Chapter 10 Jane #2
The instructor continues. “Now, how many of you have thrown clay before?” To my surprise, Keeley is among the few hands raised. The instructor points to her. “What was that experience like for you?”
Keeley flashes her trademark smirk at the room. “It was hard, but super rewarding to learn how to get it right. I actually took the AP Art exam back in high school.”
I whirl on her, gaping. “You took AP Art?” We went to the same high school, and we were friends…after camp at least. How did I not know this?
She shrugs. “The counselor told me to take an elective that wasn’t music to diversify my résumé, and I liked it a lot.”
“What else don’t I know about you?” I ask. The words are innocuous enough, but they feel…weighted, in this context.
The instructor beams. “One of the things I love about art is how it reveals us to ourselves and the people around us. Your partner has learned something about you already. Beautiful.”
She leads the room in snaps, not claps, and I watch in bewilderment as everyone joins in.
“Is this a class or couples’ counseling?” Keeley mutters.
I elbow her and lower my voice. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”
She rolls her eyes but leans over and kisses my cheek. My breath catches at the softness of her lips on my skin, and I resist the urge to press my hand to my face as she pulls away, as if I could capture the feeling before it disappears. “Better?” she asks, eyes lighting in mischief.
Oh. So she wants to play it like that, does she? “Much,” I rasp out.
I guess we’re leaning in.
The instructor is already calling on the next hand-raiser, and we listen politely as the other participants discuss their experience with ceramics. There are seven other couples, so there’s an intimate, casual vibe in the room.
This is not a real date, I have to tell myself, but a part of me wishes I were wrong.
That’s the problem with living with Keeley, with the way our friendship has been teetering like a seesaw after our fight in that studio.
Things don’t feel right between us, because there are things left unresolved.
Feelings left unspoken.
Even when I told Keeley about my sexuality last week, I held back. I certainly don’t know how to talk about my deeper feelings, or if they’d be welcome, but tonight is not helping. At all.
I will myself to focus on the person speaking about their college pottery seminar.
Once everyone has had a chance to talk, the instructor moves on to the directions.
We’re starting with a flower vase, and the instructor advises us to split the clay into two pieces.
The first, we’re to work together with our partner to soften and prepare for throwing.
Keeley scoots her stool closer to mine as I lean over the work surface. Her hands cover mine on the clay. “This okay?” she asks, breaking off a piece.
“Of course,” I say, hoping she can’t sense the rapid beat of my heart with that drummer’s intuition.
We knead the clay in tandem, our fingers tangling against the warming material as we trade clay between us, and soon it feels almost soft, like sticky dough under our hands.
The instructor goes around to each station to confirm we’re ready for throwing, then they explain how to start the wheel.
“Do you want to try throwing, since you’ve never done it before?” Keeley asks.
I nod, trying to remember why we’re here. “Sure.”
I wet my hands in the provided water bowl, then use my foot to turn the wheel. The motion feels so familiar, like playing keyboard, and I almost laugh. Trying something new could be just the inspiration I need.
My wandering mind misses the rest of the directions, and I realize I’m forming a shapeless ball of clay, achieving nothing but getting pieces stuck under my fingernails. But then an idea sparks to get Keeley back for that “innocent” kiss and get back on track.
Even if that spark is playing with fire.
I glance over my shoulder at Keeley. “Can you help?”
She blinks. “You want me to take over?”
I wink at her. “No, but you can get in here and guide my hands.”
Her brows shoot up, but then she’s scooting her stool behind mine, wrapping her arms around me, and placing those strong, lean hands on top of my own.
She’s so close, I can feel the warmth radiating off her skin.
“It’s all about balance. You have to be delicate without being tentative, really get your hands in there and coax the clay to yield to your touch.
You’re not wrangling it into submission…
” She lowers her voice. “You’re seducing it. ”
I swallow. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. She rests her chin on my shoulder, and I can’t help it; I lean into her touch. Is she doing this on purpose?
Because if I’m not completely mistaken, she leans back.
I set my jaw, trying to focus. Together, we shape the clay into a simple, tall vase, and I’m struck by just how good this feels—her long, calloused fingers wrapping around my own with a purpose.
I thought being in Keeley’s arms would be good, but this is beyond good. It feels perfect.
Like coming home.
And it feels like it’s 120 degrees in the studio.
I can’t even blame the excessive candlelight for what I know must be a brilliant red flush on my cheeks.
I have to remind myself a hundred times that this romance act is only for the class, because god, it feels real, and I can’t let myself get used to this sparkling feeling.
The instructor pauses at our table and smiles serenely.
“This is excellent. What a wonderful example of trusting your partner to help you build something beautiful together. Bravo.”
She snaps again, and the room follows in agreement. I try not to blush at the attention. For a moment, I think Keeley is going to lean away at all the eyes on us, but she doesn’t.
If my pulse was rushing before, now it’s galloping like a racehorse.
