“Weren’t you building a tool shed?”
“That’s what I told you. But I was building you a studio.”
It’s been a couple of months since Elias started working on what was I thought was a tool shed until ten seconds ago. I’ve been here a few times, but there’s not much of a difference between the two until you start to put furniture in. This one has a pottery wheel, a big workbench for me to work on, shelves all around ready to be filled with materials, so definitely not a tool shed. And I haven’t been here for a while. To be honest, I quickly lost interest after the first couple of times, I might live in the mountains now but I haven’t changed overnight and between spending my time in our warm cabin and on the dusty floor of a tool shed, you bet I’m going to pick the former.
But now? It’s not dusty. It’s perfect. It has everything I need to work, and it’s just steps from home. I already know I’m going to love it here. I can picture the kids playing while I shape clay, all of us together, sharing with them my love for this craft.
I rest a hand on my belly. Roberta’s almost here. She kicks and I can tell she’s as excited as I am to come play here.
“You did this?”
“I didn’t want you to stay far for so long. Now you can’t.”
“That sounds… dangerously close to a trap,” I tease, though my throat’s already tight with emotion.
Elias grins, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder, looking out at the sun-drenched space with me. “Maybe it is. Maybe I’m trapping you with clay and sunlight and a view of the mountains.”
I laugh softly, leaning back into him. “It’s working.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “I just wanted you to have something, just yours. You don’t have to share the kiln anymore and that way, people won’t ruin your pieces with your work.”
It has happened a few times before I can count. When clay is not worked properly, it can explode on the kiln and break everything else around it. I started to rent a whole shelf in the kiln just to avoid this. I touch on the brand new kiln, it’s small but kilns are always expensive no matter their size. I feel so grateful to have someone who’s willing to do this for me. Some days I still can’t believe we ended up together. It feels too lucky.
My fingers curl around his. “You always know what I need before I do.”
We stand there quietly for a moment, taking it in—the shelves he built by hand, the light streaming through the wide windows. Now that I think about it, it’s odd he’d do such big windows for a tool shed.
My throat tightens again. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Elias squeezes me gently. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you. I want you happy. And close.”
“You’ve definitely succeeded on the close part.”
He chuckles. “Good. Because I’m not letting you get away again. Not even to the other side of the island.”