Chapter 6 Matt #2
“Wow. Feeling a little inadequate over here.” I grin to soften my comment, but the only thing I have in common with Sven is above-average height.
“No need. Remember at Lee’s party she snitched on me and basically told you that you’re my type?
” He leans closer. “This?” He waves his hand to indicate all of me.
“So doing it for me.“ He winks. “Anyway, Sven’s major was Philanthropic Studies.” That shocks me and it must show on my face.
“Right? What the heck do you do with that?” He waves his hand.
“I guess his parents were CEOs of some hoity-toity foundations or something, and he planned to follow in their footsteps. So, here I am with this massive crush on the Swedish god across the hall, and we have zero classes together. Obviously I needed to fix that.”
Holding back my chuckle, I attempt a serious expression. “Obviously.”
“So I casually asked him which classes he’d be taking next semester and I signed up for his Ethics & Values of Philanthropy.
My parents couldn’t argue with that since it fulfilled my Social Behaviors requirement to get my degree.
Plus they liked the idea of exposing me to the application of ethics and values in business.
And while it didn’t help me get into Sven’s pants, it did intrigue me and I ended up getting a bachelors in Business and a masters in Philanthropy and Nonprofit Management.
” He laughs. “And now I spend my days asking businesses and the government for money to support Salem’s booming art scene. ”
I like that we both work in the arts, even if for him it’s tangential. “So, no art classes?”
He shakes his head. “Not one, actually. At least at the college level. I did have art requirements in middle and high school. And I had fun trying different mediums. But somehow that didn’t involve any clay.”
“Which was your favorite?”
“Drawing. The kind with pencils, not tablet drawing or anything like that. I loved the simplicity of the paper, the pencil and the subject, and how you could conceivably do it anywhere or on anything. No electricity required.”
I absolutely love his answer because yes, that’s what art is.
It’s the sound of lead scratching against paper, or the snap and crackle of air bubbles popping as clay is kneaded.
Or the swoosh of a brush against a canvas.
It’s personal. An intimate moment between the artist and the medium.
And in my world, I prefer that to be low tech.
Not that there’s anything wrong with art that relies on tech. I just love old-school art.
We continue to talk easily, covering lots of topics, only pausing when Michael brings our food.
We dig in with gusto. Everything is cooked to perfection, absolutely delicious, and neither of us says a word while we have a moment with our meals.
Or at least that’s what I’m doing. But I notice that Jake isn’t eating.
In fact, he isn’t moving at all. He’s staring at me, eyes wide, and I set down my knife and fork and wipe my mouth and cheeks with my napkin, assuming I have sauce on them.
Jake blinks slowly and inhales, finally setting down his own fork and knife.
He clears his throat and takes a sip of his iced tea. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your dinner.”
I glance at my plate and back at him, completely confused. “Did I do something wrong? Is there sauce on my shirt?” I check but don’t see any food stains.
“No. You—um, were obviously enjoying your food.” He clears his throat again.
“Which, I’m glad. The food here is wonderful.
You were just making sounds that made it very obvious.
” His soft chuckle is filthy, and I should probably be embarrassed about the noises I was making—if I was actually making noises.
But the twinkle in his eye and that low, dirty laugh have my body all warm and my dick directing the thoughts playing out in my brain.
Thoughts of ways to make Jake laugh like that again, preferably with less clothing on.
“Was I?” He nods, and I’m not sure what the proper response is to a situation like this. “Sorry?”
He shakes his head, his eyes full of heat. “Don’t be.”
Well okay then. “Excellent pick on the restaurant. Hopefully the pottery experience is as successful.”
“We can only hope.” Jake grins and picks up his knife and fork, digging into his meal again. I do the same, this time keeping my sounds to myself. After another minute of eating, he starts our conversation again. “So, tell me about you. How do you know Lee?”
“Charlie works for the MacDougalls, and I met them all through him. But we also rent the house on the property next to theirs.”
He raises his eyebrows and swallows his bite of food before speaking. “You, Charlie, and your mom, right?”
“Right. We moved here last year after my dad died.”
Jake puts his hand over mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. It was a shock. None of us knew he was in trouble. Not even him. He had a heart attack at work and was gone quickly.” We’re quiet for a minute, and Jake squeezes my hand.
Thankfully he doesn’t try to say anything else.
I’ve processed my dad’s death, but I’m still not in a place to take platitudes from strangers well.
