It’s swirled and flared at the end, and when I pull back, the long stem will form an abstract glass bouquet that I’m crafting for a commissioned piece by a private client.
Glasswork takes patience, and I love its meditative rhythm.
My life as an architect, especially here in Manhattan, is exhilarating and fast-paced. I work with some of the most brilliant, driven people I’ve ever met. But my Southern roots still crave stillness.
This studio gives me that.
A moment of quiet in the chaos.
My alarm goes off, startling me a few minutes later. Shocked that two hours have gone by already.
I clean up my area, wave goodbye to a few other early morning artists who rent the space, and then text Addie that I’m on my way.
Not that she’ll answer; it’s eight in the morning, and she’ll be drooling into her pillow for at least another two hours.
When I first moved to New York and joined M-Squared, I tried to come here after work. But by then, my creative well had already run dry. Now I go first thing in the morning, and I even run here most days, which lets me get in my exercise all at once.
Luckily, Addie lives close by, where I can shower and get ready for work.
Mornings like these are typically my favorite.
The perfect way to start a workday, where I get to do what I love, then steal a cuddle from my bestie.
But not today.
I sent Corey a text earlier, letting him know I’m flying home to Georgia to see him this weekend.
Little does he know it’s to end what should never have happened in the first place.
Although that’s not even the real reason for the weight on my chest, the culprit of my anxiety is Nate.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw him.
Two weeks have passed since he dropped the devastating truth about his past.
He had to rush off to London the next day. There was a problem at one of the job sites, and I haven’t heard a peep from him.
Not that he owes me anything, but after his confession, I feel like he purposely ran away, letting me take it all in so there wouldn’t be a chance of an interrogation, knowing I can’t let things go easily.
But he’s coming back.
Today.
And I can’t stop the rapid beat of my heart or the excitement, no matter how many times I try to pretend I don’t care…my heartbeat keeps betraying me.
“Madeline Cunningham?”
My head shoots up, startled by the interruption.
“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
The young intern hands me a bag, and the instant heavenly scent of greasy goodness fills my nose, prompting my stomach to growl with hunger.
“This was delivered to my desk by accident. It’s got your name on it.”
“Thank you so much,” I reply, and she scurries off before I can ask her name.
I open the bag to find a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll with salt, pepper, and ketchup, obviously, because I’m a real New Yorker now.
