Page 42 of The Friend Game

Luke lets out a surprised breath. “Uh, no.”

Okay, so not the Holy Spirit then. Just me attempting to show off my Biblical knowledge to impress the hot pastor.

“Last month,” Luke goes on, “one of the church’s more eccentric members passed away and left the church her whole estate. We’ve had a team of volunteers slowly sorting through all of her belongings, trying to find homes for all of the random items in her possession. Two such items were her pottery wheel and her kiln. They’re currently being stored in the church’s basement.”He shrugs. “I’m guessing the elder board would be happy to donate them to the school if they knew there was a need.” Luke meets my eyes as a smile plays on his lips. “Those items were actually what I wanted to show you the other day before you informed me of your lack of interest in pottery. Of course, if your lack of interest still stands, I’m sure the board could find a different home for them.”

Oh, he’s good. That cocky smile of his is back, and it is sure to be the death of me.

“No, Pastor Abbott!” Mia cries. “We want it! We want it! Tell him, Miss Garza!”

“Yeah, tell me, Miss Garza,” Luke challenges with a grin.

I look all around the room at the students’ beseeching eyes. They’re all excited about the prospect of throwing pottery. And why wouldn’t they be? Working with clay is magical. Taking a heap of what’s essentially gray mud and transforming it into something beautiful is one of the most amazing feelings. Or at least it used to be. Before Marshall swept away all of the magic and replaced it with a lifeless blob of goop. What could I make with goop?

Still, I hate to disappoint all these kids.

“Please, Aunt Hannah,” Ellie whispers.

“Imagine the possibilities.” It’s these words from Mia, words that make my heart beat faster, that finally push me to give in.

“Okay,” I relent. “We want the pottery wheel and the kiln.”

Luke grins. “Great. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Chapter 15

TRUE TO HIS word, Luke manages to secure both the wheel and the kiln for the school, and the following Thursday, a crew of men show up asking where to put them.

I stare at the items with mixed emotions. My hands twitch at my sides, dying to grab a ball of clay and toss it on that wheel, but I tell them to stand down. The wheel is for my kids, not me.

“There’s a side room this way,” I tell them, leading the way to the huge storage closet that I spent the week clearing out for this purpose. There’s no way we can fit a kiln and a pottery wheel in the classroom, but this storage room will work perfectly.

Plus the walls are painted dark cream and the lighting in here is kind of dim. Throw in the pottery wheel and the record player I brought over from my house and the room has a vibe very much like that scene from the movieGhost.

You know the one.

I can just imagine Luke sneaking up behind me while I’m throwing a vase and wrapping those big arms of his around my waist so his chest presses against my back. Next our hands get all intertwined in the clay then suddenly we start kissing and—

“Ma’am, right here okay?” The bigger of the two delivery men pulls me out of myGhostfantasy, and I force myself to focus on him. And also discreetly wipe the line of drool off my chin.

“Yes, that’s good.”

Obviously this fantasy will never happen since this pottery wheel is at a school. And for the students.

And besides, even if it could happen, it wouldn’t be until March when he’s free to date me.

Hmmm…maybe over spring break when all of the students are gone we can sneak back here—

“Alright we just need you to sign the delivery slip and we’ll be on our way.”

Right. Focus.

“Great, thanks.” I hastily scribble my signature across the yellow slip he passes my way. Then I’m alone with my new pottery wheel and kiln.

Excuse me while I let out a dreamy sigh because I have clearly died and gone to artist heaven. Look, there’s Michelangelo. Oh and what do you know! Patrick Swayze is here too.

Unable to resist any longer I touch the edge of the wheel, and my fingers tingle with anticipation and longing.

“Wow, look at this set-up,” a deep masculine voice—one I’ve spent the last week imitating during romantic conversations with myself in my bathroom mirror—fills the space, and I pivot to see Luke standing there. A smile pops onto my face, and my heart rate kicks up.

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