14. fourteen
fourteen
Nora
We’re tucked away in the A-frame cabin at Wildwood, where the cloud-shrouded woods are dusted in shades of gold, orange, and scarlet. Fall is in full force here at Wildwood, and I’m pinching myself that I get to teach my first workshop on the most perfect autumn evening, hidden away in the forest.
“Sydney? Will you please approve my charcuterie board?” Bridget calls out with a sigh, sweeping a strand of hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve done my best.”
Sydney, Mom, and I rush over to inspect Bridget’s work and gasp collectively at the sight. A picturesque variety of fruits, cheeses, crackers, breads, and jams are artfully piled across a massive wooden slab that Trent had prepared especially for tonight.
“This is stunning,” I breathe, taking in the spread.
Sydney tweaks a few things before snapping some photos. Then she instructs me to light all the candles, since it’s almost time for our guests to arrive. Ollie and Trent are sequestered upstairs with popcorn and a movie, but I doubt Ollie will be able to resist coming down to investigate once the evening gets underway. Uncle Trent will have no choice but to follow.
“You sure you don’t want to participate?” I’d asked him earlier. Trent had given me a quick shake of the head.
“Maybe another time,” he said, his eyes darting fearfully around the cabin which will soon be filled with laughter and noise and…people. His worst nightmare.
I stand off to the side as Sydney welcomes the first two guests to our eight-person workshop: Carol from Brickyard Bakery and her daughter, Nellie. They’re followed by an old family friend, Cassie, my neighbor Brynn, and none other than Roman from the diner.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say in surprise when he walks in. “I saw you all day today, and you didn’t say a word, you sneak!” “I wanted to surprise you,” Roman says, giving me a tight hug. “I have no experience with this sort of thing, so be nice to me, please.”
Roman and I continue talking as we enter the cabin, gushing over the gorgeous interior and setup that my sisters and I worked hard to create today. A warm glow flickers to life within me, watching friends chat and smile and find their places around the table. The dappled candlelight and familiar faces bring a sense of calm, and my nerves begin to dissipate.
Sydney runs back to the door to greet her friend Anika, and then she does a quick head count.
“We’re just waiting on two more,” she says. Before I can ask her who exactly we’re waiting on, she hurries away to shepherd our guests to the charcuterie board. She hadn’t shown me the final guest list beforehand.
“Start grazing!” she says, and they obey.
I’m about to grab a plate myself when a knock sounds at the door.
“Be right back,” I tell Roman mid-conversation.
I lug the heavy door open, and all of the peaceful, sweet feelings that have been gathering inside me evaporate in an instant at the sight of the two people standing on the front porch.
It’s Brooks Alden and his sister Claire.
Brooks looks incredibly handsome in the dim porch light. He’s not wearing a hat tonight, and the sight of his unruly dark hair and smiling steel-blue eyes makes warmth pool somewhere deep in my belly.
“Hi,” I finally say, looking between the siblings. “Come on in.” I move robotically behind the door to make room for them to pass. Claire enters first, but it’s Brooks who makes the entryway to the cabin suddenly feel far too small. I can’t help but stare at him, looking more polished than I’ve ever seen him in a black wool coat, jeans, and boots.
“Hey,” he says, and my pulse skitters at the sound of his voice. Is this going to happen to me every time he speaks? Maybe I’ll build up an immunity to it with time. Eons of time.
Brooks sidles through the door into the entryway, and before I know what’s happening, he’s tugged me out of my hiding place behind the door and into his arms for a hug. Every nerve ending in my body sputters to life as he circles his strong arms around me, one looping around my shoulders while the other skates across my low back. I don’t even have to think about how to settle into him. I’ve done it before, but this feels different. He’s taller, broader and stronger now.
I tuck my chin as he pulls me close, my cheek dipping against his chest. The heady smell of him envelops me as I tentatively slide my fingertips across the ridges of his back until they curve around his waist. I remember this. The feel of the planes of his chest against mine, the cords of his muscled arms pulling me closer. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be held by someone. I have to resist the urge to close my eyes and snuggle into him for as long as he’ll let me.
All of this takes place in just a few seconds, but we must linger longer than is normal (I wouldn’t know…I haven’t hugged many men since my divorce) because I hear Claire give a little giggle from behind me. Brooks slowly traces his fingers down my arms and then releases me, making my skin ache as soon as we break apart. He shoots me a charming half-grin, lodging more arrows into my already punctured heart.
