Page 20 of Outside the Lines
“What should I do about this?” I held up the altar.
“I thought that was fine.” He squinted at the faux stone block.
I rotated it to show where part of the base had been chipped. “Nearly fine, but . . .”
“Nearly won’t do.” He pulled his chair over and sat. “Want to learn how to fix that?”
Tips for repairing a model from Ian? I could mainline that shit. “Sure. If you’re willing.”
He scooted his chair closer. “So, paint isn’t going to cut it, because there’s never been a chunk missing from the altar on the large set,” he said, and pointed at the plans and photos, “as you can see. Leave it like that and the prop director will have my head.”
“So, fill it in like you did the trees?”
“Since we don’t have the missing bit, yeah.” He grabbed some of the clay he’d been using, and set it down next to me. Our arms brushed. “Use self-hardening clay to fill in the missing part, then make sure you feather over the edges of the repair, and you’re good.”
I eyed him. “That easy, huh?”
He laughed. “Well, in theory. Want to try it in practice?”
Hell yes! But . . .“What if I fuck it up?”
“This stuff takes forever to completely dry, so if you screw it up, I can fix it.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “But you’ll do fine. I know you will.”
That Ian remained shoulder to shoulder with me made my bones hum. I swallowed and picked up the altar. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”
Ian laid out his sculpting tools and pointed out which ones I should use. First, I didn’t take enough clay—then too much, but eventually I scraped off enough and the altar started to look whole again. A bit of simple sculpting later, and I was done. “Like this?”
Ian had returned to his trees, but put down his tool and came over. He clasped me on the shoulder and leaned in, his face far too near to mine. “Exactly like that.”
Warm breath. Lovely eyes. His lips parted and he moved closer and the world narrowed down to me and Ian. Inches apart.
Voices from the front of the store jolted us both—especially when they came this way. Dexy spoke loudly, more so than normal, bless her. “If you want to know more about models and miniatures, you should talk to Simon. He’s back here, working on a project with a friend.”
By the time Dexy and the customer—an older gentleman with glasses and a thin face—cleared the rows of shelving, Ian had returned to his spot by the base of the set. I set down the altar.
Fear had done wonders on reducing my desire, though with Ian, that fire seemed to always be there, an undercurrent to our every interaction. Still, I was the consummate professional shop owner. “What can I help you with?”
Turned out, Mr. Sato had built models as a young man, but had stopped when family and work became his priorities. “Now that I’m retired, my wife wants me to get a hobby.” There was a gleam in his eyes.
I showed him some of the less complicated model kits and he chose an old-fashioned street rod to build. I also suggested one of our magnification stands, helped him carry everything up front, then turned him over to Dexy for checkout. “If you need any help at all, stop back in.”
The excitement I saw in his weathered features was like a jolt of joy-laden caffeine. This was the best part of my job—helping someone discover—or rediscover—a hobby they could love.
I wandered back to Ian, and my heart slid into my throat. We’d been about to kiss, in the middle of my shop, during business hours. Oh, I wanted that, but it wasn’t the wisest of plans. A glance at my watch told me we still had two hours before the shop closed.
Ian had a contrite expression. When he spoke, his voice was so soft, it might have been a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I . . . got ahead of myself.”
“So did I.” The altar sat on the table—along with a bunch of other pieces I needed to repaint. “I guess getting interrupted like that is a good reminder that we’re working.”
He wore nervousness like a second skin. “All work and no play?”
“I didn’t say that,” I murmured. “Need to wait to play, that’s all.”
His smile returned, the glorious thing that it was, on those lips I so wanted to taste.
I glanced at my watch again. Playtime would come soon enough.
When it got close to eight o’clock, Simon set down the torch stanchion he’d been touching up. “I should go help Dexy close the shop.”
