Boone’s baby-blue eyes widen slightly, allowing me to see his amusement more clearly before he says, “Yes, I sell them. The entire process from throwing the clay to glazing takes two to three weeks. I’m not sure what my teaching skills are like, and it’s not hard, but it’s not exactly easy, either. It’s an art.”
“The omelet proves you are good at learning, so maybe you are good at teaching. Have you always been interested in pottery?” I question.
He shakes his head. “No. I started pottery when I moved up here after Becca died. If she knew I was a potter now, she’d call me a liar. Honestly, I needed something to work on with my hands, and I wanted to understand pottery because of the Master Potter.”
“Master Potter?” I’m not following.
“God,” he answers simply. “How He molds us into something from nothing. I guess I wanted to try to understand Him more after everything.”
I haven’t been to church in years, well, really since my dad died. Kevin and I went to church on Sundays with him while my mom stayed home. It’s not that I’ve forgotten about God. I believe He exists, believe my dad is in a better place. I don’t even blame God for the cancer. Even at seventeen, I knew how broken our world was. I just kind of leaned more away from, than into, God. Still appreciating Him, but not exactly seeking Him out.
“So, did it help?” I ask.
“I’m still in theprocess of understanding. Not sure I’ll evernotbe in that process,” he says softly.
“So, what did you do before pottery?”
“I was a surgeon, actually,” he answers, and my mind flip-flops.
“An actual surgeon? Like scrubs, mask, that funny looking cap, scissors, and real-live surgery where you cut people open and fix them?” I ramble, because honestly, I don’t know what else to do. Boone does not look like a surgeon at all. Not that I know what all surgeons look like. I’ve never had surgery.
“No, I meant the game of Operation,” he teases, standing up to poke at the logs in the fireplace.
“It’s just, you don’t seem the surgeon type,” I say.
He nods his head. “Well, I was once Dr. Montgomery.”
“So, do you miss it?” I ask, watching as the sparks sprinkle like flaming confetti as the logs move around.
Boone gently places a new log on the fire. “Not really. I worked hard for it—thirteen years of school and residency, but I don’t really wish I was back in an operating room.”
“That’s a long time,” I say. My schooling took four years, and yes, I worked hard to climb the ladder to be where I am today, but the commitment didn’t seem as intense as becoming a doctor.
“Well, enough about that. Can I ask you a question?” He brushes his hands against each other, flecks of bark falling to the ground.
“Sure.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
“Coffee,” I answer swiftly.
“Coffee isn’t a food.”
“It literally comes from beans, Boone. It’s 100 percent a food, and the majority of my daily caloric intake,” I defensively argue. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Bananas.”
I squint at him. “There are no bananas in this house.”
“Well, I don’t really like the bananas themselves. I like when I have bananas and I let them sit on my counter until they turn black, and my mom comes up and makes banana bread.”
I internally grin at the thought of Boone buying bananas just so his mom can make him something he loves. “So, you’re close with your family?”
He nods his head. “I am. I grew up around here and moved back after Becca. My parents have been happily married for forty-two years, and I have a younger sister, Camryn. She’s married, has three kids and a goldfish. She lives out in California. I see my parents at least once a week and talk to Camryn often.”
“Are they back for Christmas?”
Boone shakes his head. “Christmas in California with Trevor’s family, my brother-in-law. It was just going to be me and my parents, not that I do Christmas. I just usually go eat.”
