When Blythe brought out her masterpiece of a cake, everyone applauded, then sighed. Mary and Gillian, both chocolate addicts, closed their eyes and almost purred. The meal had lasted over an hour, but it was done with much too quickly.
"I have something else planned," Blythe said as Anthony and Mary cleared the table.
Mary put a hand to her stomach. "No more food-please."
"Pot throwing."
At Blythe's announcement, Mary and Gillian exchanged a conspiratorial look. They'd been getting along extremely well all evening, Anthony had noticed. "Pot throwing?" he asked, drawing a blank.
"As in pottery and a potter's wheel." Gillian got to her feet and rubbed her hands together. "This will be fun."
Anthony quickly made up an excuse, horrified at the thought of an artistic endeavor, especially one that involved clay. "I'm going to have to get back to the hotel. I haven't packed."
"Packing won't take you all night," Mary said, immediately seeing through his ruse. He was surprised she was encouraging such a leap. But then he noticed the way she was smiling at him-obviously amused by the idea of putting him in an uncomfortable situation. Or could it be that she'd simply had too much to drink?
He rather liked the idea of witnessing this more relaxed side of his partner. He smiled back. "Sounds like fun."
Blythe's shop was located off the kitchen in what used to be the garage. Shelves were lined with bowls and pots in various stages of production. Some were drying. Some had recently been removed from the kiln and were awaiting glaze. Others were ready to be fired, and many had already been glazed, fired, and were now cooling.
Blythe had two electric wheels and one manual treadle machine. "I propose a contest," Mary said. "The best pot wins."
"I'd have to guess that you've done this before," Anthony said. "So a contest hardly seems fair."
"Mary has done it before," Gillian declared, "but she's horrible at it."
Mary couldn't get mad, especially when Gillian looked so adorable in a pair of snug red plaid pants and a fuzzy black top. Earlier she'd claimed she was going to at least get some good out of her new clothes. "I am pretty bad," Mary admitted.
Anthony eyed his partner with a slight smile. "In that case, I'll accept the challenge."
Mary was drunk. She'd realized it as soon as she'd gotten up from the table. She'd been mildly drunk only a few times in her life, and hadn't enjoyed it at all. She liked being in control. But now she was thinking that being a little out of control was more fun than she'd remembered.
She sat down at the wheel with her piece of clay. Was she going to make a total idiot out of herself? She didn't even care.
"Ten minutes," Gillian said. "Let's see what you can both make in ten minutes."
"I don't even know what in the hell I'm doing," Anthony said as Blythe put a canvas apron over his head.
"I'll show you." She gave him a quick five-minute lesson; then they were off.
Mary's glob of clay immediately got off balance and she had to start over. She shot a quick look at Anthony. He had his wheel on low, meticulously working the clay.
"More water," Blythe said.
"Mom! Don't coach him!"
"I can coach him if I want to. He's never done it before."
"Your daughter can't stand to lose," Anthony said.
"I can't stand to lose? What about you?"
When the time was up, Mary's small bowl was thin and distorted on one side, thick on the other. "Another minute and it would have gone flying across the room," she said wryly. Anthony's, on the other hand, while unfinished and unexceptional, was on its way to becoming an actual coffee cup.
Then it was Gillian's turn.
At one time Gillian had been fairly adept at the wheel, but apparently she was out of practice. She immediately began having such a hard time that Mary started laughing and couldn't stop.
"Oh, Gillian!" she gasped.
Mary looked up to catch Anthony watching her with a disconcerting expression on his face. When he retained eye contact, she broke away, confused.
Ten minutes later, Gillian was slapping her rejected piece of clay, starting over again for the third time.
"Anthony wins, hands down," Blythe said.
Anthony and Gillian decided they needed more practice and played around a little longer, Blythe and Mary gathering close, coaching them and laughing. Finally Blythe took the seat and they watched as she quickly created a beautiful vase, removed it from the wheel, and put it aside to dry.
"That's why you're the artist and I'm an FBI agent," Anthony said, smiling.
"You're too sweet."
Was her mother flirting with Anthony? Mary wondered. No, surely not. Or was Anthony flirting with her mother? She'd called him sweet and he hadn't batted an eye.
The party didn't break up until almost midnight.
"Do you need a ride to the airport tomorrow?" Mary asked Anthony.
"No, thanks. I have to drop off my rental car there anyway. Can I talk to you a minute?"
"I'll grab my coat and join you outside. I could use some fresh air."
"I'll glaze your coffee cup so Mary can give it to you," Blythe promised.
Anthony shook hands with Gillian, then surprised Mary by giving Blythe a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner. I had a good time."
Mary walked with him to the street where his car was parked. "Your mother's nice," he said, pausing near the curb.
She crossed her arms at her waist. "You didn't have to kiss her."
"Jealous? She called me sweet. That deserved a kiss."
"Deserved? That makes you sound awfully special."
"Why bring it up?"
"It just seemed… I don't know." She paused. "Out of character."
"Really? Then I guess you don't know me very well."
His delivery was teasing, but the truth behind his words stung. In some ways she knew him intimately. She could read every nuance of his expression, and often knew what he was going to say before he said it. When he wasn't around, she could hear his voice in her head, calmly offering theories. But in other ways, he was more of a mystery to her than he'd ever been.
She managed to shrug off his comment, not wanting it to spoil a wonderful evening. "I'm glad you came to Minneapolis."
"What about you? How's it been for you, being here?"
"I'm glad I came too."
"It looks as if you and Gillian are getting along. Maybe it'll be easier for you to come back now."
His insight surprised her. "I think it will." Cold air blew down her collar. She pulled her jacket tighter. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
He leaned against the car in what she read as feigned unconcern. "You are coming back, aren't you? To Virginia?"
"Of course I am. How could you think otherwise?"
"I don't know. I thought you might be starting to like it here. And I know Elliot is in the market for a profiler."
She tipped her head. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if you're jealous."
"Do you think that's possible?" he asked slowly, his voice smooth.
"Of course not," she said, suddenly flustered. "I don't know why I said it."
"Maybe you're a little drunk."
"Maybe."
He pushed away from the car and took her gently by both arms. He leaned close… And then his lips touched hers-just a brush before veering to the right to plant a soft kiss on her cheek.
That millisecond of contact sent an electrical sensation along her skin, down her jaw, up to her scalp. Her breath caught, and heat suffused her body.
"That's so you don't feel slighted." And then he was pulling away, casually telling her good-bye.
She had to stop him. He couldn't leave just yet. "Anthony-wait.''