Page 22 of Kiln Me Softly

It came as no surprise to Aiden when the group was left waiting for Juniper outside the British Museum.

He’d considered picking her up from Caffé Verde himself, just to make sure she arrived in one piece, but after her reaction to his accidental show of…

well, infatuation, the other day, thought it better not to.

One wrong move was sure to send her running once and for all.

He didn’t get it, though. They got along, no matter what she said. Their chemistry was off the charts, and the sex was like nothing he’d experienced before. What was it about him that made her want to keep him at arm’s length? Why did he spend his days waiting for her to shove him away?

‘Typical Juniper,’ Tilly said when the silence got a bit too awkward. Beside her, Owen shifted from foot to foot, laces loose on his Adidas trainers. No wonder Tilly had needed a buffer. As nice as he seemed, conversation was stilted, awkward, and his attempts at humour often fell flat.

Now, Owen brightened, pushing his glasses up the crooked bridge of his nose. ‘Did you know that, in ancient times, Juniper branches were used to ward off evil spirits?’

Aiden chuckled, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. An autumn chill had crept over London this week, though Tilly seemed not to feel it in her crocheted mustard vest.

‘Something funny, Aiden?’ asked Tilly, a challenge in her inky eyes.

‘Well, I just thought it was ironic. Juniper seems to carry some traits of evil spirits herself.’ Her hot-headedness was just one of them. Maybe he could do with something to ward her off – but he’d never want to, even if he was tiptoeing a steady descent into madness.

‘Oi! I heard that!’ a voice bellowed behind them. He turned to find Juniper hopping up the steps two at a time, her hair twisted into a messy braid that draped over one shoulder. She looked as she always did after a shift at the cafe: drained.

He could remedy that later, he was sure. A pattern had begun to emerge this week: the worse her time at work was, the hungrier she was for him. He was her distraction, a fact he might have had a problem with if she wasn’t also his.

‘Juniper, my dear,’ Tilly said, checking the time on her phone, ‘I love you and all of your terrible time-keeping skills, but the exhibition closes in two hours, so can we get a shifty on?’

‘Sorry. Gianna was teaching me how to clean the coffee machine. Again.’ She puffed out her cheeks as she reached them. At his side, Aiden’s fingers flickered with the urge to brush the matted fringe from her eyes, then kiss her until she was capable of smiling again. ‘Hi, Owen.’

Owen seemed pleased by her attention. ‘Hello, Juniper.’

‘No hello for me?’ Aiden teased.

‘Nope. Shall we go in, then?’

Tilly linked her arm through Juniper’s and tapped the round peak of her nose. ‘Less of the flirting, please. You’re beginning to make me jealous.’

Falling into step beside Aiden, Owen frowned. ‘Wasn’t that the direct opposite of flirting, or am I just out of practice?’

‘Oh, Owen.’ Tilly patted his sandy hair, flattening the already fine strands. ‘You have much to learn about these two.’

‘She’s in love with me, secretly,’ Aiden supplied, coolly turning up the collar of his shirt. ‘Her dislike for me is all an act.’

He’d been hoping for a reaction, and it was what he got. She turned around to send out a harmless kick to his shin. ‘In your dreams, Whittaker.’

‘That’s right.’ He winked. ‘How did you know?’

It wasn’t a lie. The thought of her found him at all hours of the day, whether it was in the darkness of his bedroom at night or when he was scribbling into his sketchbook on the tube.

It was aggravating. Worse because he’d been trying to find some inspiration to paint again, but his brain was too full of her to fit in much else.

They’d been getting more than just pottery done during their study sessions and after-hours workshops, too, though thankfully, it hadn’t impacted their progress.

Their first amphora was almost done, and they only had a few more paragraphs to write for their research paper.

Juniper’s heatless scoff carried into the museum.

The interior was exactly as he remembered: echoey, vast, the white stone walls cold and uninviting.

It had once been his favourite place to visit with his father when they travelled to London.

Now, it was just another reminder of where he should have been.

All the goals he’d abandoned, the people he’d disappointed.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret causing those disappointments by dropping out of Elmington, not when Juniper’s elbow brushed his as they stopped to look at the Myths and Legends Exhibition poster, which displayed an oil painting of a centaur.

The details of light and shadow, colour values and varied brushstrokes, pulled him just as it always did, the beauty not lost on him.

It must have taken months, if not years, of patience for the artist to pull together the bend of tawny fur against brown skin, not to mention the effeminate facial features that broke traditional expectations.

‘I could spend days in this place,’ Tilly confessed. ‘Y’know, I never used to see people like me in paintings growing up. This… This is special.’

Juniper squeezed her hand in silent support, and Aiden’s chest grew a little fuller.

He hadn’t had reason to think about it before, how few people of colour were framed on the walls of museums like this, but now it was impossible to ignore.

He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to never see parts of himself in a place that supposedly existed to immerse people in culture.

