“Aye. She died a few years ago.”
“Oh,” she said, hands flying to her mouth. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.” Harder than it had been for her. Her own parents had died when she was too young to remember them.
He shrugged, clearly indicating that he didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he shouldered open a rickety door on the far side of the room and disappeared inside.
She trailed after him into the adjoining room, and gasped in wonderment. It was a pottery workshop, complete with a disused wheel. The room, though dust-ridden and forgotten, still retained an aura of creative energy. The wooden shelves lining one wall bore the remnants of clay pots and vases, some fully formed and others still in their fledgling stages. Dusty parchments lay scattered on a worn-out table, their faded lines hinting at unfinished designs.
Charlie ran her fingers along the dusty wheel. She could almost hear the whirring hum of the wheel spinning, feel the wet clay slipping between her fingers as she shaped it with practised ease.
She wondered about Niall’s mother. What kind of woman was she? Did she find solace in crafting beautiful pieces from lumps of clay like she herself did? The thought made her heart ache with a strange sort of kinship.
Niall watched her from the doorway. “Ye seem familiar with this,” he observed.
Charlie nodded without looking at him. “You could say that.”
Familiar? It was more than familiar. It was like coming home. The smell of the place. The feel of the place. It sent a calmness through her that had been missing these last few days.
“I’m a potter too. I studied ceramics—much to my uncle’s disgust,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’ve spent the last couple of years setting up my own business. I’ve been selling my work at craft fairs and the like.”
After the rent on her workshop and kiln and the money needed for supplies, the little she brought in from sales meant she barely broke even but Charlie still wouldn’t have it any other way. The thought of working nine to five for somebody else made her shiver. No way, thank you very much.
Niall said nothing, so she turned to look at him and found him leaning against the doorframe with a bemused little smile on his face.
“What?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Have I got something on my face? I have, haven’t I?” She began rubbing her face with the sleeve of her dress.
Niall laughed, a low rumbling sound that sent a delicious shiver right through her. “Nay, lass, ye dinna have aught on yer face. It’s just that...well, ye say some strange things. What are craft fairs? And, forgive me, but are women normally allowed to study such things in Cardiff?”
“Allowed?” Charlie replied indignantly. “We’re notallowedto do anything! Wechoosewhat we want to do!”
Niall held up his hands in surrender. “My apologies. I didnae mean to offend. Cardiff sounds like an...enlightened place.” He cocked his head as he watched her. “Ye look at home here in the workshop. Dare I say it, but ye almost look...content.”
Did she? Charlie stopped and took a moment to really feel the sensation. She inhaled deeply, soaking in the smell of the earthy clay. He was right. Shedidfeel a strange sense of... something—something other than the disorientation and worry she’d felt since her arrival.
“Perhaps I am.”
Niall’s smile broadened and it was a genuine one rather than the knowing smirk he often wore. This smile reached his eyes and lit them up in a way that made Charlie’s heart lift. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I’ve not seen ye smile much since ye’ve been here. Well, not when ye’ve been sober at least.”
Charlie pressed her lips into a line and gave him a flat look. “Funny.”
Niall grinned, and that mischievous, smug look was back. “I’m just teasing ye lass. Would ye like to use this?”
Charlie blinked in surprise. “Use it? But this is your mother’s workshop. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Ye could. It has been dormant for a long time and I think my mother would like for it to be brought back to life again. If ye want it, it is yers.”
Charlie said nothing, unsure how to respond to this unexpected and generous offer. She looked around the room again, at the dust-covered shelves and the crumbling pots.
She turned back to Niall, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I would love that,” she said sincerely. “Thank you.”
Without thinking, she walked over and pulled him into a grateful hug. He stiffened momentarily in surprise, then his arms wrapped around her, returning the embrace. She could feel the solid planes of his chest pressed against her and the scent of him filled her senses—a mix of fresh breeze and tilled earth.
“Ye’re welcome,” he murmured into her ear, his breath fanning against her skin and sending tingles down her spine.
Charlie pulled away after a moment, flustered at what she’d just done. What was wrong with her? Why did Niall Campbell’s presence make her do stupid, impulsive things?
“Well,” Niall said, raising an eyebrow. “If that’s the reaction I get, I should give potteries to beautiful women more often.”
He was back again, the smooth charmer. Charlie frowned. Well, two could play at that game.
