I tried not to think about how his eyes had lit up when he talked about his work. Or how his stutter had almost disappeared when he explained the glazing process. Or how he’d looked at me like I was someone more interesting than another tourist passing through.
He could be married or living with a lovely orc lady for all I knew. Gay. Or completely uninterested in looking at a woman like me.
After lounging in my room for a few hours after my walk, I made my way to the pottery barn, arriving early. I figured I could hide in the back and watch. Talk with him after if he was so inclined.
The sound of voices carried from the barn, and when I got close enough to see inside, I stopped short.
There had to be at least twenty people crowded into the space, maybe more. Families with kids, couples, a group of older women who looked like they were on some kind of tour. Such a huge group to handle all on his own.
Hail was hustling around, helping two to three people at once, his hair askew and his face tense with dismay.
Tressa sat on her bed in the corner, her amber eyes fixed on Hail. She kept whining, and I assumed she was worried about him. Well, I was too. When she spotted me in the doorway, her ears perked forward, and her tail flopped on her thick bed. She trotted over and nuzzled my hand while I gave her lots of pats.
Sitting beside me, she watched the group.
“So everyone has-has-has their clay,” Hail was saying, his stutter more pronounced than yesterday. “You want to k-keepit-it-it moist while you work, and remember that clay is-is-is forgiving. Don’t wo-worry about making mistakes.”
A little girl near the front raised her hand. “Can I make a unicorn?”
“A unicorn?” Hail blinked at her. “I… Well, I suppose you could try. But maybe start with something s-s-simpler? Like a bowl or a-a?—”
“I want to make a dog,” a boy called out.
“How thick should the sides be for a bowl?” a woman asked.
“The side of mine has a crack in it,” someone else said. “Should I squish it down and try again or get more clay? This clay could be defective. Maybe that’s why it won’t work for me.”
The questions came from all directions, and Hail’s confidence was crumbling in real time. He kept rushing from one person to the next, but I could see he wasn’t able to handle even half of what this group needed.
Tressa watched him with what I swore was wolfy concern on her furry face. With a soft whine, she gently latched onto my hand and tugged me farther into the room, stopping and sitting again.
From the irritation on their faces and the way they kept fidgeting, I could tell this group wanted to get their projects done now, not have to wait for him to show them techniques.
“Well, for the dog, you’d want to… But the bowl is…. And if it has a crack, just…” He stopped talking altogether, the tips of his pointed ears flushing dark green.
A woman near the back was struggling with her clay, trying to shape what might be a mug. It was falling apart in her hands.
“I don’t think I’m doing this right,” she said to no one in particular.
When Tressa gently butted my thigh, nudging me toward the woman, I shrugged and walked over to join her.
“The clay might be a little too wet,” I said, taking in her collapsed attempt. “Try adding a tiny bit of dry clay to the outside. It’ll help it hold its shape.”
She looked up at me with a welcoming smile. “Are you one of the instructors?”
Before I could answer, Hail’s voice carried across the barn. “That’s-that’s exactly right, Allie. Moisture content is really important for-for structural integrity.”
He watched me with relief in his gorgeous dark eyes.
“Yes.” I made a split-second decision. “I help Hail with the classes.”
He gave me a long look but said nothing.
“Thanks for your help.” The woman began working the mug again, incorporating dry clay and slowly reforming the outer surface.
A teenage boy across the room called out. “My dog’s head keeps falling off. Can someone help?”
I looked at Hail, who was trying to help two people at the same time, and made another quick decision.
