So I sat back and watched her technique again. There were nine people in the workshop and we were each supposed to be making a project. A couple of students were making rings, one person was making a clumpy thing—though, in fairness, I think it was also supposed to be a ring—and Scarlett was making a star shaped pendant. I was making a flute. It wouldn’t be a proper one on my first go. Tonight was more about learning to work with silver and getting the general idea of flute construction.
Noela, the teacher, had at first encouraged me to make something simpler to start, but I wouldn’t be deterred. She’d given me the option of using a sheet of silver and warming it so I could roll it into a flute shape, or of making a wax mold first then working with molten silver. Scarlett had suggested the sheet method since the wax and mold process would take more than one night, so I’d gone that way.
I wasn’t getting a whole lot achieved, however, thanks to being spellbound by Scarlett. The way her hands worked was mesmerizing. So agile and quick. Everything she did looked incredible. She’d put the silver through a roller to flatten it, and had cut the shape according to the pattern she’d made on paper first, making the entire process look simple. I’d never get the hang of this. Although, anything artistic seemed to come easily to Scarlett, so I should be comparing myself to the guy making the clumpy ring rather than her.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” I said, laying down my sheet. “I’d be better off paying you to make me a set of pipes.”
She cast me a quick glance then focused back on her pendant. “I thought the point of you making the reed flutes and silver pipes was to help your understanding of the challenges the ancient musicians faced, and what was involved in their roles. If I make it for you, how is that different from you buying a replica off the net?”
“Because I can watch you do it. I’d just get my understanding second hand.” I sighed. “I think we need to admit I’m not as good with my hands as you are.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice dropping a few notes. “When you’re motivated, your hands are like magic.”
And just like that, my body was on fire. Granted it had been on the brink since Bookshelf-splosion Night, so it didn’t take much to set me off. But I’d been hoping this class would get our friendship back on track. I was just a guy, sitting next to a girl, who was only a friend. Yeah, though all the evidence in my jeans right now was to the contrary.
Noela came past and looked at my sheet of silver sitting forlornly on the bench with marks where I wanted the air holes to be. “Finn, isn’t it?” I nodded and she picked up the product of my two hours of work. “Perhaps we should try something simpler?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve decided to pay Scarlett to make it for me. She has the knack for anything artistic.”
Noela’s gaze moved across to Scarlett’s side of the bench. “He’s right. Your work is very sophisticated for a beginner. Are you sure you’ve never done any silversmithing before?”
“No,” she said, not quite meeting Noela’s eyes. “But I’ve been painting all my life. And I’ve done lots of courses on sculpting and drawing and stuff.”
“I’d love to see some of your work.” Noela’s voice was interested and genuine, and I smiled on the inside.
“I don’t normally show it.” Scarlett fiddled with the little electric instrument she was using to decorate the pendant. “It’s just a hobby, really.”
The teacher smiled knowingly. “I’ve only known you for two hours, so I could be off base, but it doesn’t feel to me that it’s only a hobby.”
Scarlett didn’t say anything, so I stepped in. “Her work is amazing.”
Noela smiled at me before turning back to Scarlett. “I’m here Mondays and Wednesdays if you ever want to drop in. You know,” she said casually, “with a painting, or whatever.” Then she moved on to the next bench.
Scarlett’s hands fluttered up to her throat.
“Hey,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Are you okay?”
She blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess she just surprised me.”
“You should do it. Bring one of your paintings up.”
“No reason to,” she said, in the same dismissive tone she used when she refused to watch football on the TV, so I let it drop.
At the end of the workshop, we were filing out the door when I noticed a poster on the wall in the corridor for an art contest.
“Hey,” I said to Scarlett. “You should enter that. The prize is two hundred dollars and a chance for your painting to be hung in one of the galleries downtown.”
“No,” she said without looking over.
I’d never understood her attitude to her art. If you were good at something, you followed it. What would it hurt to bring a painting down to show Noela, or to enter a contest?
“I can see your mind ticking over, Finn. Do not enter one of my paintings on my behalf.”
“Why would you think I’d do that?” I hadn’t thought of it, but it was a good plan…
She sighed and pushed her blue glasses further up her nose. “Because you think you’re helping but I’m not one of your sisters. We’ve already had this conversation.”
We reached my car and I clicked the keyless lock. Once we were in, I turned to her. “But you’re not making decisions about your art or your career. You’re standing in one spot.”
She shrugged one shoulder as she dumped her bag on the backseat. “It’s my life to stand in one spot if I choose.”
I rubbed a finger over my forehead. She was right. Maybe I was treating her like one of my sisters and trying to get her to do what I thought was best, instead of letting her make her own decisions. The realization was sour in my stomach.
“I guess,” I started, but didn’t know what words came next. I tried again. “It’s just that I care about you and want to see you achieve great things.”
“Maybe I don’t want to achieve great things. Maybe I’ll be happy with a nice, average life.” The streetlights that lit the parking lot showed the slope of her cheekbones, the curve of her lush mouth. She was so beautiful, she made my chest ache.
“You’ll never be average, Scarlett,” I said, my voice raspy. “Even if you tried, you’d never be average.”
Her eyes softened, and the sight made the ache in my chest grow until it damn near floored me.
Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She hadn’t moved back after kissing my cheek and the air in the car changed, grew heavier. My heart picked up speed and her lips parted a little. It would be so easy to lean in the short distance and kiss her. Not the polite peck on the cheek she’d just given me, but a deep, messy, hungry kiss.
And now that I knew what sex with Scarlett was like, we probably wouldn’t stop at a kiss.
Which was the problem.
“Scarlett,” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
I swallowed, wondering if I could bring myself to say it. “We shouldn’t.”
She nodded and gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then sat back in her seat. “I know.”
We both looked out the windshield for a couple of minutes, neither of us talking or moving. Silence had never been a problem with Scarlett—we’d spent heaps of time in the past, driving somewhere or eating dinner, both lost in our own thoughts. No big deal.
This was different. This was a loaded silence, filled with more words than an average conversation held.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, still not looking at me. “But once is an accident. Twice is a pattern.”
Yep, exactly. And patterns of having sex turned into relationships. And the idea of a relationship with Scarlett scared the crap out of me.
When I dated other people, things would follow a standard formula—time together would start out fun, then turn into a bit of a chore, then I’d feel claustrophobic and leave. Assuming they hadn’t broken up with me by that point, which was more common.