Page 51 of Heart of Stone
Whenever we hosted a pottery painting event here, I always went with something that didn’t feel wrong to have on its own. Holiday plates shouldn’t be singular. But now that I had Reid here with me, even as just a friend, I thought it might be okay to get two plates to remember this year as the year I didn’t have to spend the holiday alone.
I selected two dinner plates, noted the two mugs that Reid had chosen, and felt my heart skip a beat when he smiled at me.
After we found a table, laid out some paint colors, and got started, Reid asked, “Is this a tradition for you?”
“Painting on Thanksgiving?”
“Well, I guess that’s part of it. I was just wondering if you always picked plates.”
I shook my head. “This is my first year with the plates.”
“But you’ve done the painting before, right?”
“I have.”
Reid dipped his brush in some paint and asked, “So, are your painting skills like your driving skills?”
I pressed my lips together to stifle the laughter. I loved that he was finding ways to keep this fun. “Well, I’m no Picasso, but I’d like to think my creative talents far exceed my abilities behind the wheel.”
Laughter escaped. “Alright, well, it’s good to have balance.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“Have you ever painted pottery before?”
He looked over at me and cocked a brow. “Do I seem like the type?”
I shrugged, my lips twitching. “Maybe.”
Reid rolled his eyes. “I bet. For the record, you’re the only woman who’d ever be able to make me wake up this early on a holiday to do something like this.”
Suddenly, it was my turn to assess him. He made it seem as though I was the one who’d asked him to join me this morning when I hadn’t even considered it a possibility.
“To be clear, you’re the one who showed up on my steps without an invitation this morning,” I reminded him.
“I’m well aware.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
For several long moments, Reid didn’t respond. He continued painting his mug, his features focused as he seemed to be concentrating on what he was doing. But eventually, he said, “Sometimes, as much as we want to believe otherwise, we can’t control everything. Other factors and emotions come into play, and we need to venture down paths we never thought we would.”
While I could understand the concept on a surface level—those words were quite fitting for my life—I wasn’t sure I knew what it meant in the context of Reid’s life and how it pertained to him spending Thanksgiving morning with me.
I suspected that if Reid wanted to make something abundantly clear to me, he would have spelled it out. So, I wasn’t going to push him on it.
Following a brief silence, I murmured, “For what it’s worth, Reid, I’m glad you were there when I opened my door this morning.”
He stopped painting, looked over at me, and smiled.
We spent the rest of our morning painting our plates and mugs, and we had a wonderful time. At one point, some retreat guests had joined us at our table and made conversation.
It was such a great time, and I loved the ease that seemed to be developing between Reid and me. I truly hoped we’d turned a corner and were finally heading to a good place permanently. Because this side of him was one I was finding I thoroughly enjoyed being around.
Reid
“This was wonderful, Sylvia.”
