“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Audrey said, breaking the spell.
“Yes,” Michelle agreed. Her throat was parched, and all she’d done was watch. She stood on slightly wobbly knees, allowing Audrey to lead the way downstairs to the kitchen. It was small but cheerful, as bright and inviting as the rest of the house.
Audrey took two glasses from a cabinet and filled them from the water dispenser on the refrigerator, then handed one to Michelle. As Michelle sipped hers, Audrey gulped the whole glass, licking water from her lips when she’d finished and sending Michelle’s mind straight back into the gutter.
After observing Audrey at the pottery wheel, Michelle was seeing her in a whole new light. She’d been so confident, so steady. The student had become the teacher, so to speak, and it only made Michelle want her even more.
“Now the question is, do we follow that with arealdrink?” Audrey asked. “Because I really want you to take a turn at the wheel, and I feellike my chances of convincing you might be higher if I give you a little liquid courage first. So ... what do you say? Should we open a bottle of wine and make more pottery together?”
Michelle should say no. Drinking alcohol while her judgment was already impaired by her rampaging hormones was a recipe for disaster. Or maybe a glass of wine would help calm her down. She was surprised by the tug of yearning in her chest that said shedidwant to try the wheel. She’d be terrible at it, but it looked oddly soothing, and surely she wouldn’t find it as sexual if her own fingers were molding the clay.
“Yes,” Michelle said. “Yes to wine. As for the rest ... we’ll see.”
The wine was a mistake. Halfway through her second glass, Michelle found that her inhibitions were hopelessly blurred. She sat entirely too close to Audrey on the sofa as she waxed poetic on the most influential women in realism, including one of her all-time favorites, Rosa Bonheur.
“Did you know she was so committed to realism in her paintings of animals, not only did she spend days observing cattle and other livestock, but she also dissected their carcasses and even visited slaughterhouses to get a better understanding of their anatomy?” Michelle might never get over the thrill of being able to discuss these topics with someone who was as interested in them as she was. Surely that was the reason she was currently gazing into the azure depths of Audrey’s eyes like they belonged in a painting at the National Gallery. Everything about Audrey was a work of art, and Michelle wanted to stare at her forever.
“I didn’t know that, but I did know she was openly queer, which was incredibly badass of her.”
“Yes.” Michelle smiled into what remained of her wine. “I’ve always loved that about her too. Queer women throughout history are my heroes. Lord knows it’s not always easy even now, but back then? I can only imagine the things she endured.”
“Totally. That’s why I’m so glad people like you and me get to help keep their memories alive. We get to introduce women like Rosa Bonheur to new generations. There’s nothing like seeing a student really engage with the work of an artist they might not have discovered otherwise, is there? And while it still guts me that you don’t have the class, you’re doing the same thing with your book. You’re bringing Eliza St. Claire to life, giving her words and emotions that people will resonate with so much more than a stuffy textbook.”
Michelle’s body felt too warm. Audrey’s praise filled a needy void inside her, a place she had buried so deep she’d almost forgotten it existed. But honestly, when was the last time someone had truly appreciated her? At work? At home? Anywhere at all? Audrey made her feel good, and it wasn’t just because Michelle was attracted to her. She was extremely grateful for Audrey’s friendship.
“Thank you” was all she could think to say. She’d never been good at accepting a compliment, and right now, between the wine and Audrey’s proximity on the sofa, she was even more tongue tied than usual.
“It’s all true,” Audrey said. “Now, what do you say we go upstairs so I can give you a turn at the wheel? I think you’re going to love it. I find it so relaxing, almost meditative.”
Michelle had felt that way watching Audrey, and as she drank the last sip of her wine, she realized she was too tipsy to drive herself home right now anyway. “All right.”
“Yay.” Audrey clapped her hands together, then reached for Michelle’s empty wineglass. “I think I should loan you a shirt, though, unless you can roll those sleeves up really far, and even so ... you might want one of my old T-shirts just to be safe.”
Michelle looked down at her shirt with its snug, cuffed sleeves. It was impractical, just like the idea of Michelle using the pottery wheel. “Oh, maybe I should just—”
“Nope,” Audrey interrupted, obviously having guessed the direction Michelle’s thoughts had taken. “Don’t back out because of your shirt. Just borrow one. Please? We’re going to have so much fun.”
Too much fun, perhaps. Maybe that was why Michelle kept looking for reasons to back out. “Okay. I’ll borrow a shirt.”
Audrey took her hand and tugged, pulling Michelle to her feet, and if their hands lingered for a moment once Michelle was up, surely that was all in her mind. Now that she was standing, though, she felt even tipsier.
“Surely it isn’t a good idea to use the pottery wheel after two glasses of wine,” she hedged, one last excuse.
“What’s the worst that can happen? You make lopsided pottery? That’s probably going to happen your first time anyway. Don’t stress. This is just for fun. So don’t worry about drunk potting ... only drunk driving.”
That drew a surprised laugh from Michelle ... another side effect of the wine. She followed Audrey upstairs and accepted a black shirt to change into.
“You can go into my bedroom to change. It’s got the only bathroom upstairs.”
“Okay,” Michelle agreed, but once Audrey closed the door behind her, Michelle was alone in Audrey’s bedroom, which felt unsettlingly intimate, given her recent thoughts.
The bedroom was decorated in cool, soothing colors. Audrey’s bed was covered with a blue floral-patterned blanket. The paintings on the walls, like the art downstairs, looked mass produced, likely stuff that had come with the house, but there were sculpted items on the dresser that she suspected were Audrey’s. She wasn’t in here to snoop, though.
Michelle quickly changed her top, leaving her blouse folded on the end of Audrey’s bed. When she walked into the hall, she could see Audrey in the studio, setting up the wheel for its next project. Michelle crossed to her, filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
What if she was truly terrible at this? Would Audrey think less of her?
“Ready?” Audrey asked with the kind of smile that made Michelle’s chest feel warm and full, a feeling she was quickly becoming addicted to.
