Page 24 of Lipstick Kiss

“I believe it’s Gilbert Philbott. He does All Saints too.”

“Thanks, Bailey. Is there still only one stone mason in town?”

“Same person. He runs the pottery barn as a business. Not enough business in headstones these days as people prefer cremation.”

“Thanks. I’ll look him up.”

“Planning ahead, Sir?”

Bailey was so polite when he asked probing questions. Luke had too much respect to rebuff his questions.

“I’m getting used to the Turner land as, eventually, we’ll inherit it. Ticking boxes about who sets the headstones in the gravesite. I saw a few I liked when we raised a glass to Dad.”

“I think the Mistress has the local business for the family. Certainly the recent generations.”

“Right. Thanks, Bailey.”

Bailey left them to do whatever Bailey did, and Freya kept her body sitting forward, but her head turned to him.

“What’s in the boxes?”

He knew she wouldn’t let it go. It was shocking she waited so patiently to ask him. If he’d realised, he would’ve kept Bailey talking longer.

“Old memories,” he answered.

It wasn’t a lie as such, but he felt embarrassed about what was in the boxes.

Chapter Seven

Freya

Sitting in front of a pottery wheel, Freya regretted agreeing to come to the class with Luke. He barely touched her with his bizarre promise not to touch another man’s woman.

It only annoyed her because there was no man, and until Luke stopped his tactile habits, she didn’t realise how much they hugged, held hands and draped over each other at any opportunity.

Freya looked to her right to see Luke had moulded his piece of clay into something beautiful. A tall, shapely jug that had no handle. He’d even put a dip in the edge for the water to flow out. Freya’s was still a lump of distorted mess in the middle of the turntable. Every time she started to peddle, the clay went out of control, and she stopped and watched Luke put the finishing grooves to the middle and top of his creation. Once he was done, he sat back with a pleased grin and wiped his hands on the white apron tiedaround his waist. Splatters of clay were over his blue t-shirt like a Jackson Pollock painting. It had sprayed along his neck and into his hair.

She was busy taking note of the corded muscles in his forearms when she heard someone clear their throat. Her head snapped up in the direction of the noise. She didn’t need to go far, as it was Luke wearing a wicked grin. His eyes were alight with something that caused her cheeks to burn.

Was she caught checking him out?

“What’s caught your attention, Peaches?” he asked.

“When did you learn to make pottery?”

“You like it?”

“It’s gorgeous, Luke. I think it would make a stunning pitcher or a vase for wildflowers.”

She watched as his face lit up at her praise, his eyes warming at her words. Surely he’d been praised before?

“I’m glad you like it. I’ve never tried pottery before. It’s awesome.”

“I can’t say the same.”

Luke looked down at Freya’s lump and chuckled.

“Do you want a hand?”

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