Chapter Three
Piper
The Starlight Bay Public Library's community room had been transformed into a cozy workshop space.
Someone had arranged a display of holiday picture books on the windowsills, and a small decorated tree twinkled in the corner.
The librarians had gone all out with decorations—snow globes on the checkout desk, a collection of nutcrackers marching across the mantle, even a menorah and kinara displayed respectfully near the world cultures section.
Only about a dozen people had signed up for the Thursday afternoon ornament crafting session—perfect for maintaining our couple charade without having to cater to a huge crowd.
I'd arrived early to help set up, spreading supplies across the round tables while Walt Mackenzie prepared his demonstration area.
Walt had been teaching art at the high school for thirty years before retiring, and now he ran workshops with the easy-going way of someone who'd survived three decades of teenagers wielding paintbrushes.
His paint-stained flannel and Red Sox cap were as much a December fixture in Starlight Bay as the town tree lighting.
"Piper, your doctor friend coming today?" Walt asked, sorting paint bottles by color into a pretty rainbow gradient.
"He's finishing up at the hospital. Should be here soon." I checked my phone—quarter to four. Rhett had texted that he was running late but on his way.
"Good to have new blood in town," Walt mused, squirting paint into small paper cups. "Especially someone willing to pitch in with community events."
The door opened and Rhett hurried in, wearing khakis and a navy button-down that looked hastily tucked, his hair damp as if he'd just washed up. His face brightened when he spotted me.
"Sorry, emergency surgery ran over," he said, crossing to our table. "Had to change at the hospital." A few heads turned as he passed—Dr. Thornton was still a novelty in our small town, especially one who looked like he'd stepped out of a prime-time medical drama.
"Everyone, this is Rhett," I announced, knowing the introduction was expected. Several people I didn't recognize were here—probably weekenders up from Boston for the holidays. "He's new to Starlight Bay, working at Cape Cod Regional."
"Welcome, Doctor," Mrs. Henshaw called out from her table, already elbow-deep in glitter. "We heard Piper snatched you right up! Smart girl—handsome doctors don't stay single long in small towns."
Heat crept up my neck, but Rhett handled it smoothly. "More like she took pity on me," he said easily, settling beside me. "Still learning my way around town. GPS had me taking the scenic route through three residential neighborhoods to get here."
"Can't trust those things," Mr. Peterson chimed in from the next table. "Just take Main to Elm—library's right there."
"I'll remember that," Rhett said, and I could tell he would.
Walt cleared his throat, bringing everyone's attention to the front. "Well then, let's begin! Today we're creating glass ornaments. I'll demonstrate the basic technique, but remember—ornaments are personal. Let them reflect who you are."
He showed us how to remove the tops from clear glass balls, drizzle paint inside, swirl it around to create patterns, then add glitter or sand for texture.
"You can also paint designs on the outside once the inside is dry," he explained, holding up a sample decorated with delicate candy cane stripes.
"But this is just one approach. Feel free to create your own vision. "
I picked up a clear glass ball, already envisioning swirls of purple and turquoise with gold accents—my favorite color combination since forever. Beside me, Rhett studied the sample ornament with an intensity that made me bite back a smile.
"Going to replicate Walt's exactly, aren't you?" I teased quietly, selecting my paints without overthinking it.
"How did you know?"
"Lucky guess." I grabbed three paint colors—purple, turquoise, and gold—squeezing them into separate cups. "What about adding your own twist?"
"I like knowing the expected outcome." He selected navy and silver paint, pouring them into small cups. "Predictability has its merits."
We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes.
I drizzled paint inside my ornament in random patterns, turning it this way and that, enjoying watching the colors flow and blend.
The purple and turquoise created an unexpectedly beautiful shade where they met.
I added gold highlights, then grabbed the superfine glitter when the mood struck.
"That's going to be a mess," Rhett observed, though his tone held more amusement than criticism.
"It's artistic expression," I countered, adding another dash of glitter. "Very trendy."
He'd created evenly spaced stripes inside his ornament, each the same width, alternating between navy and silver with careful attention to detail. It looked like an expensive department store display—geometrically pleasing, but at the same time totally impersonal.
