Page 15 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

“No worries. I just didn’t want to spook you.”

“I was just inspectin‘ some of these bowls that came out of the kiln yesterday.” He referred to the white, speckled pieces on a workbench. “Some are better than others. I’ll sell ’em all, but the price will change based on what’s got blemishes and such. Still need to glaze and refire ’em though.”

I stepped closer and picked up one bowl. It was wide and shallow and had a faint scalloped edge.

“My mother would love to put a summer salad in something like this,” I mused.

There were about a dozen, all the same design, but I could tell what he meant by some were better than others.

“So, you ready to throw some clay?” he asked.

“I’m ready for whatever you want to teach me, Obi-Wan.”

He huffed a laugh. “How’s your back? The wheel requires you to sit and hunch over.”

“Oh! Uh … I actually just came from Maz at Unger Wellness because I’m in rehab for a back injury.” My heart deflated at the thought of not getting to learn pottery because of my injury. What else was it going to keep me from doing?”

“No worries,” Hugh said, undeterred. He scratched at his gray chin scruff which matched his thick mop of unruly gray hair. “We can do hand sculpting instead. It’s easier.”

“Oh, good.” At first, I followed him around like a lost puppy as he went from one corner of the big studio to the other, mostly talking to himself getting things ready. Then I realized I was probably in his way. So while I let him do his thing, I wandered around, checking out all his art.

“See those shelves there?” he said, pointing to a bookcase along the far wall. “Pick somethin‘ from there. Any shelf. Doesn’t matter. And we’ll make that. Or a variation of it.”

Nodding, I went to the bookshelf where brightly painted mugs, jars, bowls, plates, dishes, and fairy houses decorated the unfinished wood.

My mother was obsessed with bees, so the bee mug with the honeycomb design around the mug instantly drew my attention. I picked it up. “Can I make this?” I asked.

“Bring it over.” He beckoned me with a sweeping arm and a nod.

I met him at a workbench where he had two big bricks of gray clay, two pots of water, a series of tools, and a small lazy Susan for each of us.

I set the bee mug down and Hugh nodded. “You like bees?”

“My mother does.”

“Mother’s Day is not far off. You gonna paint it?”

“Today?”

He shook his head and grunted. “Next week. Then it’ll be ready a week after that.”

“Excellent.”

He pulled out his phone and turned the music up a little just as Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” came to an end. “We need to condition the clay. So fold it in half and press down. You want it the thickness of a slice of banana bread.”

I snorted. “Love banana bread.”

“Me too.”

I followed his instruction.

“What’d you do to your back?” he asked, as we rolled out the clay with our small wooden rolling pins.

“Got bodychecked from behind in hockey. Fell, crushed my L3 and L4.”

He lifted his gaze to mine. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” I pinched my brows a little. “Do you know Jolene Dandy?”

It was like he’d seen a ghost. This did not bode well. “What did you tell that woman?”

“Uh …”

“She is The Island Mouth. If you told her anything the entire island will know it by the end of the week, if not sooner.”

“I, uh …”

He shook his head. “What’d you tell her, kid?”

“Just … just that I was staying at the McEvoy cabins and I’m here visiting the Campbells. Then the receptionist at Unger Wellness told her to leave me alone.”

“Ramona is a gem. Love her,” Hugh said. The twinkle in his eye said maybe he loved Ramona in more than just a platonic way. His dry lips twisted for a moment. “Did you tell her your last name?”

I shook my head. “No, I know better than that.”

“Okay … okay.” He nodded. “Did you tell her anything else? Did she ask anything else?” His level of alarm was beginning to make me panic. I knew small towns were breeding grounds for gossip and rumors, but just how much of a megaphone was Jolene Dandy?

“I mean, she asked if I was single.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t reply.”

“Good … good.”

“She knows I was coming here though. I said I had a pottery class.” The way his eyes bugged out again, had me cringing. “Did I fuck up?”

“She’ll be here within the hour, mark my words.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Shaking his head, he grabbed the template which was just a twelve-inch-long piece of rectangular cardstock cut about five inches wide and laid it down on top of his rolled-out clay.

I did the same. “Because she’ll want to know what we’re talkin‘ ’bout.

She’ll want to know everything.” He glanced to the ceiling.

