Page 12 of The Embrace of Evergreen
Ethan hasn’t moved since he righted himself after I nearly tackled him to the floor. He’s standing in place, awkward and still blushing, and oh so close to me as I grin and offer my hand.
“Pleasure to finally meet you, cute coffee house guy.” I can’t resist a bit of teasing. I want to see him blush again.
“Likewise.” His palm is warm in mine, his long fingers soft as they wrap and squeeze for the briefest ofmoments, and when his hand releases mine, I already mourn its loss.
“Cam was just fucking around. I’m not going to ask if I can fuck you in the shop.”Really Blue? That’s the sentence you’ve decided should come right after “Nice to meet you”?
His blush returns with a vengeance, but something bordering amusement crosses his face, pulling a dimple into one cheek as he smiles.
“What makes you think I’m not going to ask if I can fuckyouin the shop?”
I’m dumbstruck. I think my jaw is literally sitting on the dirty cement floor. Of all the things I expected to come out of his mouth in response, that wasn’t even a possibility I’d considered.
He laughs awkwardly at my momentary silence. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That is absolutely not a thing I am going to do, and I definitely shouldn’t have made a joke like that while I’m working. I really am sorry.”
God, he is adorable.
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Well, how about we table the conversation about fucking for later, and I show you around the shop?”
He ducks his head in embarrassment. “Any chance we could just forget I said that completely?”
Well,fuck. Maybe I’ve misread him entirely, and the stolen glances I’ve noticed when we’re at the coffee shop have just been him wondering about my hair and piercings and tattoos. It’s not like it’d be the first time I’ve misinterpreted someone’s interest, and I can’t help the disappointment that settles in my stomach, even though I know I should be grateful he’s steering the conversation in a more professional direction. I don’t understand why I’ve been so fixated on him. I don’t believe in love and relationships, and I absolutely need to keep reminding myself that by indulging in anything more than friendship, I’m just setting myself up to get hurt. His rejection is for the best, even if he’s rejecting something that didn’t really exist in the first place.
I offer him a kind smile and gesture to the door. “Sure thing. Shall we?”
I take my time as I show Ethan around the shop, pausing at every station and piece of equipment. His eyes are focused and his questions insightful as I explain the way the large furnace works, how we use each tool to blow and pull and shape glass into the form we envision. There are only three other artists in the shop, but he stops and introduces himself to each of them before asking about their work and process and inspiration. He’s attentive and curious, and after about fifteen minutes, I find myself wondering if he might like a more hands-on tour since he seems genuinely interested.
“You want to try?”
He chokes out a startled laugh. “Glassblowing? Me? I’m sure I’d manage to hurt myself somehow.”
“Na. You’ll be fine. I’ll walk you through the whole thing. What better way to learn about the shop than to try it all out? I have a couple of hours before I have to leave for work, so we have plenty of time for a quick lesson.”
His eyes search mine for a moment before he takes a deep, slow breath and smiles.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I barely manage to bite back a “That’s what she said” comment as I guide him to stand behind the bench. He watches closely as I gather a small blob from the crucible and work through the process of rolling it against the steel table to form a sphere, continuously returning it to the kiln to reheat in order to keep it at a pliable temperature. As I prep the glass, I give him a quick rundown about shop safety.
“Safety rule number one: Always move calmly and slowly because absolutely everything here is time-sensitive, fragile, and extremely…burny…so we move slowly to avoid collisions with the equipment and other artists.”
“Calm and slow. Got it.”
I throw him a grin. “Safety rule number two: First, learn safety rule number one.”
Ethan’s laugh is loud as it rumbles through my chest and dances around the vaulted metal warehouse, and I'm sure anyone not focused on what they're doing glances our way. It's contagious and gorgeous, and it makes me want to try to get him to laugh throughout his entire visit.
“You got that, did you? Most people don't share my love of obscure one-liners from eighties and nineties movies. You look too young for that one though.”
He’s still grinning as the last of his laughter fades. “I am, but I bet you are too. I guess we just share a love of films made before our time.”
A soft ache settles in my chest at the connection. While I have plenty of friends, some of whom I’m genuinely close to, few people share my quirky interests.
I turn my attention back to the glass, heating it and pressing it into a circular form against the steel table once more before stepping up to the bench. Letting myself get distracted by cute freckles and a vibrant laugh isn’t the best idea while working with a pile of lava. With the pipe in one hand, I gesture Ethan over with the other. I expect him to step close to my side, but for some reason, he doesn’t. He steps in front of me, shifting his body backward so that his back is nearly pressed to my front, and the warmth of his body is somehow hotterthan the air in the room, even though we’re only a few short feet from the flames of the kiln. The subtle scent of bergamot and sweet orange drifts up from his hair, reminding me of spiced tea and scarves and long winter nights curled up in front of a crackling fire with a book during the months when the cold salt air is thick enough to sink through layers of clothes and deep into my bones. His fingers brush mine as he takes the pipe from my hands, and I step back quickly, unsure what to make of my racing heart and the way his scent seems to linger even once my body is no longer nearly connected to his.
He spins the pipe slowly for a moment, getting the feel of it in his hand as I move away to press a damp cherrywood block against the glowing orb to round it further. As the glow begins to fade slightly, I point toward the kiln.
“We have to make sure it stays above a thousand degrees, so back in the glory hole it goes.”
