When the waitress came to the table, they both ordered Thai tea, green for her and regular for him.
"How was your day?" Dylan asked him after the waitress walked away.
"Frustrating," Clay answered. "Everything I touched tried to fall apart." He held up a hand. "Including my hand."
Dylan winced when she saw the scrapes on his knuckles. "Ouch. I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Comes with the job."
"What were you making when you hurt yourself?"
He shook his head. "I was still working on the rocking dragon for my nephew. It's still not quite right. I'm trying to shape the rockers to look like fire but still move smoothly and it's a bitch."
"Do you have any pictures?" she asked.
"Sure. I've been sending them to my sister to see what she thinks." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through until he found one. "Here."
Dylan's eyes widened. "This is gorgeous," she whispered. "It looks like art."
"Nah. Just a present for my nephew."
"This will be a family heirloom," she argued.
Feeling a little embarrassed, he took his phone back and tucked it in his pocket. "I'm sure he'll tear it up before too long."
"If nothing else, you should put those pictures on your Instagram or Facebook pages."
Clay made a face. "I don't use them."
She blinked. "What?"
"I don't like them."
"How do you sell your work?" she asked.
"In local shops and stuff."
"Do they have social media?"
Clay shrugged. "I don't know. I do okay though. Between the shops and word-of-mouth, I do well enough."
Dylan leaned forward. "Clay, if the rest of your work is half as beautiful as that, you at least need an Instagram account. You could sell twice as much work."
"I don't like it."
"Have you even tried it?" she asked.
"No one needs to know every little detail of what I'm working on. And I'm certain no one wants to see my ugly mug on their phones."
Dylan frowned at him. "You're not ugly. You're masculine and striking."
Though it pleased him, he grunted and nodded at the waitress when she set his Thai tea in front of him. Now he felt hot from embarrassment rather than lust. Clay grabbed his drink and took a quick gulp.
"Look," Dylan said, bringing out her own phone. "This is the account I run for the bookstore." She pulled up the store's profile and showed him the pictures. "I post every day or two and you wouldn't believe how many people follow us. Some of them even come to the shop to buy books."
Clay grimaced. "I don't want to keep up with it," he said. When Dylan narrowed her eyes at him, he asked, "What?"
"Nothing."