Hey, whoever is in charge of the general flow of time, can we rewind the tapes and do that again real quick? Thank you so much.
“This place is amazing,” Brooks says, looking up at the peaked ceiling of the cabin.
There’s an uncomfortably long pause before I pull myself together and realize that it’s my turn to speak.
“Oh, thank you. My brother-in-law built most of the cabins on this property. It’s one of my favorite places.”
“I can see why,” Brooks says, lifting the lapels of his coat so he can remove it. I shouldn’t eye him like a feral wolf who hasn’t eaten in days as he does this, but I think I do. The man is impeccably built, and I have no qualms about getting a front-row seat to his disrobement.
“Here,” I say, reaching for his coat. He hands it to me, and I hang it on the rack by the door with the others. I turn around to find him watching me. Claire has conveniently left us alone together in the entryway, and though I see some curious eyes peering in our direction, we’re far enough away from the group to have a private conversation.
“I thought I told you to give me a heads-up before we saw each other again,” I say. As if I’m disappointed in the slightest that he’s here.
“I would have,” he answers slyly. “But I thought I might be barred from entry.”
“Why’s that?”
“I was worried I might be the only man in attendance tonight. I’m going to bring down the vibe of this whole thing.”
“You’re in luck. My friend Roman is here, and Ollie and Trent are upstairs. If the feminine energy gets to be too much, you’re welcome to join them.”
He genuinely looks relieved. “Okay, good. There’s my backup plan if I set something on fire or break something.”
“That’s my job, remember?” I say. We share a low laugh, glancing sideways at each other. Gosh, it’s good to see him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, feeling nervous as I let the honest truth leave my lips. “I had no idea you had an interest in ceramics.”
“I don’t, to be honest. But I’ve been advised to try some new things, and when Claire told me about your workshop, I figured I might as well give it a shot. This is my chance to learn from the best.”
“So, what you’re saying is if you don’t create an impeccable masterpiece tonight, it’s entirely my fault?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t let me down, Nora,” he says, giving me a playful nudge with his shoulder as we move closer to the group. Would he notice if I slowed my walking down to the pace of a slug? I’m not ready for our conversation to end. I like the way his arm brushes against mine as he swings it at his side.
“I don’t want to keep you,” he says, gesturing to the table. “Go do your thing.”
“Thank you. I expect great things from you tonight.”
“Bringing my A-game.” He grins, and the tilt of his crooked smile causes more memories to resurface. There was once a time when he’d smile at me like that and I’d respond by kissing it right off his face.
I wonder if he remembers the heart-melting effect his smiles used to have on me.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve handed out lumps of clay and hand-illustrated instruction cards, finished my demonstration, and am about to make my rounds to help everyone get things started. We’re supposed to be making mugs tonight, so they will each need to craft the body of the mug along with a separate handle. It’s fairly straightforward, and so I allow them to get started on their own, offering to help if they get stuck. Of course, this is right when Ollie appears at the top of the stairs with a very reluctant Uncle Trent trailing behind.
“Mama, I need a snack,” Ollie calls loudly, his feet thumping twice on each stair as he descends.
“I’ll get you something,” my mom says, rising from her seat. I send her a grateful look as she scoops Ollie up and takes him over to the charcuterie board.
Roman clears his throat and raises his hand like the star student I’m sure he was. “Excuse me, Miss Nora? I’m in need of a little assistance.”
I help Roman separate pieces of his clay and show him how to hollow out the larger piece with his thumb. He picks up one of the sample mugs I’d brought along.
“Can you just make mine for me? There’s no way my mug is going to end up looking like yours.”
“That’s the beauty of it! Yours will be completely unique to you,” I say, letting him take over his clay again.
I stop to assist Nellie and Carol next, but for the most part, everyone else looks to have a grasp on things…except for Brooks. He’s staring at the instructions, brow furrowed, looking deeply confused.
I stop between Claire and Brooks, resting my hands on the back of Claire’s chair.
“How are things going?”
Claire has already shaped the body of her mug and is rubbing a wet sponge over the rim to smooth it out. “I think I’m off to a good start.”
“Yes, you are. It looks great. How about you, Brooks?”
“Uhhh…” he says, looking boyish. “I’m a little lost.”
