Page 30 of Fresh Canvas
“Thanks for coming, guys. Are you ready to learn some awesome skills?” Stirling bounced on the balls of his feet as a collective chuckle rumbled through the crowd. The young artist picked up a mound of clay from his instructional station. Turning it over in his hands, he drifted along the stage.
“Art is messy. Tactile.Romantic.” He winked at a gaggle of girls in the corner. “It should be felt, not just seen. After I’m done teaching, I’ll take a moment to come around and speak with each of you. Please find a station.”
The pottery wheels filled quickly, but Val made a beeline to Stirling instead. My pulse lurched with the urge to race Val there, but I forced myself to stay put, watching the exchange on the edge of my seat. Should I have approached him first? Was Val convincing Stirling he would be a better fit than Blythe?
Stirling shook his head before pointing to the pottery wheels, and then at the exit. Val looked as though he were trying to swallow whatever insult he wanted to spit at him. After a long moment, Val nodded before walking stiffly to the empty station beside me. I didn’t bother to conceal my glee.
A low stream of curses accompanied the unbuttoning and removal of his luxurious suit coat. After yanking on an apron, he forced his sleeves up over his muscular forearms.
How in the world can someone so awful make forearms look attractive?I could make out the beginnings of a tattoo below the crook of his elbow. The swirled black ink disappeared under his cuffed sleeve.
I was determined to stop looking.
Stirling’s lesson turned out to be very informative. Having dabbled in pottery in high school, I smiled at my small lump of clay beginning to take form.
Val’s, on the other hand, was not. The crumbling clay looked as though the wet bucket beside his knee hadn’t even been touched, and he pushed the spinning pedal in jumpyspurts. Where my vase was smooth and glossy, Val’s was bumpy, stunted, and leaning to one side.
“How are you doing that?” Val muttered under his breath.
Keeping my eyes glued to Stirling, I leaned over and whispered, “You know, I’d love to help you, but I’m lying.” With an innocent shrug, I went back to my wheel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn his lips twitched.
A beaming Stirling finished the lesson and began to approach guests one by one. I couldn’t bite back my snarky giggles at Val’s expense any longer. Val’s face had turned an interesting shade of red. No matter how hard he tried, his vase kept flopping over like a fish out of water.
I finally gave in.
“Okay, this is so pathetic to watch. If Stirling sees your crappy vase, he’ll probably run from us both.” I scooted my chair closer.
Showing Val how to position his hands was like teaching a dog to read. Frustrated, I pressed my hands over his, forcing them into position.
Unexpected heat filtered through my fingers. His hands felt nothing like I would have imagined. Ice, or stone, maybe. But notthis. Something lurched in my stomach, right behind my navel. Nausea? No, something more… fluttery.
Val tensed beneath my touch, his pottery wheel slowing to a stop. I snatched my hands back as I cleared my throat.
“Uh, also your clay is too dry.” Reaching into his station’s wet bucket, I sprinkled his clay with water right as Val stomped hard on the wheel’s pedal, sending reddish-brown sludge flying. Droplets peppered his face and crisp shirt above his apron.
I froze.
With murder in his expression, Val scrambled for a towel from his workspace. Lowering his face close to his station, he swiped furiously at the bits of clay, but he only managed to smear them.
He looked up at me and asked, “Is it gone?”
The tiger-like stripes on his scowl broke me, and I exploded with laughter. He watched curiously as I doubled over, trying to catch my breath. The stripes on his face shifted as he blew a long breath of defeat and slumped back in his chair.
I had barely turned back to my own wheel when the strangest sound drifted toward me. A soft chuckle began to originate from Val’s station, but in less than a minute, the sound had transformed into something even more foreign—laughter.
The alien sound was full and rich, nothing like his sharp, gruff tone. Val’s laughter was the contagious type, the kind that made you want to join in.
The absurdity of it all overcame me, and soon our neighbors were shooting us dirty looks.
After wiping my streaming eyes, I handed Val my station’s towel. Val rubbed more vigorously and was able to remove the residue.
“How about now?”
“Oh, Russo,” I chuckled as I spun my wheel, “your face is fine. It’s your personality that’s the problem.”
Val snorted. “And yours is any better?”
