Present Day
My alarm goes off at five. Kerry springs out of bed, bursting full of energy. I have no idea where all that comes from. She slips on her dress, slings her hair into a knot, and swoops in on me for a kiss. She thanks me for taking care of her last night, and then she’s off. She yells that she’ll text me later and that, hopefully, we can hang out for dinner again.
Hang out. I’ve got to get that phrase out of our vocabulary.
I spend most of the day sketching out another piece of the large tattoo I’m working on. Part three of four. We don’t get a lot of day business during the week, but we’ve had a few customers today since we opened.
It’s nearly four in the afternoon before I realize how much of the day has passed. I take my phone from my pocket. No texts.
I send one to Kerry just in case she got caught up in the day like I did.
Hey, how is your day so far?
As I put my phone back into my pocket, Padraig comes through the door with that weird grin he’s had ever since he’s been hanging around Stella. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Stella is really getting under his skin—in a good way.
I could pester him about it. Ask him a million questions. Make suggestive jokes about their relationship.
But I don’t.
Why?
Because I’m not Padraig. I don’t incessantly meddle in people’s lives.
“Hey, Luca. Stella is probably going to be here soon, but I have something I want to tell you before she gets here.”
“What is it?”
“Kerry got fired today. For real this time, I think. I don’t know, but she was pretty upset this morning. Not that you would care, but just thought you should know.”
He winks at me and walks back to his room.
I pull out my phone again. No response from Kerry. I text her again, asking if she’s okay. Just as I hit Send, Stella comes in.
“Hey, Luca, is Padraig here? I just got off the phone with him, and he said he’d meet me here.”
Before I can answer, Padraig comes out and walks over to Stella. “Aoibhinn,” he says, and then I quit listening. I’m staring at my phone, hoping she will respond, willing my phone to buzz with a message from her.
I look up to see Padraig and Stella in an embrace I’m not sure is suitable for an audience.
“Sooo, the studio is empty. I’ll lock up and leave you guys to it.” I get no response, not that I expect to with the way they are lip-locked to each other.
I exit the shop and walk my way down River Street. I decide I’m going to check on Kerry. On my walk there, I make a phone call.
I knock on Kerry’s apartment door.
She opens the door. Her face is dreadful. Her eyes are puffy and red like she’s been crying for a while. But she smiles when she sees me.
She wipes her face and runs her hands over her hair. It’s in a messy bun, and aside from the fact that she looks worn out, she looks beautiful.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. A birdie told me you got fired.”
“An Irish birdie or a red-headed birdie?”
“Irish.”
“Yeah. But Stella says I’ll be okay. She’s going to go to bat for me. I believe her. I’m just . . . tired.”
She opens her door wider and lets me come in. As soon as she closes the door, I wrap her in a hug. She hugs me back tight, and we stand there for a minute.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
She shakes her head.
“Well, I have some plans for you and me, if you’re up for it.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“First, we get you some food. Then, I have a surprise that might help you.”
“Okay. I like how you’re talking.”
“Do you need to get ready or anything?”
“Yeah, let me just rinse my face and maybe do something with my hair. Do I need to dress up?”
“Definitely not. Wear something you can get dirty.”
“Oh.” She smiles wickedly. “Okay.”
I sit and wait while she gets ready. About ten minutes later, she emerges in a long T-shirt, tight jeans, and sneakers. “Is this okay?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Great. Let’s go. I need food and dirty surprises.”
We grab some street noodles from her favorite Thai place. We walk and eat. She tells me about what Rachel did. About how she accused Kerry of flirting with someone and wouldn’t let her facilitate the tea she was supposed to host today. Kerry said she’d see it through since it was planned, but Rachel threatened to call the authorities on her if she showed up. That woman is certifiable.
I guide Kerry to Clay & Soul.
“What are we doing here?”
“I called in a favor. We have the shop to ourselves for a while. I figured you could sit at the wheel. Relax. Unwind.”
I pull out the keys I’ve had from Laura for some time. I unlock the door, escort Kerry in, and relock the door.
“Well, what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing, really, but I would love to sit behind you. Feel your fingers work their magic with the clay.”
“You’re making me blush.”
“Not trying to. All I’m trying to do is make your day better.”
We set up the pottery wheel. She sits on the stool, and I grab another stool and sit behind her. She starts the wheel and begins working the clay. I rub my hands down her arms, and her hands fold into the clay, which flops lopsidedly on the wheel. Kerry laughs. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. Let me start over. Then give me some kind of signal.”
“I thought my hands were a signal.”
“Something a little more subtle.”
“Okay.”
She starts the wheel again. As her hands mold the clay, I clear my throat. She nods. I slide my hands down her arms and gently place them over hers. I feel her hands move, her fingers bend and flex. I lean my forehead into the back of her neck. I close my eyes. I inhale her scent as I let her fingers guide mine over the clay.
The feeling is more than I can explain. It’s one thing to watch her do this, but to feel her do this . . . I feel it deep. And not in my groin. In my gut. In my chest.
I let her move my fingers through the curves and the creases until she stops the wheel and inhales a deep breath. She leans back into me. I kiss her neck. She slaps a cold, muddy hand into my hair and breaks out into her Julia Roberts laugh. I grab her by the waist and spin her stool around. I cup her face and kiss her.
“This is pretty amazing,” she says, breaking away from my lips.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I feel like we re-created some version of the scene from Ghost.”
“Wow. I didn’t mean for it to be that cheesy.”
“It wasn’t cheesy to me.” She scoots closer. “Did you get out of it what you were hoping?” she asks.
“I wasn’t really hoping for anything except to try to feel how you feel when you sit here. So, yes, it was pretty incredible.” I kiss her again.
“I need to clean my hands,” she says.
“And I need to clean my hair, apparently.”
She tosses me a towel, and I rub it over my hair, trying to make do.
“Can I see what’s in your private room?” she asks, drying her hands.
Still sounds as dirty as the first time she said it.
“Sure.”
I take her to my room and show her my sculpture, which I haven’t worked on since that day.
“This is impressive. How far along with it do you think you are? It looks pretty much complete to me.”
“I’d say about eighty percent complete. The rest is just detail, really.” I run my hand over the top of the sculpture, and she places her hand on top of mine. I glance at her and see a mischievous look in her eye.
“Are there any cameras in here?”
I shake my head.
“How long do we have this place to ourselves?”
I reach over and lock the door. “As long as we need.”
She kisses me, and we proceed to christen my private studio room on the floor right next to my partially completed sculpture.