Page 38 of The Prospect

The storefront ahead is that of a do-it-yourself pottery shop, where individual work stations are perfectly lined up in order to allow customers to create whatever theirheart…desires.

On its own, it may seem like a perfect first date spot, but to me, I see it as so much more. I know what Hart’s trying to allude to here. What comparison to romance he’s trying to make…

“You’ve seenGhost?” I’m left dumbstruck as I swing my head back over at Hart, reminded of one of the most romantic scenes in cinematic history, shared between Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. A 90s classic.

“Maybe once or twice.” Hart winks, sliding off his dark leather jacket in the process and hanging it up on the coat rack to his right. “But don’t tell anyone, okay, Hazel?” He leans down, his breath warming against my cheek as he slides off my jacketnext. “You know I have a macho-man ego to uphold around here.”

Macho man ego.Ha!Hart is nothing more than an oversized teddy bear, but from the outside, you’d never be able to tell, but being this close to him, I know it to be true.

For a moment I debate whether or not to mockfully roll my eyes, squirm beneath myself or completely fall apart in his gaze at his remark. I can’t bring myself to do any. Somehow, before I can even rationalize it, I’m pushing playfully against his chest—his firm chest—his chest that remains underneath my grasp until I’m commanded to pull back and redivert my attention toward a staff member who eagerly paces their way toward us.

“Welcome to Polly’s Pottery!” the lady cheers out enthusiastically. “I’m Polly,of course.” She points to her name tag before wiping some clay residue against her apron. “And you are…?”

“Christopher Hart,” Hart answers for the two of us before he places a strong hand on the low of my back, pulling me into his side. “And this is Hazel Collins. I called in earlier today to reserve two workstations for about an hour or so,” he explains. “I believe it was you that I spoke to, Polly.” He charms her with a flash of his radiant smile.

Polly lights up, seemingly recognizing their earlier conversation. “Ah, it was me indeed! You’re the Crawfield player, isn’t that right?”

“Sure am.” Hart nods proudly.

As he should.

The Crawfield reputation follows every player wherever they go and I’d be lying if I don’t reap some of the benefits through Green from time to time.

“Come right this way, Mr. Football,” Polly playfully calls him, gesturing for us both to follow. “I’ve got two workstations set up right over here for you and your date.”

Your date.

I knew Hart and I were on one, but hearing it said out loud by another somehow made everything feel suddenly real. I brush my anxious thoughts aside, focusing on another, more pressing one instead.

“You called ahead and reserved this for us?” Hart continues to prove to me that he’s full of surprises. “Really?”

“Of course, Hazel.” He peers deep into my eyes as if it was never even a question. “I couldn’t have run the risk of taking you here and not having a workstation available, could I, love?”

He shrugs as if it were nothing, but the truth is that the gesture alone proves to me there's a tender side to Hart. One that reminds me he’s a thinker, a planner, someone who always takes care of the people he’s with.

I guess we do have more in common than I’d realized.

Damn, Chelsie.

“Both of you, please, take a seat.” Polly gestures for us to sit once we reach our workstations.

I nod, releasing myself from underneath Hart’s embrace as I sink into the cool leather chair. He does the same.

“Now, before you both begin, let me give you the rundown on everything around here.” Polly rolls her way over to us on a small stool. “This is your clay, and this is your pottery wheel.” She gestures toward the two items laid out ahead of us. “Now, once it’s on…” She flicks on both of our machines simultaneously, prompting them to spin. “You’re going to want to place your clay on top. It’s soft, so it’s completely malleable within your grasp. The key here is to always make sure that you’re?—”

“Keeping it damp,” I subconsciously finish her sentence for her, immediately using my hand to cover my mouth thereafter to not only shut myself up but to hide away from this embarrassment.

“That’s exactly right, Hazel.” Polly isn’t fazed in the slightest. Instead, she’s beaming ear to ear. “Have you done this before?” she asks me eagerly, staring me down with intent.

“Well, uh…” I peer over at Hart, a sense of interest now in his eyes as he furrows his brows. “Yes, I uh—actually have.” I blush. “I’m an art major and in my first term at uni, I took a pottery class as one of my electives.”

“Well then, isn’t that just amazing?” Polly stands up gladly from her chair, placing her hands on her hips. “I absolutely love it when we have people come into the shop that are familiar with the equipment, it saves me from going through the whole spiel.”

I shake my head, sensing where she’s going with this. “No, no, no. I don’t mind the spiel,” I tell her. “The spiel is good for me.”

“Nonsense.” Polly shrugs me off with a wave of her hand. “I bet you’re a natural. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a party coming in soon that I need to set up for. So I’ll leave you both to it, give me a shout if you need anything. Have fun!”

“Wait…no…” My voice is so quiet that Polly doesn’t hear me as she rushes out of view, leaving both Hart and I to fend for ourselves.

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