Page 41 of Fast Currents
The hike up to our car was steep enough to forestall more teasing. But it gave me time to think. My friends had accepted the change in my relationship with Clay like it was a foregone conclusion. Like they had seen it coming while we were still too busy circling each other, mistaking tension for irritation, ignoring the sparks. Had we been the only ones fooled by our bickering? Had they all been waiting for us to figure out what they already knew?
Now that we’d crossed the line from sniping to something deeper, I couldn’t deny the truth. Trading barbs with Clay had never been just banter. It was a game, a dance, a way to test my baby claws on him. And, if I was brutally honest, a form of foreplay neither of us had been ready to acknowledge.
Clay seemed almost too good to be true from the beginning. Tall, handsome, and charming in that good-natured way that included old ladies and small children in his attention. He seemed to love everybody. Enjoy everyone. Even me. It made me want to prick at him. Test him. Convinced he couldn’t be real. That his charm was a form of self-defense, just like my prickly side.
I could keep everyone else at a safe distance. But not him.
He was impervious to my defenses. To my insults. Nothing fazed him. My barbs bounced off, unable to disrupt his affability. His dark gaze just held mine steadily, like he could see through the thorns to the delicate growth beneath.
It unnerved me.It thrilled me.
My friends had wormed their way into my inner circle over months and years, wearing down my defenses to gain my trust. But Clay? He’d managed the feat in record time. That should have terrified me. And deep down, maybe it did. Because trust wasn’t something I gave easily. Yet, with him, it was happening so fast, it made my head spin.
Was I being reckless? Letting him in too soon, letting myself believe in him too easily? Or had I simply met someone who saw to the heart of me from the start – who refused to let me hide?
I buried the bubbling uncertainty as we reached Vi’s car, piling in for the ride back to town.
“We’ll see you and Clay around six?” Vi asked as she dropped me off.
“Can I bring anything?”
Vi wrinkled her nose. “Only if it’s wine. I love you, but not enough to eat anything you’ve cooked.” She blew me a kiss. “But if I need some artwork, you’ll be my first call.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “See you tonight.”
Reluctantly, I faced my empty house. More time to think meant more time to obsess about my fears. The studio door beckoned, drawing my gaze. Unless I buried myself in work.
I checked my annealer temp and flicked on the glory hole in my workspace. Warming it up would take at least an hour, leaving me stuck with two options: paperwork or dusting. Paperwork required brainpower. The feather duster did not.
Idly, I picked it up, running it along each display. Letting the movement soothe me while my mind churned.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to notice it, a folded piece of paper, stuck to the studio’s glass front door.
Innocuous at first glance. Ordinary. But bold as you please, waiting.
I unlocked the front door and peeled the message free. LUCY was scrawled across the outside in an unfamiliar print. The blocky all-caps made my scalp prickle.
I flipped it open: Stop poking around. Some art isn’t meant for everyone’s eyes.
Whoever sent the note clearly didn’t know me well. If they had, they’d know that ignoring me was far more effective than a warning.
Before, I was just curious. Now? I was invested.
I crumpled the message in my fist, letting it fall to the floor. Satisfying, but not smart. I picked it up, smoothed it out, folding it neatly and tucking it into my back pocket.
Possibilities ticked through my mind. Chaz? Janine? A.A. themselves? Or was it simpler than that? Had Gran’s poor taste in art subjects riled people up more than I realized?
Whoever didn’t want me paying attention should have kept quiet.
Now, the possibilities were going to gnaw at me.
I drifted toward my studio, sitting at my workbench. Ready to let the siren’s call of molten glass silence the voices inside.
Let them try to scare me. I had a stubborn streak, a torch, and a man smart enough not to blow it out.
Chapter 17 – Clay
Ispent the rest of my morning puttering around the house, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, then packing a bag for later. Even scrubbing the toilet couldn’t dim my good mood. The lemony scent of the cleaner stung my nostrils, but the ritual felt oddly freeing. Like I was clearing space for what came next.
