3. Allie #2
When everyone was finished and the pieces were carefully arranged on drying shelves, the crowd washed up at the sink, hung up their borrowed aprons, and started to leave.
They were profuse in their thanks to both Hail and me, and a few asked about scheduling private lessons since they’d be here in Lonesome Creek for the next week.
“You two make a great team,” an older woman told me with a smile. “Have you been working together long?”
“Nope,” I said, which was technically true. “Hail’s an excellent teacher.”
When the last tourist left, I found myself alone in the barn with Hail and Tressa. The silence felt different than it had yesterday. More comfortable.
“Thank you,” Hail said quietly. “I don’t know what I would have done-done without your help.”
“That was a big group. Much bigger than yesterday.”
“Too big.” He rubbed the back of his neck, raking his tusks across his upper lip. “I should have limited the num-number, but people kept signing up, and I didn’t w-w-want to turn anyone away.”
“You were great with them. Once you had some backup, you could handle the class.”
“I’m better with clay than people,” he said. “Always have been.”
He gathered tools from the various workstations, his large hands moving with surprising gentleness.
There was something mesmerizing about the way his strong fingers handled delicate implements.
When he reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind his ear, I took in the defined muscles in his forearms, dusted with clay that somehow made them more appealing rather than less.
It wasn’t just his physical presence that drew my eye, though that was certainly part of it.
It was the contrast between his big size and the tender way he treated everything around him, from the pottery, Tressa, even the space between us.
When he glanced up and caught me watching, a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. I had to look away before he noticed the heat I could feel rising into my cheeks.
This was clearly his element, surrounded by the tools and materials he loved.
“You said the things they made will be ready late tomorrow?” I asked.
“The kiln needs to heat up slowly, then cool down at about the same pace. Can’t rush it or everything cr-cracks.” He glanced my way. “Will you… I mean, are you planning to come back tomorrow to help with that?”
There was something hopeful in his voice that made my decision easy.
“If you want me to.”
“I do.” The words came out quickly, then he seemed to realize how that sounded. “I mean, for the help. With the cus-customers. You’re good with them.”
Tressa padded over to me, pressing her warm body against my legs the same way she’d done with Hail yesterday. I reached down to scratch behind her ears, and she leaned into my touch like we’d known each other for years.
“See? She likes you,” Hail said.
“I like her too.” I smiled at the wolf. “She’s beautiful.”
“I found her as a pup. Her…pack had abandoned her, I think because of her coloring.” His voice softened. “But I think she’s perfect.”
The way he said it, with such simple devotion, made my heart flip over. Here was a male who saw beauty where others found flaws. Who rescued abandoned things and gave them a home.
“Hail…” I bit my tongue. I’d been about to ask if he really meant it about wanting my help, though something in his expression told me he did.
He crooked his head my way from where he was wiping down one of the workspaces. “What?”
“Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow early. Is four am okay?”
“Oh, five will be fine.” His smile was prettier than a sunrise. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Leaving the barn, I stepped up onto the boardwalk and paused, suddenly aware of how visible I’d made myself today. A ton of tourists had seen me. Some had learned my name, or at least part of it. These people could describe me to anyone asking questions.
My belly spasmed as I scanned the busy street.
Was I being stupid? Getting comfortable in this place, becoming known as Hail’s helper, putting down even the shallowest of roots went against every survival instinct I’d developed.
The safest path was always invisibility.
Instead, I’d put myself center stage in a room full of strangers with cameras in their pockets.
I forced myself to keep walking, to breathe normally despite the fear crawling up my spine.
Maybe this far from New York, I was actually safe.
Maybe no one would think to look for me in a tourist town full of orcs.
Or maybe I was making the same mistake I’d made before, believing I could have a normal life when there was nothing normal about my situation.
I stepped up onto the boardwalk and wove around tourists peering into the general store or dining in front of the restaurant at cute little tables. Yesterday I’d asked Hail to call me Allie instead of Allison, and today he’d introduced me to the tourists as his assistant.
This was what I could be here. Not Allison Wilson, whose father may have been a criminal and whose past was full of dangerous secrets.
Just Allie, a woman who helped with pottery classes and made people’s clay dogs turn out better.