Page 12 of Watching Ames

“Anyway, let’s change the subject. How was your day? Get any work done at the coffee shop?”

“My day was…good,” I told her, surprised when I realized it was the truth. I enjoyed speaking with Alex; after my initial nerves and the sheer level of attraction I felt for an almost-stranger, I was able to behave like a normal person. We had kept up a steady stream of friendly chatter for a few hours while we both worked side-by-side on our laptops. It was…comfortable.

It would’ve been friendly if I hadn’t thought of him later that night, when I stared at the flowers I could see from the open doorway to my room, and the dark voice calling me sweetheart and telling me tofocushad taken on Alex’s dark, hungry eyes and the twist of his lips when he told me he liked sweet things. The combination had me panting in minutes, hips lifting from the bed as an orgasm rocketed through me, a cry spilling from my lips without my permission. And then I forced myself to forget that moment ever happened if I ever wanted to be able to look Alex in the eyes again.

I considered telling her about seeing Alex atIronwoodbut decided to keep it to myself. Bex would encourage any outside male attention in the hopes I could be swayed away from Peter, and my bringing him up would only further pique her interest. Plus, it would require more backstory than I wanted to delve into right now, considering I never mentioned meeting him at the concert.

When I left Alex after the concert and made my way downstairs, Bex had just been pulling up to the curb, citing a long line getting out of the parking deck for why she hadn’t been blowing my phone up with calls after half an hour of radio silence on my part. We drove home, exhausted, and immediately passed out for the next 10 hours.

I hadn’t had a chance to mention Alex or his help. Bex had been distracted on the drive home and didn’t ask how the phone search had gone, and I hadn’t been eager to jump in with descriptions of my interaction with who was, at the time, a handsome stranger.

It felt strange keeping this from her, but it also felt exciting to have a small part of my life that was just mine. A friend uninfluenced by my sister or my relationship. Sure, I was attracted to him, but that didn’t mean anything if I didn’t act on it. Alex and I were just platonic acquaintances who might run into each other by chance.

Chapter9

Her

Except,the next day I set an alarm so I could grab an early coffee before my mid-morning class. I made it all the way through the line, shoulders slumping against my will when I didn't see a dark head of hair at any of the tables or peeking over the tops of the line behind me. But when I reached the front of the line, I felt a familiar presence just as his voice rang out, “Add another of her usual to that order, please.”

His deep voice rang with the slightest hint of authority, causing my fingers to tremble, small splatters of coffee falling onto my hand at the motion. Alex passed over his credit card before I could pull mine out, paying for both of our coffees and ushering me to the side while we waited for them to make another coffee for him - mine, of course, had already been ready when I reached the counter - in one smooth motion.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I saluted him with the cup, careful this time not to lose any more precious drops to shaky hands, and he laughed at the gesture. I didn’t bother trying to fight him on the few dollars; if his expensive taste in clothes was any indication, his “small” business was faring much better than my own.

“No problem,” he shrugged off my thanks, grabbing his coffee when the barista passed it to him over the counter, tapping his cup against mine in cheers before he took a sip, “After all, I owe you for turning me onto this. I was right that day, you definitely had the inside scoop on what drink to get.”

I rolled my eyes, reminding him, “My usual is literally one of the most popular drinks on the menu.” I stretched a finger to point at the menu boards behind the counter, the drink of the month - a cinnamon brown sugar oat milk latte - featured prominently.

He laughed in acknowledgement as we reached the same section of the bar we sat at the day before. We settled in, laptops side by side again, our work interspersed with random conversation and comments about people as they passed by the bank of windows in front of us. More accurately, our work was interspersed withmyconversation, as most of it was one-sided, though it didn’t feel that way. Every time I glanced over at Alex mid-ramble or minutes into a long-winded story, I didn’t find him staring into space or nodding along noncommittally. He was always engaged, adding his input in a few quick words, and seemed content to listen to me chatter along.

When I mentioned Peter and Bex, he told me about a couple of his friends - Wren and Dev - that he worked with often. But his description of his friends was cut off when his phone rang for the fifth time in as many minutes. He finally answered, moving outside to take the call. He met my eyes through the glass, giving me a warm look even as I saw the sharpness of his tone in the way his lips and tongue moved as he spoke. I could see the command in the set of his jaw and it sent a sharp tingle down my spine that I brushed off when he returned inside.