“What can I help you with?” I reach down and rub my thumb on the lip of his…I’m not exactly sure what shape he’s going for here. “Maybe if you take some water on your fingers, like this,” I say. “And use one hand on the outside to keep it steady while you slowly widen the walls of your…um…cup?”
“Don’t sugarcoat it. It’s somehow morphed into a bowl.”
“Well…” I say, stifling a laugh. “I mean, it could still work as a very large mug.”
“I think it wants to be a bowl.”
“Hey, soup mugs are a thing, right? If that’s what you’re wanting to do, you can add more depth here and draw the edges up like this…”
My voice trails off as Brooks suddenly traps my hand beneath his where I’ve got it settled on the outside of his mug. He uses his other hand to do as I instructed inside the mug, his fingertips pressing against mine. I think I forget how to breathe as he slowly coaxes the clay beneath his fingertips.
“Like that?”
I slide my hand away, my fingertips tingling. “Yes, exactly. You’ve got the right idea.”
“Let’s see if he can execute it,” Claire says, crafting a near-perfect handle for her mug.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, hunching back over his clay with a renewed determination.
I realize that most of the table has been watching our interaction with great interest, and I don’t blame them. If I had an excuse to sit and stare at Brooks Alden, I would, too. Pretty sure Nellie snuck a photo of him when he wasn’t looking. Do I blame her?
“So,” Brooks says, promptly abandoning his clay and settling back in his chair. “Have you ever taught a workshop like this before?”
“Nope. This is my first,” I say. “Can you tell?”
Apparently, everyone else is listening in on our conversation because Carol chimes in enthusiastically. “Oh, come on, Nora. We’ve been trying to get her to do something like this for years. Her work is really something, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Brooks agrees. My face flushes. “What was your name again?”
Carol eagerly introduces herself and her daughter.
“Is your bakery the one on Main Street?” Brooks asks.
Carol lights up, and Nellie positively beams as Brooks starts chatting with them about the story behind their business and how it came to be.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been,” Brooks says, nudging his sister. “We’ll have to come by.”
Carol looks like she might weep at the prospect of Brooks setting foot in her bakery.
“We’ll treat you to anything you’d like. On the house.”
“Now, that’s an offer you cannot pass up,” I say. I love Carol’s chocolate croissants like nothing else in this world. Trent brought some to me when I was in labor, and I swear that’s what got me through.
“I recognize you,” Brooks says to Roman. “From the diner, right?”
Roman shoots a sly glance my way before sliding his eyes back to Brooks. “Yes, sir. That’s me. Nora’s favorite employee.”
“That’s right,” I say. “He’s everyone’s favorite.” Brooks and I share a glance, and I arch an eyebrow. “He’s very…intrinsically motivated. He does a lot of things without me asking.” Understanding dawns on Brooks’ face.
“I do what needs to be done,” Roman says with a wink.
Brooks’ clay remains untouched for a while, and he seems perfectly content with chatting with my friends around the table instead of working on his mug. I catch him sneaking glances my way when I’m assisting others, and I like the way his eyes linger on me while I work. He finally enlists Claire to help him finish, and she does a great job at redeeming his sorry, shapeless mass of clay.
After everyone deems their work to be finished, I instruct them to carve their initials on the bottom of each piece. “After I fire these pieces, I’ll add a glaze of your choosing, and then I’ll have them ready next week for you to pick up at the diner.”
I glance over the table and feel a sudden surge of emotion well within me. I’d been so lost in the work and fun of tonight that it had flown by so quickly. I’m sad it’s already over.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, surprised to feel tears welling in my eyes. “It means a lot to me that all of you are here, supporting me.” I try to blink the tears away, but then I see Ollie hauling down the stairs again with Trent on his heels, and this time I let him come to me. He’s my safety net. He’s what I need in vulnerable moments like this.
Everyone begins to clap for me, and Ollie beams, thinking the applause is for him. He joins in, and I think the smile on my face might become permanent as I look into the faces of these wonderful friends who showed up for me tonight.
My gaze dances over Brooks’ face, and the unabashed admiration I find in his expression makes my heart stutter. He gives me a little thumbs-up, and a tear slides down my cheek. I quickly turn away before the flood begins, but that little sign of support from him was a reminder of how we’d been there for each other in a past life.
Brooks showed up for me tonight, too, and he’s got no idea how much that means to me.