“I’m not a religious man, but may all the gods help us if that woman finds out who you really are. ”

Fear ran hot, spiky footsteps through me, and my stomach tightened.

I hadn’t been on the island long, but I really liked that I could walk into the grocery store and nobody knew who I was.

And those at the pub that did recognize me didn’t hound me.

I was happy to take pictures and sign autographs, but I was on the island to rest, not for publicity.

Hugh and I fell into silence for a little while as we worked together.

I followed his lead, watching his slightly gnarled hands manipulate the clay.

Eventually, we had our mugs with the honeycomb design on the outside.

His looked much better than mine, but for a first timer, I didn’t think mine looked too bad.

“Now, you decorate as you’d like,” he said.

“You can add a handle, or not. Add bees, or not. Add flowers, or whatever.”

His finished inspiration piece had a few little handmade bees adhered to the sides of the mug, along with a handle, and a scattering of daisies.

I wanted to emulate that one as best I could.

Hugh hummed away as he mindlessly made bees and flowers, his knobby and gnarled old hands surprisingly agile and careful with the small, intricate pieces of clay.

I struggled a fair bit more, and my bees were not uniform at all.

Some little suckers were significantly fatter than others.

“That can just be the queen,” he said, when I held up my monster bee, who’d clearly had too much honey, and inspected it.

I snorted. “Thanks.”

Next came the flowers and leaves. To be honest, it was actually really relaxing, sculpting and creating. When I was finally finished, and placed mine next to Hugh’s, I felt a level of pride and accomplishment I hadn’t felt in a really long time.

He rested a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Great work for a first try. You should be proud. Your mom will love it.”

I grinned at him just as the door to the studio opened and who should enter, but Ms. Island Mouth herself.

Her sparkly gaze lit up as she held the door for two other older women, trailing behind her like ladies in waiting.

“I hoped we’d catch you here, Maverick,” she said, sashaying up to me where I stood next to Hugh.

“How can we help you today, Jolene?” Hugh asked flatly. “I don’t see you on my schedule for any of my pottery classes.”

“Oh, Hugh,” Jolene batted her hand in his direction as she removed her jacket hood from her head. “I just wanted to introduce Brenda and Karen to Maverick here.”

“Why?” Hugh asked. “Why are you following this poor guy around?”

Jolene reared back as if Hugh had smacked her. “Excuse me?”

Hugh plunked his hands on his hips and gave Jolene and her friends a very disapproving look. “Jolene, you need to leave this young man in peace. If he wanted you to know more about him, he’d share it with you. Even then, you don’t need to follow him to my place of business and hound him.”

“We’re not hounding him, Hugh. We’re the San Camanez Island Welcome Wagon and we’re here to welcome Mister …” She lifted her brows at me, waiting for me to give her my last name.

I knew better than that— now .

“Just call me Maverick, or Mav,” I said, not taking the bait.

She was definitely put out by that, but wasn’t flustered for long. She smacked on a big smile. “We’re simply here to welcome Maverick to the island. And when he told me he had pottery class, well, I knew I had to bring Brenda and Karen along to meet him.”

“Did you really now?” Hugh asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

It was all I could do not to smirk. I liked Hugh a lot, and even more so because he was sticking up for me.

I was a people pleaser, and probably would have succumbed to Jolene’s tyranny, giving her everything from my mother’s maiden name to my social security number.

“Yes,” Jolene huffed. She turned to me again. “Maverick, as the Welcome Wagon, we’d love to officially welcome you to San Camanez Island.”

“Thank you …”

Was that it?

“This is Brenda Pickford. Her family has been on the island for years. Her husband, Otto, is the principal at the elementary school.”

Brenda extended her bony hand, and I shook it. “Nice to meet you, Brenda.”

The woman’s smile was brittle and her pale, gray eyes held little warmth.

“And Karen Ribko. She owns Seaside Gifts, a wonderful little giftshop down near the ferry terminal,” Jolene went on.

I shook Karen’s hand as well. There was a bit more light in her brown eyes, and her smile seemed far more genuine than Brenda’s, but both women still held a wariness toward me that I couldn’t quite shake.

“How do you know the Campbells?” Brenda asked, her tone cold, suspicious.

“Old family friends,” I said, choosing my words carefully now that I knew what these three women were all about.

“Where’d you meet them?” Jolene asked.

“I was a h—”