And although Jake isn’t technically a stranger, we’re not emotionally close.
Yet. “My aunt lives in the area, and we came and stayed with her for about six months. She was incredible, giving us someplace to live, taking care of the day-to-day bills and keeping the house in order. Charlie and I helped, but we all leaned on Aunt Charlotte a lot. Eventually, Charlie got a job with the MacDougalls. Luckily they had an opening for a second mechanic to work on their equipment, and he’s amazing with engines and stuff like that. ”
Jake nods. “I remember Lee mentioning something about finally hiring someone to help Uncle Tink. Have you met him? He’s hilarious.”
I chuckle. “All the puns. Right?”
“So many puns.”
“Anyway, a few months later, I lucked into a vacant retail space and got my kiln and other equipment sent here from Eugene. It took me another few months to get things set up properly, then I opened the studio to the public. It took Mom a bit longer to get on her feet. She really struggled emotionally after my dad died. Not that Charlie and I didn’t, but we were still functioning.
Mom—wasn’t. But she eventually got help and worked through things.
When she and her therapist felt like she was in a place to get back to work, she found a job at Salem Hospital.
She’s a registered nurse specializing in pediatric medicine, and they had another nurse retiring.
” Before the silence can get awkward, I take a sip of my drink and turn the question on him. “So how’d you meet Lee?”
“It was a friendship forged over caffeine.” I laugh, and he grins, pleased.
“I’d just started at the Foundation, and was out familiarizing myself with a bit of the city, and happened on French Press.
Well, coffee is my weakness, so of course I had to go inside.
Lee walked in behind me. I ordered my usual triple-shot oat milk Americano and stepped aside to wait for it.
Lee steps up to the counter, looks the barista in the eyes, and orders her signature triple venti, half-caf, soy, no foam, sugar-free vanilla latte with light whip and cinnamon sprinkles.
I had to let her know what an absolutely fabulous choice she’d made.
She beamed, told me she appreciated someone who knew an excellent order when they heard it, and our friendship took off from there. ”
I snort. “I can totally see that happening.”
We manage to eat in between sharing stories, and eventually order espressos and split a slice of the toasted almond cream cake.
Which is a good decision because the single slice is enough for three people.
It’s as delicious as the rest of the meal, and I can understand why it’s Jake’s favorite.
Though I’ll definitely be coming back to try lots of items on the menu, including several of the desserts. Maybe I should get a gym membership.
Just as I’m reaching the talked-out stage, Michael returns. “Thank you both for dining with us tonight, and I hope you stop back soon.” He places the black folder with the bill on the edge of the table, and Jake takes it before I can.
“Will you let me pay?”
Jake shakes his head. “Nope. I told you, this is an apology dinner to make up for me being an ass and getting in your face for no reason.”
He had been pretty angry, but also sassy, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at me. “You were pretty worked up. But that doesn’t warrant paying for my meal. At least let me split it with you.”
“Nope. Where would the apology be in that? And before you say anything about the cost, I have a good job that allows me to treat my friends to dinner, and I picked the restaurant knowing I was paying. Because it’s my apology to you for how I acted.
So no, you can’t pay, chip in, or even leave the tip.
I have it covered.” He pulls out his wallet and places several twenties into the folder, tucking it between the flower and the salt and pepper shakers.
Then he pushes to his feet and pulls on his coat, holding out his hand.
“C’mon. Aren’t you supposed to show me how to do pottery things? ”
That makes me laugh. “Pottery things?”
“Yeah, like make bowls, or mugs, or something.”
I slip on my coat and take his offered hand.
He laces our fingers together, and it’s really nice.
Like, really nice. I try to remember the last time I had this much fun, or had even half this much chemistry with a date, and I can’t recall anything that comes close.
“Hmm. How about this? Anything on the potter’s wheel is going to be messy and will take a few tries before you’ll get something that you’d want to keep.
We can save that for a different date.” I keep talking, assuming he’ll agree to a second or third date, because not seeing him again isn’t an option if I have anything to say about it.
“But we could definitely make something by rolling out clay and shaping it without the wheel.”
Jake sighs. “I suppose we’ll have to postpone our re-creation of the pottery scene from Ghost.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “How will we survive?”
“You’ll have to come up with something equally sexy and entertaining. You up for that?”
Oh, if he only knew how up I’m getting just thinking about it. “I’m pretty sure I can manage something.”