"Nice job," I said, watching him add tiny white dots between the stripes. "Very tasteful."
"It's traditional."
"It's a bit...ah....."
"Classic. The word you're looking for is classic."
"Is that it?" I studied my vibrant creation, then his bland one. "Maybe we should make one together."
For a moment, he just stared at the clear glass sphere. Then, surprising me, he picked up the purple paint I'd been using. "Your way," he said, drizzling it inside. He added his navy. "Now my approach."
I added gold swirls, then his silver. We worked together, turning the ornament slowly, letting the colors blend and separate, creating a design that was neither exactly my aesthetic or his, but somewhere beautifully in between.
"Huh," I said softly, holding it up to catch the light from the library's overhead fixtures. "That's really beautiful."
"It certainly is." His voice held a note of wonder.
Walt made his rounds, pausing at various tables to offer encouragement and advice.
When he reached us, he picked up both our original ornaments, examining them with the scrutiny of someone who'd evaluated thousands of student art projects.
He held Rhett's up to first, then mine, his weathered face thoughtful.
"Dr. Thornton,” he began slowly.
“Rhett,” Rhett quickly corrected.
Walt nodded. “Rhett. This is textbook work—every measurement exact, every line straight.
Excellent technique." He set it down gently.
"But where's the personal touch? What makes it yours?
You've created an exact replica of the sample I showed, but I don't see any evidence of your own creative spirit. "
Rhett's jaw tightened slightly—clearly not used to his work being critiqued, especially in front of others.
Walt turned to mine, his expression shifting.
"And Piper—you've completely disregarded my instructions altogether and created a design that's certainly unique and vibrant.
" He rotated it, watching paint pool in thick sections.
"It's wondrous in its enthusiasm, but the paint's too thick in places.
It might crack when it dries. Sometimes freedom needs just a touch of structure to truly last."
He set both ornaments down, then noticed our collaborative piece. His eyes lit up as he lifted it, a knowing smile creasing his weathered face.
"Now this," he said, loud enough for neighboring tables to hear, "this is interesting.
You can see two different styles coming together—the method and the madness, the planning and the inspiration.
" He looked between us with that teacher's intuition that sees more than you mean to show.
"You two make an excellent team. The balance here is exactly what was missing from your individual pieces. "
I felt my face flame. "Oh, we—I mean—thank you."
"He's absolutely right," Rhett said smoothly, his hand finding mine on the table. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through me. "We do balance each other well. I'm learning to appreciate a little more color in my life."
"And I'm learning that roadmaps aren’t always the enemy," I added, trying to match his casual tone despite my racing pulse.
Walt moved on to the next table, but Mrs. Henshaw leaned over with a delighted smile. "You two are just precious together.”
"Thanks," Rhett said, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "Sometimes you just know."
I sucked in my breath as our eyes met. Was he simply leaning into his role as my fake boyfriend, or was there a kernel of truth behind his words?
After Walt finished his rounds and everyone returned to their projects, I found myself hyperaware of Rhett beside me.
The way he rolled his sleeves up to the same point on each arm.
How he tilted his head when concentrating.
The fact that he'd kept holding my hand for a full minute, only releasing it when he needed both hands to work on a new ornament.
The workshop timer chimed. Six o'clock—time to clean up.
"Well," our instructor announced, "let's see everyone's creations!"
We went around the room, each person showing their ornaments. The variety was stunning—from traditional to avant-garde, minimalist to maximalist. When it came our turn, I held up all three of ours.
"We couldn't decide on just one style," I explained, getting laughs from the group.
As people packed up and filtered out, thanking Walt and chatting about the upcoming holiday events, Rhett and I stayed behind to help clean up. We worked efficiently together—him washing paint brushes while I collected supplies, moving around each other with ease.
"Thank you all for coming," Walt said as the last few participants left. "Don't forget, the ice skating fundraiser is next Thursday at the harbor rink. I hear our Piper has planned special surprises."
"Just the usual—music, hot cocoa, and hopefully no injuries," I said, boxing up the remaining supplies.
"I'll try to keep everyone upright," Rhett added, which earned him a laugh from Walt.