Annnd, she’s sloshed.
There is no way in hell sober Bonnie would be asking me if things were “coming to life,” let alone dancing with me.
Bending down, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
“What the—put me down at once. I demand it!”
“Your time here is up,” I say, bringing her to the table, where Dakota’s just finished paying the bill.
“You aren’t the boss of me. I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions.”
Dakota quickly says goodbye to everyone before following me out the door.
“Dakota, tell this Highland beast to put me down at once.”
“It’s time for bed, Bonnie,” Dakota says, and I’m grateful she’s on the same page as me.
“I was just starting to have fun,” she whines.
“You were poking Rowan’s ass.”
“Accidentally,” she complains, still draped over my shoulder as I trudge down the road, the sun finally starting to set in the west. She’s not heavy, but I’m still grateful Fergie’s is close to the coffee shop, and we’re soon turning down the gravel driveway. “You saw the way he was dancing. There was no sway in his hips at all. I was simply waking them up.”
“You’re going to be hurting tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep,” Dakota says. “We can’t be late again.”
I pause. “Och, do you want me to drop you off on your sleeping rocks to pass out? