“Potteryis fine. But pot?—”
Noreen sighs. “Well, that feels like a double standard.”
“Let’s go back to the porch,” I say. I may be crazy curious about Rosalie and Zev Hayes, but I am supposed to be Rosalie’s friend, which requires me to save her in this moment.
“You work on a porch?”
I swallow. How to explain that I fell in love with the space and then avoided it like the plague? Thus, the discombobulatedness that is my life. Noreen would absolutely have opinions on me. So, I say, “This is where all of my equipmentand tools are set up. The cabin is small, but Roman gave me this space to work, and it’s lovely out here.”
I walk Rosalie and Noreen through the kitchen and into the enclosed porch Roman gifted me four weeks ago. Have I really been here that long? Has it been so long since I’ve worked? Since I’ve even sat at my wheel? No wonder I’ve been depressed.
We look out into the woods with pines, ferns, and woodland creatures.
“Very nice.” Noreen smiles with her approval. “Very inspiring. What have you made out here?”
“Um.” My brows knit. “Well, I didn’t move in all that long ago. And we’re newlyweds. And?—”
“Say no more. The first year Kermit and I were married, I spent my days frying up chicken legs and baking chocolate cakes during the day. At night, I’d put on this lacy little nighty and?—”
“Okay,” Rosalie says. “We get it. You were busy.”
“Very.”
I stifle a laugh, and Rosalie’s eyes go wide as she gives me a knowing look. It’s as if we’ve been friends for years and I know that her grandmother likes to overshare. It doesn’t bother either of us.
Willow would love this girl. And she would especially love Noreen.
Noreen claps her small hands together. “What’s first?”
I spend the next two hours teaching Noreen to use my potter’s wheel. I’ve never taught anyone to do anything before. But I think about what works for me and break it into small, simple steps.
“This will not do,” Noreen says, holding up her lopsided ceramic pot.
“It was your first try,” I tell her. “If you want something to give him by Christmas, you’ll probably need to come back soon. Once you have the piece you want, it’ll have to sit for a week or so before we underglaze it and then fire it up in the kiln.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Noreen says as if I’ve suggested as much. “Rosalie has class, so we’ll have to do the evening. Does five-thirty work?”
I smirk. “Sure.” Rosalie’s mentioned school before. “Are you getting your master’s or something?” I ask Rosalie.
“She is an educator.” Noreen nods, clearly proud of her granddaughter.
“I teach second grade in Reno,” Rosalie says.
“That’s nice,” I say. I should have asked more questions about her and Fran. I was so content to stay in the background, to hide, that I haven’t done a very good job at getting to know the women who’ve been so kind to me.
“It wasn’t my first choice. I was sure about education, but I didn’t realize how much I’d enjoy the littles.”
Noreen holds up her clay-covered fingers. No words necessary.
“Oh, right. Um, you can wash your hands in the kitchen. This way.” I walk the pair back through the door that leads to the kitchen, realizing how well Roman has set me up.
“Could I use your restroom?” Rosalie asks. “Gram talked me into an extra-large Diet Coke on the way over here, and I downed it.”
I laugh. “Yeah, of course.” But I stop short. There’s one bathroom in this house. A Jack and Jill bath. Which means she has to walk through a bedroom. Mine, which clearly a man does not live in, or Roman’s, which clearly, I do not live in.
Newlyweds with separate rooms. How am I supposed to explain that?
I swallow. “It’s through my bedroom.” I nibble on my bottom lip, my head reeling. “And Roman might be …naked. One sec.”
