Page 46 of Catching Flynn

She nodded. “Thursday nights.”

His brain immediately offered up a vision of clay under his hands, mess, texture, making something ugly and lopsided with his own two hands and calling it art anyway. The thought landed in him with embarrassing force. He had chickened out of enough things. Painting class. Other things. Bigger things. Pottery, though. Pottery sounded grounded. Real. Like maybe he could make a bowl and feel weirdly triumphant for a month.

“I would absolutely join,” Flynn said, too fast and far too eager, then kept going because excitement made him talk too much. “Yes. Fully yes. Enthusiastically yes. If you hand me a lump of clay, I’ll emotionally commit.”

Adele brightened. “Really?”

“Please.” Flynn hugged the wine to his stomach for a second before setting it down. “My social life involves stalking, misplaced tools, and extremely vocal sex. Pottery sounds wholesome.”

Flynn froze, lips parted, face a ball of nuclear fusion. “I…had no intention of revealing that, Adele. Excitement affects me in the weirdest way. I meant no disrespect.”

Just one lousy space rock is all I need. Small one, aimed directly at my location.

Her eyes widened, then she laughed into her hand.

“Crap,” Flynn muttered. “That one escaped because clearly it was dying for someone to know.”

Ironically, the one person Flynn had been mortified to talk with about sex, was the same person he’d just blurted intimate details to.

Their friendship was starting off fucking fabulously.

“I appreciate honesty.” Adele squeezed his arm. “I also like messy cinnamon rolls. So much fun to hang with.”

“I am surrounded by the strangest people,” Flynn muttered. Which reminded him, he needed to call Zack. Flynn had been busy having his entire nervous system rewired since that morning.

At the front window, Zavier moved farther down the sidewalk with his phone to his ear, his voice too low to carry through the glass. Flynn tracked him for half his movement, then dragged his attention back to Adele before he glowed even brighter and started blinding people.

“Do you have a flyer or something?” he asked.

“I left it in my bag.” She glanced toward the back. “Could I use your bathroom first?”

“Yeah, sure. Through there, past the cookbooks.”

“Thanks.”

Adele headed down the aisle, sandals thudding lightly against the worn linoleum.

Flynn watched until she disappeared toward the back hall, then sagged a little on the stool.

Pottery class. He was going to take pottery. It felt almost suspiciously normal. His life lately had become so unhinged. A clay bowl and a check mark on his social calendar sounded like spiritual healing.

The bell over the door jingled again.

Flynn looked up and found himself smiling automatically. “Morning..”

The carrier stepped inside with a neat stack tucked under one arm, his blue shirt crisp. His expression was easy and familiar. Same as always. Same route. Same face Flynn saw nearly every day, and somehow still could never remember the guy’s name. Flynn felt kinds bad, but was always too embarrassed to ask.

Probably would’ve forgotten it again even if Flynn had asked.

“Morning, Flynn.” He held up a few envelopes. “Got your usual.”

Sunlight caught in the glass door behind him, making the whole front of the shop brighter. Flynn took the mail and sorted through it without much interest. Utility bill. Flyer. Something trying to sell him internet service he already had and couldn’t afford.

“Any beach trips for me?” he asked.

“Nothing fun today.” The man’s smile stayed in place.

“Sounds about right.”