The day after passed similarly, except when I walked into the shop Alex was already sitting at a table, two coffees in front of him. We chatted for a couple of hours, barely bothering to open our laptops, until I had to leave for an afternoon class. The day after that, I got a text early in the morning from Alex, who must’ve still had my number from the night of the concert.

Won’t be able to make it in for our morning coffee. Lunch?

So instead I found myself walking a few blocks from the studio to a local bistro, looking for a set of shoulders that had already become familiar in just a few days. Alex stood in line, and I placed my hand on his arm to get his attention as I walked up beside him, only noticing my clay-dust-covered fingers once I saw the fingerprints they’d left on the fabric of his suit.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking. This is why I’m usually so strict about washing my hands after I get off work. I’ll pay to have it dry cleaned, I promise.” Tears filled my eyes, memories of Peter berating me for ruining his favorite suit in a similar fashion running through my head.

“Ames,” Alex’s strong hands on my shoulders shook me out of the memory, bringing my attention back to him as his eyes bored into mine with sincerity. He gave my shoulders a slight squeeze as he reassured me, “It’s okay. It’s just clay. It’s just a suit. It’ll wash out. And if it doesn’t,” he shrugged in an easy motion, as if the concept didn’t bother him at all, “I’ll buy a new one.”

He tucked a hair behind my ear, tugging quickly on my earlobe in a friendly gesture as he shot me a small, reassuring almost-smile. “Really, it’s okay, I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. Let’s enjoy lunch, okay?”

And it was okay. Something about his reassurances and his promise not to lie eased my anxiety enough to allow my rocketing pulse to even out along with my breathing. By the time we reached the front of the line, Alex’s arm wrapped loosely around my shoulders, I was able to order my sandwich in a steady voice, the threat of tears long-since dissipated.

* * *

The restof the week flew by. I saw Alex almost every day, meeting up for coffee and pastries before work or grabbing lunch between classes, talking until he felt like an old friend instead of a stranger. My afternoons and evenings were split between spending time with Bex and working on my own pieces. With Bex unofficially living with me, we moved from spending all our time together in an attempt at family bonding and instead entered into a roommate-like arrangement. I worked when I had to, she spent her time applying to jobs in the area and hanging out at the apartment, and we spent some time most nights binging shows and lounging on the couch before bed.

I went into the studio early Monday morning, kicking off the next round of summer intensive classes. Our early-morning classes for the week were a beginner’s course, introducing students to the wheel and a few basic pottery designs. The course was two hours, Monday through Friday, with students ending the week with a few hand-made pieces to take home. The intensives were unique to our studio, unlike our usual classes, which were typically only a few hours a week.

June created the week-long intensives to mimic the feel of a summer camp, appealing to those who wanted a quick week of fun rather than a weekly chore. The first had been a week-long camp for kids, with most of the projects consisting of pinch pots and small clay animals. But when kids started aging out of the children’s classes and wanted to pursue the wheel without multi-week commitments, June and I had collaborated to create our current intensives. They became popular enough over the past few years that we had multiple rounds of intensives each summer for various age groups. We mostly catered to older teens, college students home for summer break, and the occasional teacher, remote worker, or retiree. Anyone whose schedule was flexible enough to fit in a few hours a day to pursue their art.

I spent an hour getting the space ready after the weekend - wedging clay, checking on my pieces to be sure the glaze had dried, and washing tools. Just before the class was set to start, I made sure all the stations were clean, sweeping a few bits of dust and debris I missed the night before. I threw pre-weighed balls of clay onto each station and ran into the back of the studio to grab a pitcher of water for wetting the clay. It took me a few moments to find the pitchers, June having apparently undergone a reorganization frenzy early in the morning. By the time I located the pitchers and started to fill one up in the large, clay-splattered sink in the back, I heard June’s high, sweet voice greeting what I assumed were a few of my new students.

Sure enough, I heard June’s jangling bracelets signaling her arrival as she strolled into the back room with me. “A few of your students have arrived! I sent them in to choose their wheels but no rush. I will say, though, I have a good feeling about this class.”

I shut off the tap as the water reached the top of the pitcher, turning around to face her. She wore a flowing brown dress, bringing out the green in her hazel eyes. Her bracelets were all green and gold, earth tones that suited her perfectly. As always, she was free of any sort of clay or dust while my clothes were already streaked with smears of it, and I shook my head at her uncanny ability to keep clean.

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