I Was The Spare Seat The Spare Gift And The Spare Bride novel Chapter 06
Morning in Willow Creek-damp earth on the cool air. I set up a potter’s wheel in Jade’s backyard. Clay took shape under my hands.
me.”
Jade poked her head out from the kitchen. “You’ve been at it a few days and you’re already better than I didn’t look up, but my lips curved.
Pottery is strange. You have to place your hands just right, apply even pressure, not too tight, not too loose. The clay spins on the wheel-one wobble and it all falls apart. I liked that control. Unlike people.
I’d always been good at art. But I’d forced myself to study things I wasn’t made for, just to prove something.
Now, people loved my work. “Gorgeous.”
“I’ll pay for custom orders.”
A local home blogger bought one of my tea bowls without thinking much of it, posted a photo-and the comments exploded. Orders poured in like snow.
Before coming here, I was an assistant who couldn’t read spreadsheets, told she was “dumb” every single day. Liam said I couldn’t do anything right. My parents said I was no match for Naomi. Eventually, I believed them. I really thought I was nothing.
cups.
But now, people paid money for what I made. They praised my skill. They waited a month for one of my.
I looked down at the wet clay on my hands and felt my nose sting. Maybe I wasn’t that bad after all.
People started coming to learn, too.
One day, a quiet, lean man showed up with a little boy-maybe seven or eight. He looked a little embarrassed. “Could my brother just sit here and work with clay for a while? He’s not great with people, but he loves ceramics.”
That boy was unusual. I crouched down and put a ball of wedged clay in front of him. “Wanna try?”
He reached out slowly, pinched and shaped with intense focus-like nothing else in the world existed but him and that clay.
He came every week after that. Always the same man brought him-tall, lean, good-looking in the afternoon light.
Over time, we got to know each other. His name was Owen Rhodes. The boy was his brother, Miles-he had autism. Sometimes we’d shape clay together.
One time, Owen brought flowers-a few sprigs of white daisies wrapped in brown paper, tucked into a glass jar.
“I noticed your yard was a little bare. These are easy-just water them and they’ll live.”
I blinked, took them, and thanked him. He smiled and went to sit in the yard, pulling a book from his bag.
Third time, he brought coffee. Fourth time, he helped me carry a new shipment of clay. Fifth time, Miles handed me a lopsided little cup he’d made, with Owen standing behind him, the corner of his mouth barely lifted.
Jade watched from inside and shot me a look: “He’s good.” I said nothing and kept throwing clay.
He came more often after that-not just to drop off Miles, but sometimes just to sit. He’d bring tea or pastries, set them on the wooden table, read quietly without saying much.
One weekend evening, Miles shaped a little dog inside and ran out to show Owen.
Owen crouched down, studied it seriously, and said, “That’s really good.”
He handed the little dog to me. “He didn’t say it, but I know Miles wants you to have this.”
I took it. My fingers brushed his, and I pulled back quickly.
That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning. Moonlight streamed through the window and fell on those daisies.
They were still blooming-clean and white. I realized Liam had never once bought me flowers.
The last time, Owen brought me a whole armful of roses. “Saw these fresh at the florist. Thought the color suited you.”
Miles didn’t speak-just gestured for me to take them. I couldn’t say no to the kid, so I took them.
The moment I did, I saw the people standing at the gate.