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He’d never been able to talk to his friends at Elmington like that. They’d never gotten personal, their connection expressed in the form of dry taunts he was all too talented at joining in with. As much as Aiden wanted to fit in with the laddishness of it all, it only seemed to stave away anything meaningful,a fact that was proved when Aiden went through his darkest period alone.

He pushed off the desk, returning to his own, when Chris called for their attention with a loud, ‘Hello!’ through cupped hands. ‘Oh, good. That invisibility spell didn’t work after all. Now that I have your attention, let’s cover a few things. Number one: group projects.’ He indicated the number on his hand with a waggling index finger. ‘By now, you should have settled on a topic and started your research.How might I do this?some of you may ask. Well, back in my day, we started with these things called books.’ He picked up a gigantic copy ofCeramics in Modern Times, waving it around until it fell out of his hands and back onto the table with a thwack. ‘Books look like this. You’ll notice that they have been printed on paper and written by scholars, which, strangely enough, makes them much more reliable than Google.’

‘What about Wikipedia?’ Tom asked.

‘Do not say the devil’s name in a place of worship, Timmy,’ Chris scolded. A few people laughed, Juniper included. The sound scuttled through him like vibrations across violin strings, left him wanting more. More, he’d likely never get.

‘If you really want to impress me, and you should, you might consider going outside.’ He motioned to the windows with a dramatic flourish. ‘You see, some of the buildings out there are called museums. They have art and sculptures that may just help you on your way. And speaking of museums, I have bad news. While I’m not going to hold your hands and take you on cutesy little walks around the local galleries, which are more than accessible without my help, I do think it mandatory to visit the pottery capital of the UK during your studies.In January, I’m off to Stoke-on-Trent, and I would encourage you all to join me. Well, that’s a lie. I don’t really want you to. But I am doing it for your benefit, so I guess you’re all welcome. You can sign up on your student app.’

‘You mean, where they filmThe Great Pottery Throw Down?’ Tilly asked excitedly.

‘Yes. You may stand in the very room where many a reality TV show contestant has cried on camera. How exciting.’

Tilly wasn’t the only one looking forward to it. Nomi was practically bouncing off her seat, and Amir held his hand up for a high five that never came from Tom.

‘All of the deets, as the cool kids call them, will be sent via email closer to the time, but the university has arranged our stay, so you’ll be glad to know that everything bar food, drink, and train tickets will be free.’ Chris returned behind his work desk, where a wedge of clay sat ready and waiting. ‘Now, moving on. Throwing isn’t the only way to make things, and quite frankly, I’m alarmed at how many of you are utterly terrible at it, so today we shall be hand-building.’

‘Yes!’ Juniper shouted triumphantly, causing everyone to turn around. She sunk back down with a, ‘Sorry.’

‘Dear lord,’ Chris muttered, and then went back to explaining by flicking through his PowerPoint. A display of ideas was shown, offering everything from mugs to delicate sculptures in all colours and sizes. ‘This should be a project you’d like to include in your final portfolio at the end of the year, so I’m not going to tell you what to do here. All that’s required is that you create something you yourself have use for – whether it’s in your kitchen,living room, et cetera. You can use any of the techniques we’ve covered so far, and you will be glazing next week after a trip to the kiln, so don’t fluff it up, otherwise you’ll have to stay behind to catch up.’

No pressure, then. Aiden stretched out his fingers, eager to get to work. Only his imagination seemed to fail him as soon as he looked down at his clay. Without the safety of the throwing wheel at his disposal, it was entirely possible that he might, in fact, fluff this one up.

Ten minutes later, Aiden still had an untouched slab of clay and zero ideas. Around him, his classmates were busy creating their pieces, using both tools and their hands to form an array of shapes. Tilly’s already resembled a bowl. Amir seemed to be making a dinner set.

In the end, he decided he’d better play it safe and used the mugs displayed on the board as his starting point. He could worry about making it stand out when it came to glazing, but for now, anything would do. He was more than capable of something this simple. He’d studied art his whole life, after all.

So why did his hands shake when he began to wedge the clay?

He needed a break, needed to stop overthinking. He turned around on his stool. Paused at the sight that awaited him.

Juniper seemed to be a million miles away from this classroom, where none of the worries he felt could touch her. Her tongue poked out as she concentrated – something that shouldn’t have been hot,and yet somehow roused the creature in his gut, the one that answered only to her. As she coiled the clay around in layers, a delicate crease carved a triangle over the inner edges of her brows. The pads of Aiden’s thumbs buzzed with the need to smooth it down like he would a crack in his clay. He hadn’t seen her this engrossed since high school, and there was a serenity to it, a calm, that left him awed. His own art had given him that same security, once. Now, he was always worrying about the results, wondering if they would be enough to impress his father, his friends, his tutors, all of whom expected every piece he produced to be a masterpiece, because hadn’t he held a paintbrush in his hand before he could even walk? Wasn’t he supposed to be effortlessly talented at this after twenty years of being Jonathan Whittaker’s son?

‘You’re staring at me,’ Juniper murmured without breaking her focus. ‘Stop it.’

‘Can’t.’ Not a lie. ‘What are you making?’

‘A medieval torture device, just for you.’

His lips spread into a crooked grin. ‘Kinky. I like it.’

‘Do you like your head? Because if you keep distracting me, it won’t be on your shoulders for much longer.’

‘I seemed to remember thatyouliked my head quite a lot,’ he quipped.

She slapped her hands to her knees and shot him daggers, and he relished the pink stains of incredulity on her cheeks. ‘Aiden!’

‘What?’ he asked, although he was beginning to think he’d made a grave mistake in bringing it up again. Bringing it up meant thinking about it,and thinking about it meant wanting it, and…

Fuck, he wanted it.Her. No matter how badly she treated him, how much she made her disgust for him known, he couldn’t stop. Especially not now, with her fingers caked and eyes light, fervent. She may have been struggling, but she loved the craft, and that was sexy as hell. He found himself suddenly jealous of the clay. She touched it so gently, so lovingly, perhaps the only thing in the world that got to see her as her most tender, authentic self.

Proof she wasn’t all barbs after all.

Across the aisle, Tilly choked on a laugh, having clearly overheard. He didn’t doubt that she already knew about their little hook up and ached to wonder what Juniper must have said. She could call it a mistake, her biggest regret, but he’d heard her whimper and moan, felt her rock against his tongue for more, and knew that she’d been at his mercy for a fleeting moment in time. He’d made her feel good, and she clearly couldn’t stand it.

His underwear pulled taut against his hardening cock, and he headed to the cupboards at the back of the room in an attempt to hide it, searching through tools in the hopes they might inspire him. Nothing.

He knew even before he saw her when Juniper joined him, the air thickening around him and the hair on his arms dancing on end. From his periphery, he watched her stand on her tiptoes to try to reach a box of fabrics, fingers barely brushing the shelf.