Chapter 5
Prospects
One week after showing up on Wayne Drummond's doorstep, Jess had fallen into a rhythm she hadn't expected to find.
Afternoons in the barn had become the best part of her day.
Not just because of the workspace—though God knew that was reason enough—but because of the man who shared it with her.
She'd arrive around noon to get her kiln heating and prep her materials.
Wayne would show up after his HVAC calls, and they'd work side by side in companionable near silence, broken only by the hiss of her torch and the ring of his hammer.
It would have been perfect if it weren't for the constant awareness humming between them.
Jess rotated her blowpipe, watching the gather of amber glass grow molten. She'd gotten better at ignoring the way Wayne's shoulders moved when he worked. Better at pretending she didn't feel his gaze on her when he thought she wasn't looking.
Better. Not good. Just better.
That moment last week when their hands had brushed—that flash of want in his eyes, quickly shuttered—had been followed by a week of careful distance. Professional. Maddening.
“I'm getting water from the kitchen,” Wayne announced. “You want some?”
Jess glanced up. “Sure. Thanks.”
He disappeared through the back door. The barn felt oddly empty without the steady rhythm of his work.
Jess forced herself to focus on the gather cooling on her blowpipe. She'd barely reheated it when a voice called out.
“Hello? Is this where the magic happens?”
Jess nearly dropped her blowpipe. A woman stood in the barn's main entrance, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. About her age, stylishly dressed in a way that suggested she'd come from somewhere more cosmopolitan than Elken Grove.
“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” The woman stepped inside. “I'm Zoey Hayes. Robin at the Caffeine Drip told me I might find you here.”
“Jessica Hartley. Most people call me Jess.”
“The glassblower from Brooklyn.” Zoey moved closer, examining the finished pieces cooling on Jess's workbench. “Robin said you studied at RISD. That's impressive.”
“You know RISD?”
“Art History at NYU—basically lived in every gallery in Chelsea for four years.” Zoey examined the tumblers and vases. “I'm not an artist myself, but I've been around enough glass work to know this is exceptional. The color saturation is gorgeous.”
Finally, someone who wanted to talk technique. “I'm building transparent layers over an opaque base. The timing is everything—if you don't let each layer cool enough, they mix instead of layering.”
“Temperature control as an art form.” Zoey nodded appreciatively. “That's what I love about glass—it's so unforgiving.”
“Exactly. You mess up, you start over.”
Zoey pulled out her phone. “Which is why I'm here. I run an arts blog focused on the region—about fifteen thousand followers specifically interested in handcrafted work. Would you be interested in being featured? Photos, interview, links to purchase?”
Jess blinked. “Featured?”
“And there's the winter arts fair—end of January. We get buyers from Atlanta, Charlotte, Nashville. It's become one of the region's biggest craft events. With four months to build inventory, you could have a strong showing.”
Four months. Jess did quick math. Fifty show-worthy pieces, maybe seventy-five if she focused on smaller items.
“These would sell well.” Zoey gestured to the display. “Functional art is huge right now. Your color work is distinctive.”
The validation felt like sunlight after a long winter.
Zoey turned, studying Wayne's workspace—the anvil, forge, tools hung with precision. “So this is Wayne Drummond's place. Robin said you were working here together.”
“He's letting me use the space,” Jess said.
Zoey examined the pieces on his workbench, then noticed the small wooden rack above with seven delicate heart pendants. She moved closer, studying them. “These are exquisite. The detail work is remarkable.”
“Heart pendants for a breast cancer research fundraiser,” Jess said quietly. “His mother died of it. He makes them every year.”
Zoey's expression softened. “That's beautiful.” She glanced at Jess with a knowing look. “You know what would be incredible? Collaborative pieces. Mixed media is having a moment right now. Metal and glass together—think of the possibilities.”
Ideas sparked through Jess's mind. Glass flowers with iron stems. Candle holders where metal provided structure, and glass provided color and light.
“I'm sure you could find a metalworker willing to collaborate,” Zoey said carefully. “Perhaps someone already sharing workspace?”
Heat crept up Jess's neck. Was she that obvious?
The back door opened. Wayne stepped through with two water glasses, stopping short at the sight of Zoey.
“Wayne! Good to see you.” Zoey's smile was warm. “I was just ambushing your studio-mate about the winter fair.”
Wayne glanced at Jess. “Her work's good.”
“Better than good.” Zoey hoisted her bag. “I should let you work. Jess, I'll email you about the feature. And think about the fair—application deadline's November first.” She handed Jess a business card. “Call if you have questions.”
“Thank you. Really.”
After Zoey left, Wayne handed Jess a water bottle. “She ambush you?”
“In the best way. She runs an arts blog. Wants to feature me. And the winter fair—apparently, it's a big deal.”
“Yeah. Good opportunity.” Wayne returned to his workbench.
“She suggested collaborative pieces. Metal and glass.” Jess watched his face.
His expression didn't change. “Makes sense. They'd complement each other.”
That was it? Jess felt frustration flare. She'd just been handed a path forward—validation, a platform, the possibility of building something real here. And Wayne's response was neutral politeness.
“I'm going to apply,” she said, defensive. “I think I can build enough inventory.”
“You should.” Wayne picked up his hammer. “Your work's good.”
The words should have felt validating. Instead, they felt like a dismissal.
Jess returned to her workspace, excitement dimming. This was exactly what she'd come for—the chance to focus on her craft, to build a career on her terms.
So why did Wayne's distance suddenly feel like rejection?
She hadn't come here to find a man. She'd come to rebuild her life, her career, her purpose.
Except it didn't feel like a distraction. It felt like a constant hum she couldn't tune out.
Jess glanced across the barn. Wayne worked the bellows, his back to her. Professional. Focused. Keeping exactly the right distance.
She forced herself to look away and reached for her next glass rod. She had a plan—build inventory, apply to the fair, get featured on Zoey's blog. Real steps toward a sustainable art career.
That was what mattered. Not the way her heart had jumped when Wayne returned. Not the way she'd wanted him to look impressed, excited, proud.
Not the way his neutrality had felt like a door closing.