to words, more in her head than out loud, but she heard them all the same.
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy, never ceasing
She curved the top in, adding more water, continuing to draw the bowl up, taller, thinner. Then she cupped her hands below the rim, added pressure, and the top flared out. She reached inside and widened the body.
Not so much a bowl now, but a vase. Or a pitcher.
“I love to watch you work.”
The voice jerked her out of her muse, her hand catching the pot, deforming it. “Oh!” The bowl collapsed in on itself, wobbling, uncentered.
She glanced over at the door, and in a second, Conner’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry—I—”
“It’s okay. I can remake it,” she said.What are you doing here?She wanted to ask it, but the sight of him stole her words.
How she hadn’t heard him open the door, come in, and stand at the threshold of the room, she didn’t know. But he wasn’t uninvited. He stood there, his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. The storm had darkened his blond hair, and he’d whisked it back, leaving it tousled, water trickling down his temples into the collar of his blue shirt, which did a number on his eyes, turning them dark, fathomless. He had on a jean jacket, the shoulders soaked through, and flip-flops on his bare feet, as if he’d run out in the rain, believing she needed him.
Oh, she did.
“I saw your light on, and I thought maybe...” He lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. I guess I was worried about you.”
Really? Her question must have shown on her face because he came in, shut the door. “I know the wedding details are weighing on you.” He walked toward her, peeling off his jacket and hanging it over the stainless steel sink. She wasn’t unaware of how the wetness had bled through, plastered his shirt to his amazing shoulders.
Shoulders that, in three days, would belong to her.
He knelt in front of her. “But you need to know that the wedding is already perfect, babe. Because I get to marry you.”
She made to touch him, but stopped at the sight of her hands covered in clay.
He wrapped his hand around hers, weaving his grip into the paste. “What you did for me today—bringing Jim Micah—” Emotion clouded his eyes before he leaned forward and touched his forehead to her knees.
Oh, Conner.“Of course, babe. I’m sorry more of your team didn’t show up.”
He looked up at her, those blue eyes catching hers. “This is enough.” He swallowed. “You’re enough, Liza. In case you were wondering.”
Her eyes warmed and she caught her lip in her teeth. He touched her cheek with his other hand, ran a thumb over her cheekbone.
A shiver of desire shimmied through her, warming her to her core.
Then he kissed her, a whisper of emotion in his nearness, enough to share with her exactly what had brought him to her door.
When he leaned away, she kept her eyes closed, just to savor the lingering touch.
She opened them when she heard the scoot of a nearby stool.
“What are you doing?”
He brought the stool in behind her, climbed on, nestling her between his thighs, wrapping his arms around her. “That summer we met, you showed me your studio and offered to teach me how to throw a bowl. The scene fromGhostflashed in my mind, and...well, I’ve never forgotten your offer.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Teach me, Lize. I want to feel your hands with mine, working the clay, creating something beautiful.”
