Page 13 of Watching Ames

“You say that about every class,” I reminded her with a smile, not minding her optimistic attitude. She was always right, after all; I had never had a bad class since working at the studio, since I loved teaching pottery more than I ever enjoyed looking at spreadsheets and tax forms.

“I do, but I really feel good vibes from this group. Not to mention there’s an extremely handsome man in this class.” She infused the statement with vague innuendo; if her face wasn’t always so serene she would have paired those words with a suggestive eyebrow-raise.

I rolled my eyes, reminding her even if the words felt like a lie on my tongue, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m seeing someone. Also I might get in trouble with mybossif I tried dating a student.”

She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Trust me, he’d be getting you into the right kind of trouble,” but before I could even open my mouth in surprise she grabbed an extra set of supplies from the stash next to me. “Also, we had a last-minute addition to the class. I’ll set up the last station while you finish up!” She gave me a pat on the shoulder as she left, materials in hand as she called out, “Have fun!”

I walked back into the classroom, shaking my head at June’s antics, and saw a few students had trickled into the space and chosen wheels. As I got closer to the front of the room, I stopped in my tracks at a familiar set of shoulders taking up the station closest to mine.

“Alex?” My surprised squeak echoed loud enough throughout the classroom that most of the quiet chattering stopped, and my cheeks burned at the feeling of everyone’s eyes on me. I took a few steps closer, Alex’s eyes crinkling in the corners with delight as he took in my surprise. “What are you doing here? And dressed like that?” I gestured at his outfit, a suit-and-tie combo better suited for a boardroom than a pottery studio.

“I came to take a class with you. Showed your card at the front desk when I signed up and everything.” He winked, and it sent a little flutter through my stomach that I quickly smothered. He was clearly the last-minute addition, classes usually filling up weeks in advance. June was usually fairly strict about walk-ins but had made an exception, likely caving after one look at Alex’s face.

“As for the suit, I came straight from a meeting. Couldn’t go home to change. Didn’t want to be late and make a bad impression on my teacher.” This time he gave me an actual smile, the full curve of his lips enough to make me breathless.

I was right that first day we met, when I had thought he had a face that rarely smiled. I had only seen glimpses of an almost-smile the past few days, smirks and curves of his lips that didn’t quite transform his face the way I knew it would. And this smile did, brightening his face and sending the butterflies in my stomach into flight. But it wasn’t just his handsome face and warm smile that affected me. It was the idea of him taking an interest in my interests. Peter had never taken a class with me at the studio, never even offered or asked if I would like him to.

“You’ll ruin your suit!” I protested, but he only shrugged off his jacket, throwing it over one of the empty stools running along the side of the room. His tie followed, until he was left in a navy blue dress shirt that accentuated the darkness of his hair and the golden undertones in his skin. He began to roll up his sleeve in a quick, jerking motion, his forearm muscles tightening with the movement, and I barely smothered an indecent sound before I managed to focus my gaze on his shoes instead. I didn’t even need to look around the rest of the room to know he was the handsome man that had June so flustered; no one else could have compared.

“Better?” He asked smugly, motioning with one hand toward his pared-down outfit. I looked at the tailored fit to his shirt and the silky material that would dissolve if it so much as looked at a stain remover stick, sighing audibly as I stalked away. I returned a few moments later with a thick apron that I threw over his head, attempting to cover as much of his clothing as I could with the small amount of material.

“Is this apron yours? It’s insanely small.”

I ignored the question, both because I wanted to avoid focusing on how the apron stretched over the muscles in his chest but also because he was right and the apron was mine. I had never considered myself small before. My height and weight were average, if not slightly above, and I had a few curves, though they were usually hidden underneath my overalls and baggy band t-shirts.

But I suddenly felt small as I attempted to drape what felt like a minuscule amount of fabric - which usually hung past my knees but instead ended just under his hips - over the top of his suit pants. Alex rolled his eyes as I mumbled a string of obscenities about taking a pottery class in a full suit, leaning in close to whisper in my ear, “I don’t mind getting a little dirty, Ames.”

His voice in my ear sounded eerily similar to the one I imagined whispering in my ear tofocus, and I jerked away from the warmth in his body, hurrying back to the front of the room to allow myself some distance. June was right about one thing: Alex would definitely get me into all the right kinds of trouble.

* * *

The class sped by,and the students left with tired smiles and clay under their fingernails, which I always considered a success. As I waved out the last of the students, I turned to find Alex sitting at my desk, ankle resting on his knee as he reclined in my chair. The apron was off, folded neatly beside him, but his shirtsleeves were still rolled up, forearms splattered with dots of clay after kneading and shaping it for the past two hours.

“Hey,” my voice came out slightly hoarse, and I mentally blamed it on hours of teaching rather than the man sitting in front of me. His lips turned up at the corners in an almost-grin, as if he could read my thoughts. “Enjoy the class?” I asked, grabbing a tray to start collecting dirty tools from each station.

Alex followed behind me, silently taking the tray from my hands and holding it while I piled on tools and bowls full of dirty water. “I did.”

“I didn’t expect you to actually come in,” I admitted, leading Alex to the back of the studio to deposit all the used tools to be cleaned. “I know I gave you the card but I’m sure you’re busy with your job and I really appreciate the gesture but I don’t want to waste your time. I mean it’s nice having you here, and I don’t want you to leave the class but if you can’t afford to be away from your work for this long I can refund you the class and it wouldn’t be a problem -”

Alex let me ramble on a bit, eyes warm with friendly affection, until he finally interrupted me, “Ames, I want to be here. It’s nice, getting to see what you do.”

And that was that. Alex insisted on helping me clean up after class, wiping down tables, mopping despite my objections, and rolling his eyes when I worried over what it would do to his suit, despite the fact that there were already flecks of gray marring the fabric.

After mopping, he found me pulling the last of the student pieces from the previous intensive class out of the kiln, matching the initials on the bottom to the names written out on small slips of paper.

At the end of our week-long intensives, the students were left with multiple pieces of still-wet, unfired, unglazed pottery. It was one of the only downsides to doing such a short class, but to make up for it, June and I offered a full service: their pieces were fired and glazed professionally by one of us. Matching up the pottery with their papers - which also included the color glaze the student chose - helped keep us from slip-ups. He watched silently, only interrupting when I started pulling out my own designs.

“What’re those?” Alex asked, chin tilting toward the plate I was examining with a sharp eye, turning it over in my hands to check for cracks or imperfections.

“Just a custom order from my website. A huge order, actually. A full dinnerware set, twelve place settings, the works. Mugs and serving bowls, too.” I turned to the side, carefully setting the plate on the tall stack I had made with the rest of the set. Moving back to the kiln, I pulled out a couple of bowls, checking them over the same way I had the plates.

“They’re stunning.”

I beamed at his compliment, running my fingers over the gentle curves of the edges of the bowls as I set them down. “Thanks. I was worried how they’d turn out. The customer gave me complete creative control.” My tone must have given away the shock I felt because I heard a small huff of laughter from Alex. I was surprised by how disappointed I felt at missing the look on his face as he laughed, my upper body sunken halfway into the kiln to pull out the rest of the pieces. I dismissed the disappointment as I pushed out the rest of my words. “So I just made plates that I would want to have in my house. If I ever have the time and money to complete such a large order for myself.”

“Maybe you will.”

“Maybe.” I shot him a smile at his vote of confidence as I pulled out the last of the mugs, setting them alongside the now-large stack sitting to the side of the kiln. “Coffee?”

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