‘Did you know that this was the first public museum in Britain?’ Owen rattled off, fiddling with a button on his shirt. ‘It’s been here since 1753.’

Juniper frowned at him, much the same way Aiden had when he’d first realised that Owen had a habit of listing a lot of facts. As interesting as it was, it was a stark change in subject, as though he was trying to gloss over Tilly’s point.

‘What themes are you two focusing on for your project again?’ Juniper asked.

‘Fashion and textiles for me,’ Tilly said. ‘Trains for Owen.’

‘Oh. That will be an interesting mix.’ She turned to Aiden, jabbing him in the side. His skin smarted as though she held a hot poker. ‘In fact, I wish you had an interest in trains. Those would be fun to sculpt!’

‘Well, I’m sorry to burden you with my boring art.

’ He couldn’t help but squeeze her hip, where he’d learned she was ticklish.

She yelped out, slapping him away, but the corner of her mouth rose in a half-concealed smile, and he knew he was doing something right.

Helping her relax again after what had probably been a shitty day.

‘Seriously, guys. I’ll vom if you carry on,’ Tilly said. ‘Remind me why you’re not actually dating again?’

‘Because we don’t like each other,’ Juniper was quick to reply.

‘ She doesn’t like me ,’ Aiden corrected. ‘I’m indifferent.’ He was surprised at how smoothly the lie fell from his mouth, though it didn’t seem to convince anyone.

‘Yeah, right.’ Tilly ushered them towards the steps. ‘Let’s just head to the exhibition before you start ripping off each other’s clothes, yeah?’

Owen scratched his head as though he couldn’t understand any of it, which seemed fair.

They followed the tall staircase up to the second floor, joining the lines of visitors that meandered into the several open exhibition rooms. Tilly and Juniper began chatting about something Aiden couldn’t keep up with, leaving him and Owen to trail behind like lost puppies.

Owen took off his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his sleeve. ‘So, Aiden. Who is your favourite artist?’

He hated that question, mostly because his answer changed depending on where he was with his studies.

His father had trained him to approach art critically, which meant that, for a while, it wasn’t always something to enjoy or admire; rather, something to make money out of.

If he was painting, it had to be perfect, too aware of all the mistakes that could cheapen a work.

Then, at A-level, the theory side had become a requirement, packed full of essays and research that, at least back then, only felt like a way to restrict and dilute his practice.

Now, it wasn’t either of those things. Sometimes, it wasn’t anything at all to him. Sometimes, it was the reason for every terrible thing he’d ever felt.

‘Well, I’ve always found William Blake’s work fascinating,’ seemed like a safe enough answer.

‘Ah, yes. I’m a fan of his poetry, too.’ Owen nodded, then eagerly bounced on the balls of his feet. ‘I have to ask: what is the most famous painting your father has ever sold?’

Aiden’s molars scraped together as they reached the final few steps. Another reason why he was so unsettled here: he couldn’t enter a space like this without being reminded of his father, one way or another. ‘I’m not sure. You’d have to ask him.’

‘Have you ever gotten to work with him? I’m sure he’s shown you the ropes,’ Owen continued obliviously. ‘What about the artists he works with? Have you met anyone famous?’

‘A few times,’ Aiden muttered vaguely. His lungs grew tight and he couldn’t keep from feeling like he would always be trapped this way, no matter how far he tried to run.

His surroundings became a blur, heart pounding too quickly for his body to register anything else.

Jesus, he hadn’t had an anxiety attack in a while.

Not like this. He stopped at the top of the steps, leaning against the railing for support and willing himself to calm down.

Breathe. Count to five. You’re not in danger, for Christ’s sake. You’re fine.

‘Never mind artists.’ Juniper stepped between them, suddenly much closer to Aiden. He tried to hold onto the threads of her voice, tangled around the loud, reverberating din of the museum. ‘What’s your favourite mythological monster?’

‘Mermaids. I’m a simple woman,’ Tilly said. ‘Had a crush on Ariel from day dot.’

‘Erm, I like dragons, I suppose,’ Owen added, then cleared his throat.

‘Very cliché, both of you.’ Juniper gave them a disapproving tut. ‘C’mon. let’s educate you on the beauty of deadly serpent women.’

Tilly and Owen let her push them into the exhibition room. Once they’d headed inside, Juniper hung back, her focus sharp enough to whittle away at least some of his racing thoughts. ‘Are you okay?’

He forced a smile, wiping his clammy palms over the back of his neck. He was fine. He was here. He could breathe again. ‘Why? Worried about me, Hodge?’

‘God, no,’ she said, but the wrinkle in her facade didn’t ease.

Still, she let it drop, that usual stubbornness forgotten somewhere, and he’d never been more grateful for its absence.

Whether she knew it or not, she was doing him a favour, letting him pretend everything was normal.

Like his gut wasn’t churning. Like he wasn’t seconds away from sinking into panic.

Like he wasn’t a complete and utter mess inside.