Page 140 of Muddy Messy Love

“Who was that woman before with the gorgeous black curls?” Beth asks as I return to the counter.

“My year-twelve art teacher, Mrs. Donovan. She saw me in the paper.” I hitch a shoulder as my cheeks heat. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that level of exposure.

“Ah,” Beth says. “That explains it. She seemed thrilled to see you.”

That she was. She snuck up on me and whispered in my ear, “I knew you’d make it,” before clutching me in a pudding-soft hug.

“She invited me to talk to her senior students at my old school.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Absolutely. I owe her. I even offered to showcase some of their work here. Shelovedthat idea.”

“I’ll bet.”

To be honest, since Mrs. Donovan rocked up and it hit home people I know actually saw me in the paper, I’ve wondered if Cole will show too. I’ve seen him in the crowd several timestoday already, mistaking a graze of stubble here, a tailored suit there, and even Bex’s tattooed arm once. My heart jumped every single time but then plunged back into a misery made all the more glib by the sparks of false hope. What would I even say to him, anyway? And here I am assuming I ever still cross his mind all these months later.

Jen pokes her curly red head out of the studio and taps the top of her wrist. “Do you want me to wrap things up?”

“I’ll do it,” I say, glancing at Leo’s starburst clock on the wall. It’s come in handy. I want to promote the lesson timetable one more time to squeeze out every sign-up possible. Two sheets are already full, and at this rate, the lessons alone will pay the rent.

See, Icando this.

The kids sigh a collective groan when I ring the five-minute warning bell, but most then jump up and down in front of their parents’ legs, begging to come back. It might be a little unfair I mentioned the lessons in front of them—even more unfair I told them to ask their mum or dad—but hell, I’m a small fish with bills to pay. And they’ll love it. In a world dominated by tech, real, hands-on creativity is more vital than ever.

Twenty minutes, several tiny hugs, and a dozen thank-yous later, the shop is empty.

Jen and Liam lean against the counter, looking a little frazzled and tired but smiling. “That was wild,” Jen says.

I plop down on the chair behind it with a sigh. “Totally, but it went way better than I’d hoped.”

“The feedback was great,” Beth agrees, leaning against the wall next to me. “And nothing was broken, which is a miracle.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure is.”

“I think it was my smooth-arse dance moves that really saved the day,” Liam says, raising his collar with a wink.

“Definitely,” I agree.

Jen glances at Liam, and I catch her giving him that silent “are you ready to go now?” look that couples master, but I raise my index finger.

“Wait one sec. Before you go, I have something for you.” Renovations aren’t the only thing I’ve been working on the past three weeks.

I rise from my chair, squeeze past Beth, and duck into the studio to grab the two clay pieces I hid in my second-hand storage locker. Then I return, pausing as I reach the doorway. “Close your eyes and tell me when they’re shut.”

“They’re shut,” Liam calls out.

“What are you up to?” Jen asks, her eyelids fluttering behind her red fingernails.

I tiptoe to the counter without answering and gently place each piece down in front of them. Beth smiles when she sees what I’ve done. “Okay, open.”

They do, and Jen gasps. “Is that for me?”

“Yup. I believe you requested a purple bowl with elephants, right?”

“Oh my God. You remembered.” She gently picks it up. “It’s awesome. And huge. And they’re so cute, all the little trunks are up. That’s meant to be lucky, you know.”

“I know.” I grin.

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