Page 71 of Worthy of Sunsets and Second Chances

Oh shit, I didn’t know that.

She continues, “This is not a fucking toy! It’s my art.”

“Exactly,” I say, watching my little dragon get all wound up, and I can envision smoke pouring from her ears. “This is part of you, it’s important to you. You belong out here. Your hands should be messy and covered in clay, not mine. Before, most mornings and evenings you couldn’t drag yourself away from the wheel, the creativity, the calling.” I watch her gulp at my assessment and know I struck a nerve.

“Why do you care,” she bristles.

“Because I care about you, sweetheart, and I know that you have been running from this for some reason and you need to stop. I can be here with you or you can tell me to fuck off, but you need to sit down and make something,” I say sternly.

“I really want to tell you to fuck off,” she sneers at me.

“Do you really?” I pin her with a knowing glare right back.

“No,” she whispers, tears welling as she deflates like a sad balloon.

“Why are you so afraid to be in here again? You love this, it’s as much a part of you as your stunning eyes or your expressive style,” I say, stepping to the sink to wash up and meticulously scrub the drying clay from my hands.

“I’ve had so much taken from me, beautiful things. I loved, love . . . creating my own beauty here and knowing how precious it is and that I get to be that caretaker of it. I am just so tired of taking care of things and having them still be broken, taken. I wanted to reclaim the cabin, this too, but . . . it’s exhausting. I thought it was a sign to give up.” Kendra looks down to her pink Converse that she’s scraping on the cement floor, wiping a tear off her cheek.

“You were born to let your creativity shine, and no matter where you are or who you’re with, it comes out. But this right here, this is a calling on a whole different level. Don’t give up. Please, sit and see how it feels to try and make something again.”

Kendra nods. “Okay, but only if you do it with me?”

“Really?” I ask, surprised.

“Your first real lesson has to start somewhere, Hulk. Come on.” She grabs my clean hands and tugs me toward her supplies, explaining things to me animatedly.

We closed the large garage door to block the cold air, instantly cocooning us in the intimate space. Kendra cleaned up my messy attempt to get her attention and set up what she wanted on the wheel; a deep cream-colored chunk of clay that would become something magical under the direction of her hands.

She sits on her low stool, and I pull up a bench I found in the corner of the garage behind her. My legs are spread wide and Kendra is settled between them. She stripped out of her chunky, rainbow knit sweater that she stormed in here wearing and is left in a tight black tank top and black leggings that make my mouth water.

“Why exactly did you need to take off your shirt?” Kendra asks, eyeing my chest as she’s pulling her hair up into a wild, messy bun that misses some strands of hair, leaving them running rivers of pink and blonde down her delicate neck.

“Didn’t want to get clay on it.” I wink at her.

Rolling her eyes she says, “You had it on when you were making your monstrosity.”

“True, but I was only alone for like five minutes and I was just trying to get you out here.”

“I should quit now just to punish you,” she says sassily.

“You wouldn’t dare, because now that your cute ass is on that stool you are buzzing, ready. I can feel it.” I run my nose along her neck and she shivers.

“Fine, pay attention, Hulk.”

Kendra switches the wheel on, and a low hum fills the space. I’m mesmerized by the spinning and watching the way her hands slip over the surface of the material. Becoming one and commanding it to form into something new all at once. A dance and a flow that Kendra can feel on a visceral level that comes second nature. She doesn’t need a plan, it’s like the clay is telling her what it wants to be and she’s making it happen. She makes it look easy, and I know it isn’t.

“Beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. I grip her thighs, running my hands up and down, molding her body in my own hands.

“Eli,” she groans.

“I like touching you way more than the clay, sweetheart.” I kiss her neck again and she tips it to the side, inviting me to keep going.

“Mmm, yes. It feels so good.” Kendra grinds back into me and I know that she can feel how hard I am against her lower spine, all the while her hands never stop working the clay in front of her, dipping her hand into the water she has next to her when she needs it, bracing the slippery material firmly in her fingers as she moves.

“You’re in charge, Kendra, tell me what you want. You set the pace.”

“Touch me.”