Page 71 of The Grump I Got Stuck With

Oh, Kenna would love one of those too!

I grinned at her until my cheeks hurt. “Sorry, I’m just so excited. There’s just something, I don’t know…invigorating knowing you can take this bit of molten material and shape it in any way you want.”

“Aye, that’s the beauty of the art,” Lesley said. “You’re taking all this light and heat and shaping them into something solid and beautiful. That’s the part that always sticks with me. The lasting beauty. Even if a piece shatters, you get to melt it down and create something even more beautiful the next time. And with that, you ready, kid?”

I tried not to squeal as I held up my gloved hands. “Let’s do this.”

“Right,” Lesley said, leading me through a door, and I was immediately engulfed in heat. “We call this the hot shop for obvious reasons.”

I laughed, sweat beading along my forehead. I dabbed at it with the back of my gloved hand. It was ten times worse than a sauna.

“Here’s the basic layout,” Lesley said, showing me around. I stared into the furnace where the worst of the heat was coming from. I stretched my neck from side to side, coffee and cake roiling uneasily in my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten before I came. She handed me a long metal pole, and I swallowed down the strange sensation. “This here is a blowpipe. Let’s start with the first lesson. Heating the pipe, then gathering molten glass on the end of it.”

She waved me even closer to the furnace, and my skin prickled uncomfortably. How did she bear this heat?

“First, blow on the pipe to make sure there’s no trapped glass inside.” I blew hard into one end of the pipe, and nothing came out. Lesley nodded, then said, “Go ahead and put the blowpipe through the glory hole and into the pot.”

I choked, the heat making my lungs feel heavy. “The what now?”

Lesley chuckled. “We do have some odd names. The glory hole is the opening.”

Ahh, got it. I could do this. I followed her instructions and let the end of the pipe heat up. Sweat was dripping into my eyes, and I brushed my face against my shoulder.

“You got it. Now scoop up some of the glass in the pot while keeping the pipe level.” My hands were shaking as she walked me through the steps. “You want to slightly rotate it so the glass stays centered on the end of the pipe. Good, good. Now back up a little. Hold the pipe steady and keep turning.”

What started as a tremor in my arms was rapidly taking over my whole body. I blinked hard at the furnace as spots formed at the edges of my vision. My God, was I going to pass out?

“Now, insert the blowpipe back into the glory hole to heat the glass again.” I didn’t move. “You okay?” Lesley asked me.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to blink back the wooziness that kept growing stronger. “Just a little…lightheaded.” I clutched the blowpipe tighter, stumbling back. Lesley caught me with a firm hand.

“We’re going to call it there,” she said, removing the blowpipe from my hands, tapping the end with the glass into a bucket, and then leading me back out to the reception area. She didn’t let me go until I was sitting in a chair, a cold, damp cloth pressed to my forehead.

“Drink,” Lesley said, handing me a kid’s juice box.

I did as I was told, waiting for my head to stop spinning. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Still feeling lightheaded?”

I shrugged. “Not like I’m going to pass out anymore, but a little nauseous and headachy.” I glanced up at her. “I probably just need some time to get acclimated to the heat, huh?”

Lesley gave me a sad, little smile. “No, love. If you had this strong of a reaction to the heat, glassblowing probably isn’t going to be for you.”

My stomach sank at her words. Now I really felt like I was going to be sick. How could that be possible? My thoughts spun, and I clutched my head.

“C’mon,” Lesley said. “I’ll get you over to the Deerhound. Isla will have somewhere you can lie down until you’re feeling better. You shouldn’t be driving back out to Dunhope until the effects of the heat have worn off.”

I nodded, trying not to burst into tears in front of Lesley. I’d wanted so much for glassblowing to become my thing. The thing that would help me feel connected to my mother. The thing that let me carve out a little piece of Scotland for myself. It was supposed to be the niche that made me feel like I belonged.

I was supposed to be freaking amazing at this! At worst, I’d thought that it might take me a while to get good. I’d never imagined I’d never be able to handle it at all.

I gathered my things, feeling like a failure. Lesley led me down the street to the inn; I hardly paid attention to anything happening around me. I vaguely noticed some people talking to us, but I wasn’t able to hear them over the sound of the disappointment crashing in my ears. Isla appeared, and the soft, sympathetic look she gave me as she clutched her very pregnant belly was bad enough.

When Lesley was gone, Isla hooked her arm through mine, and I let her lead me to an empty guest room as I wondered how much longer I could keep the sob trapped in the back of my throat.

“Stay as long as you need,” Isla said. “Just shout if you need anything.”

She closed the door, and I slumped down on the bed, pulling out my phone long enough to text Alistair that I would be late and to have dinner without me. My vision blurred with tears. Then I tossed my phone aside, flopped down on the pillow, and cried.