The instructor guides me through releasing the pot, and we separate to clean the space and prep the next ball of clay. But before I can do anything, Keeley boops my nose with a wet finger.
The cool clay lingers on my face from her touch, but my hands are too wet to wipe it away. “Hey!”
She raises her own clay-covered hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You look cute, though, like you have sunscreen you didn’t rub in.”
I purse my lips and lean forward, drawing a single line on her cheekbone with my own wet forefinger. Keeley gapes. “Excuse me?”
“You started it!” I say, shrugging out of her reach on my way to the wash station as she lunges to get me back.
The men next to us laugh.
“While we’re not here for facials, I’m happy to discuss the benefits of clay for the skin,” the instructor says with a chuckle. Once the whole room is ready to move on, she instructs us on making a bowl.
Without me even asking, Keeley wraps her arms around me again as we get started, even though I got the hang of it and no longer need her help to guide my hands.
But I just…give in. I let myself pretend, for the last quiet half hour of the class, that this could be real, and she could be mine. I know better than to get my hopes up. But every rogue beat of my heart yearns for it to be true.
After the class, we leave the studio champagne tipsy.
Everything shimmers under the streetlights, and a flicker of anticipation burns through my mind as we step forward into the rest of the night.
Keeley smiles softly at me as she hails a rideshare back to her condo, and I want to bask in the beauty of it—no snark, no smirk, just pure happiness radiating off of her like neon.
When the car arrives, she jumps into the back seat first, then gives me a hand up into the lifted SUV.
She closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest as we slip into the lull of traffic, and when her hand falls next to mine on the seat, I don’t pull it away.
I hook my pinky around hers, and her fingers curl back.
Maybe it’s not conscious, but the touch is harmless enough that I let it linger for the rest of the ride as I stare out the window. Between the glittering lights and the innocent contact, I’m mesmerized into silence, trying to savor every moment.
When we pull into Keeley’s driveway, I turn, thinking she’s totally out.
But she’s wide awake and looking at me, her fingers still wrapped in mine.
We just stare at each other for one breath.
Then two. Something unmistakable passes between us…
and suddenly I wonder how much of tonight was pretend, and how much was inevitable.
“Shall we?” she asks. I nod and follow her out of the car and to her apartment steps. We’re quiet as she unlocks the door, but something still remains in the air between us, something I don’t dare name.
I’m afraid if I speak, it’ll disappear, like a birthday wish that will never come true.
But I want Keeley Cunningham, and I’m starting to think she wants me too. I never would have thought that possible before. I clench my fists, banishing the thought as we walk through the door.
In the darkness of her kitchen, my eyes fall on a bright bouquet of sunflowers, resting casually on the counter.
“What are these?” I ask. They weren’t there when we left.
She shrugs. “I got you flowers to put in your vase. Snuck them in when you weren’t paying attention.”
My mouth falls open. “Keeley, you didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” she says. “Vases should always have flowers. But these are going to die before your piece is ready, so I kind of failed epically. Just had the idea and ran with it.”
Warmth swells in my chest. “We can put them in water. They’ll still be pretty.”
“You like sunflowers, right?”
I bite my lip. “They’re my favorite.”
She grins. “Good. I’ll get you more when we pick up the pottery.”
It’s such a date-like thing that my throat tightens.
This isn’t something you do for just a friend, right?
I want to do something to thank her, but I don’t even know where to begin.
As I rummage in her cupboards for a suitable flower container, I sense Keeley come up behind me. I whirl around, glass in hand.
“Find what you’re looking for?” she murmurs.
I raise the large Mason jar. “This will do,” I say shakily, trying to catch my breath. She’s closer than I expected, and I’m drawn to the heat of her for so many more reasons than the harsh air-conditioning.
“Good,” she says, but she doesn’t step away.
Instead, she cages me in, arms on either side of the counter behind me.
There’s barely a foot between us, and I catch the scent of her minty bodywash and the champagne on her breath.
Before I can stop myself, I lean closer, almost imperceptibly, just to see if this is going where I hope it is.
Keeley moves even closer. She glances down at my mouth, then back up at my eyes. I lick my lips.
“Jane,” she murmurs. “Was tonight…inspiring for you?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “It was.”
“Good.” I’m pretty sure neither of us is talking about the pottery.
Suddenly, a blaring car alarm sounds from outside.
“Oh!” I gasp as we spring apart.
“Fuck,” she mutters.
“Was that mine?” I ask, and even though I know my Prius doesn’t have a gross aftermarket alarm, I run to the window just to check.
But I’m pretty sure before we were interrupted, Keeley Cunningham was about to kiss me, and I had every intention of letting her.
Once we’ve determined the alarm doesn’t belong to either of us, though, the moment is shattered. Keeley sighs. “I had fun tonight. Good night, Mercer.”
I nod, resigning myself to another night alone in her guest bed, knowing she’s just on the other side of the wall. “Me too. Good night, Keeley.”