Chapter 44
Forty-Four
More than two weeks later, I have met with Noreen five more times. I have created a set of bowls for my mother, and while I am anxious to give them to her, they look like Mom to me. I think she’s going to love them.
I made a long-necked vase with etched roses for Fran and Callum’s wedding. And I made an entire teacup set for Fran’s soon-to-be mother-in-law.
My hands are dirty, and my heart is full.
I’ve spent multiple hours carving and painting the very first piece I made in this cabin.
The bowl that I crafted without a plan and only my heart.
I’m using a peacock glaze technique to give it a watery, iridescent, color-shifting effect.
It’s fantastic. I’m calling it my “soul piece,” made without any direction or a plan.
Just like I married Roman. And it’s going to be Roman’s Christmas gift. A piece of my soul.
Noreen holds up the coffee mug she’s finally completed for Kermit. “It’s lovely.”
And it is.
She’s made a bowl-shaped mug, and I taught her to apply a drip-glaze. She went heavy on one side, but the green she chose is pretty, and the piece is unique.
And she loves it.
“I’m so proud of you, Gram,” Rosalie says.
“You know, I’m quite proud of myself.” Noreen looks from her granddaughter to her mug to me. “Same time next week?”
“Ah—next week is Christmas.” I bite my inner cheek. I’m not rolling in cash, but this little gig has made me a fair amount of money the past two weeks. And if I could get a few more clients, I could actually contribute to groceries, maybe even our mortgage. “What about the week after?”
“Lovely,” Noreen says again. “You know, your little jungle house is growing on me, Stella. I quite like spying the woods as the mud slides through my fingers.”
“Grammy.” Rosalie sighs, flicking her eyes to the ceiling of my porch.
I laugh. “I like that too, Noreen.”
“Thanks, Stella,” Rosalie says, pulling me in for a quick hug. I’ve gotten used to her hugs. I’ve gotten used to everything about this life.
I walk my friends to the door and say goodbye. On the way, I spied a large box wrapped horribly beneath our tree. Shutting the door, I tiptoe over to our monstrous tree and peek at the tag. Maybe he decided to wrap Mason’s soccer ball.
Only—that tag reads: Stella.
It’s for me.
Roman got me a gift. And sure, his bowl, “soul piece”—I’m literally giving the man a piece of my soul—is wrapped and hiding in my closet and didn’t cost me anything more than what I’d already spent on pottery supplies.
What is in that box?
I reach down, deciding I should probably check the weight and give it a little shake, when—
“Hey!” Roman yells.
My heart skips a beat, and I leap away from the gift and tree. The back of my legs smack into the couch, my arms flail, and then I’m down—but at least the couch is there to catch my fall.
I slap my hand over my beating heart and listen to the cackling of my husband.
Roman peeks his head over me, peering down as I lie on my back, collapsed on the couch.
“You’re laughing at me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, just getting the words out as he is still laughing.
Roman leans down, filling my senses with cedar and pine.
He presses a soft kiss to my lips, one that spreads tingles over every inch of my skin.
“I’m going to make dinner,” he says, standing straight and moving toward the kitchen doorway. “No peeking, Stella!”