Page 13 of Holidate Scramble
"Dr. Thornton,” he began slowly.
“Rhett,” Rhett quickly corrected.
Walt nodded. “Rhett. This is textbook work—every measurement exact, every line straight. Excellent technique." He set it down gently. "But where's the personal touch? What makes it yours? You've created an exact replica of the sample I showed, but I don't see any evidence of your own creative spirit."
Rhett's jaw tightened slightly—clearly not used to his work being critiqued, especially in front of others.
Walt turned to mine, his expression shifting. "And Piper—you've completely disregarded my instructions altogether and created a design that's certainly unique and vibrant." He rotated it, watching paint pool in thick sections. "It's wondrous in its enthusiasm, but the paint's too thick in places. It might crack when it dries. Sometimes freedom needs just a touch of structure to truly last."
He set both ornaments down, then noticed our collaborative piece. His eyes lit up as he lifted it, a knowing smile creasing his weathered face.
"Now this," he said, loud enough for neighboring tables to hear, "this is interesting. You can see two different styles coming together—the method and the madness, the planning and the inspiration." He looked between us with that teacher's intuition that sees more than you mean to show. "You two make an excellent team. The balance here is exactly what was missing from your individual pieces."
I felt my face flame. "Oh, we—I mean—thank you."
"He's absolutely right," Rhett said smoothly, his hand finding mine on the table. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through me. "We do balance each other well. I'm learning to appreciate a little more color in my life."
"And I'm learning that roadmaps aren’t always the enemy," I added, trying to match his casual tone despite my racing pulse.
Walt moved on to the next table, but Mrs. Henshaw leaned over with a delighted smile. "You two are just precious together.”
"Thanks," Rhett said, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "Sometimes you just know."
I sucked in my breath as our eyes met. Was he simply leaning into his role as my fake boyfriend, or was there a kernel of truth behind his words?
After Walt finished his rounds and everyone returned to their projects, I found myself hyperaware of Rhett beside me. The way he rolled his sleeves up to the same point on each arm. How he tilted his head when concentrating. The fact that he'd kept holding my hand for a full minute, only releasing it when he needed both hands to work on a new ornament.
The workshop timer chimed. Six o'clock—time to clean up.
"Well," our instructor announced, "let's see everyone's creations!"
We went around the room, each person showing their ornaments. The variety was stunning—from traditional to avant-garde, minimalist to maximalist. When it came our turn, I held up all three of ours.
"We couldn't decide on just one style," I explained, getting laughs from the group.
As people packed up and filtered out, thanking Walt and chatting about the upcoming holiday events, Rhett and I stayed behind to help clean up. We worked efficiently together—him washing paint brushes while I collected supplies, moving around each other with ease.
"Thank you all for coming," Walt said as the last few participants left. "Don't forget, the ice skating fundraiser is next Thursday at the harbor rink. I hear our Piper has planned special surprises."
"Just the usual—music, hot cocoa, and hopefully no injuries," I said, boxing up the remaining supplies.
"I'll try to keep everyone upright," Rhett added, which earned him a laugh from Walt.
After Walt locked up and headed to his car, Rhett and I stood in the library parking lot, our breath forming clouds in the cold December air. The sun had long since set, and the streetlights cast everything in a soft golden glow.
We looked at each other, and I couldn't help the nervous giggle that escaped me. That broke the tension, and suddenly we were both laughing, the absurdity of our charade hitting us at the same time.
"That was quite an experience," Rhett said, once we'd caught our breath.
"Right? The way you said 'sometimes you just know?’ Perfect delivery." I held up my hand for a high-five. "We definitely pulled that off."
He returned the high-five, his palm warm against mine. "Would you like to grab dinner? It's late, and I'm guessing you haven't eaten."
"I'd love to," I said, surprised by how much I meant it.
"I'll follow you home, then you can leave your car and ride with me from there."
"Sounds good."
