Page 9 of Kiln Me Softly

‘Honestly, I don’t know.’ He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest in a way that made his T-shirt stretch across his thick shoulders. A tuft of dark hair peeked from the white collar, which she quickly looked away from.

‘Well, don’t overwhelm me with too much brainstorming,’ she deadpanned, crossing one knee over the other.

He smirked, shaking his head. With half of his face cast in the watery noon light, the other caught in the golden glow of the café, his lashes cast thick shadows.

Every part of him was another lump of coal to fuel her fire.

He didn’t deserve to be perfect, but he was, and maybe it was shallow, but she’d feel better if she could find some kind of external flaw to match all of his internal ones.

Even the faint scar in his chin only served to pronounce his dimple better, offering an inviting rugged edge to his otherwise faultless features.

She’d almost forgotten she was waiting for an answer, and quickly dragged her attention to the window again when he spoke. ‘I guess I like music.’

‘Everybody likes music. What sort of music?’

A shrug. ‘Anything really. Rock. Pop. Folk. Classical.’

‘Okay…’ She could work with that, maybe. She liked the first three genres herself. ‘Do you play any instruments?’

‘No.’

Or not. As she’d suspected, he didn’t seem eager to talk about it, about anything – not like she was with mythology – and if he lacked the creativity to care, it was sure to reflect on their work.

Her work. She could already see a million different ceramic sculptures floating in her mind, both with her monsters and his music, but it wasn’t her job to do all of the heavy lifting. He owed her at least some enthusiasm.

‘Again, calm down with all these wonderfully unique ideas,’ she said in that same flat voice, then shifted in an effort to release some of her impatience. ‘Give me something here. Christopher said it should be something personal. Something that shows who we are as individuals.’

‘And together,’ he added, despite it being the part she was quite happy to ignore. He leaned closer, resting his cheek on his hand and offering a wolfish grin. ‘Who are we together, Hodge?’

He was trying to get under her skin. She could feel it.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even if the low, rumbled words tiptoed under her jumper and scuttled over her skin.

‘Let’s get this clear. We’re nothing together, Whittaker.

And if you don’t know who you are, what you care about, I doubt we’ll figure it out for the sake of this project. ’

‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ He frowned into his latte, an absent finger tracing the rim of the mug. ‘I know who I am, and I care about plenty.’

‘Good. Then tell me, because I’m not doing all the work here.’ She stretched out her legs determinedly, and then regretted it when her toe brushed Aiden’s shin.

He nudged her back with a softer sole. ‘Playing footsie with me now? I can’t keep up with you, Juni.’

‘Shut up. It was an accident.’ She tore away roughly enough that her chair scraped back with her, which only seemed to entertain him more. Had she mentioned recently that she hated him? A lot? ‘Look, I’ve got better things to be doing, so if you’re not taking this seriously—’

‘Art,’ he drawled, interrupting her. ‘Art is the thing I know most about. Happy?’

‘Art.’ She frowned. It made sense, had been the first thing she’d assumed he’d come up with, yet she didn’t sense any sincerity in his voice.

Like he wouldn’t choose it at all if there was another option.

Like it was something that haunted rather than inspired.

‘Y’know, knowing the most about it doesn’t mean much – only that you grew up with an art dealer for a dad and the means to pursue the same path.

That’s not the same as loving something. ’

He splayed his hands out in a sudden, rough gesture. ‘Well, then, what do you want from me?’

I want you to be honest with me. The thought came without reason, without want, and she tried to shove it down quickly.

It wasn’t true. She didn’t want anything from Aiden, especially not his honesty.

All she wanted was a decent amount of effort on this project so that she could prove to everybody she deserved a place here, that she could be a decent potter like the rest of them.

She sipped more of her drink, the bitterness matching her mood. ‘I’m only saying you don’t sound very passionate, but whatever. If that’s what you want to do, fine. Maybe we can find some paintings of mythological creatures or something, combine the two.’

‘I could name a few.’

‘Wonderful. You really are the fount of all knowledge, then.’ Her tone was dry, sardonic, something she never could seem to control around him.

For once, it didn’t seem to amuse him. ‘Look, we’re going to have to spend a lot of time together for this project, so can we just quit it with the snide remarks?’

‘I’m not snide .’

‘You’re something ,’ he retorted.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Her voice rose, causing a few students around them to look her way. She shrank back in her seat, feeling scolded. Feeling sick of this already.

Aiden blinked, his gaze lingering on her for longer than was comfortable. ‘You know, you’re going to need my help far more than I’ll need yours,’ he decided finally.

She scoffed so hard that she almost choked on her own saliva. The fucking nerve of this lad. ‘Get off your high horse. I don’t need shit from you.’

‘No? Because you’ve been struggling on the wheel all week. If that’s anything to go off, our exhibition will be nothing more than a few questionably shaped lumps of clay.’

‘I made one accidental penis! One!’ She held a finger up for emphasis, wishing she could poke it right in his eye.

‘I’m trying, and that’s more than I can say for you!

You’re just perfect at everything, aren’t you?

And if you’re not, who cares? You’re Aiden Whittaker.

You can get away with it. You can get away with anything, and you’ll never have to try. ’

‘I’m trying now ,’ he muttered, deep tone dripping with something Juniper couldn’t decipher.

She paused. On the table, his fingers were furled into his palms, and a splash of red coloured his cheeks. Had she actually affected him?

A shred of guilt fluttered in her chest, but it soon dissolved. Maybe she was a little snide, but he was worse. He would always be worse after what he did.

She was over this. Over him. At least for today. She stood up, drink in hand and fatigue on her shoulders despite the caffeine humming through her. ‘Let’s just do some research over the weekend then try again on Monday. We’re not getting anywhere with this.’

‘No shit,’ he spat out.

When she stormed out of the café, she was just proud that her iced coffee remained intact, rather than dunked on his head and staining his white tee.

She could imagine it, brown fabric clinging to his pecs and tongue jutting out to catch the droplets.

The shock as his lips parted, hair flopping into his eyes.

She’d expected to feel the heat in her chest at the fantasy, but it bloomed further south, an invisible string tugging between her gut and her core. Stop. Just stop.

But it felt pointless to even try. She was learning that nothing she did would snuff out this thing with Aiden, whether it was anger or something more. He was unavoidable – inevitable, it sometimes felt like.

Still, she couldn’t let him win.

Not like he had last time.