Playing with Forever

Chapter 41: Clay and Opal

Sam took me on a date that night to distract me from Tristan. He'd convinced a local pottery studio to stay open late so we could go after Birdie took over with the boys. I was a little reluctant to go, feeling emotionally exhausted from everything with Tristan and the fight earlier that day, but in the end I let Sam convince me.

The studio was covered in clay, both dried stuff splashed from wheels, and half-finished projects everywhere. It was bright and cozy and I immediately loved it and its earthy smell.

I'd done hand-building before, but hadn't ever thrown on a wheel. I'd told Sam months before that I'd always wanted to try it, and here we were, trying it out. He was too good at remembering trivial things I said and making them a reality, and I loved him even more for it.

We had two wheels, one for each of us. First I watched Sam throw, watched him go through all the motions. He centered the clay on the board, and I watched as it spun around and around cradled in his hands. I'd always loved being cradled like that by him, and I found myself envying a block of clay.

It looked like delicate work, yet Sam did it with such ease, such confidence, that he made it look easy. So when it was my turn to try, I was surprised by how difficult and exacting it was.

"Why is this is hard?" I puffed, my clay getting off center on the board for the dozenth time.

"You are pushing too hard," Sam said. "Like this." He came up behind, wrapping his arms around me so his hands could shape mine. His body pressed against mine and it distracted me from the clay. My blood started to heat pleasantly, and I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. I liked it.

He started humming a song in my ear, and I questioned what it was. "What are you humming?"

"It is from a movie called Ghost," he said, a secretive smile on his lips. "If you were born in the nineties, you would get it."

"Rude," I said. "Show me later."

"It is sexy," he warned me.

It was, what we were doing--him with his arms wrapped around me, molding my hands in his. His cheek rested against mine, and I felt the rasp of his stubble against my skin, and each scratch of it sent warmth throughout me. For once, I was okay with him coming up behind me, even with everything that Tristan had done earlier that day. I was comfortable with Sam. He was my Sam, and I trusted him. It was a breakthrough, nonetheless, and happiness danced inside of me, sending butterfly wings fluttering in my belly.

Focus, I said to myself. You've always wanted to do this, so pay attention.

I turned my attention away from my delectable boyfriend and focused on the clay in front of me.

After a while, I got the hang of it, and Sam left me to do it on my own. He got down to work on his own wheel, and we crafted side by side.

The earthy smell of the clay made my nose tickle, and I couldn't fight off a sneeze. I automatically brought my arm to my face to smother it, and smeared clay on my face. I startled at the cool, slick feeling of it, and my movement caught Sam's attention. Seeing the clay on my face, he didn't hold back a laugh.

With a playful glare, I raised my clay-slicked hand and gently wiped some of it on his face. There, we matched.

His smile was so earnest, so endearing, that I almost had to look away. His emotions were so strong, and though I felt them, too, they scared me sometimes. As if sensing this, he looked away first, going back to his pristine vase.

Ten minutes later, I had molded a lopsided bowl, and I was fiercely proud of it.

We had to leave our projects behind so they could be fired in the kiln, and so we picked out glazes for the owner of the studio to use for us. I ran my fingers over the little samples of each beautiful glaze, the smooth texture glassy beneath my skin. There were brilliant blues and earthy greens, as well as browns and reds and all sorts of shades in between. I stopped at a little tile covered in a whitish glaze, coated in translucent iridescence.

I turned to Sam with a smile. "I want this one."

"Opal?"

"It's my favorite gemstone."

The studio owner wrote down our preferences—Sam wanted a moss green for his vase—and we left soon after with heartfelt thanks for letting us come in and use her studio.

"Come back any time," she said, waving us off.

"We will," Sam assured her before taking my hand and guiding me back outside and into the car. I'd like that, going back. I'd had a lot of fun.

"Thank you, Sam," I said after we got settled. "That was just what I needed."

"Anything for my girl," he replied with an indulgent smile thrown my way. "Mind if we get gas?"

"Sure. I don't think I got all the clay off, so I'll go try and wash it." Despite having washed up at the studio in a very messy sink, I still had a clay smear on my cheek that was starting to itch as it dried. It was still in my nailbeds, too.

Sam was already back in the car by time I left the bathroom. As I walked towards the car, I saw a man walking by throw an appraising look at it. I weas used to people looking at and appreciating Sam's vehicle. I wasn't into cars, but even I knew it was worthy of being coveted by those who were.

Sam gave the man a nod but focused his attention back on me when I got in the car. I got settled in with my seatbelt, but before Sam drove off, he handed me something.

"What's that?" I asked stupidly, knowing perfectly well what it was.

"It is for you."

I took what he was offering, staring in surprise. It was a cheap gas station novelty gift, a ring with a spilt bottom so you could adjust the size. The stone, though, was a faux—"Opal," I said, face beaming.

"Your favorite," he said. "Someday, when you are ready to let me buy you nice things, I will buy you a real one. This one will probably turn your finger green."

I gave him my hand, and he slid it on to my middle finger. He leaned over and gave it a kiss once it was in place. I put my hand to his face and kissed him back, thanking him for his thoughtfulness.

My boyfriend was undoubtedly the best.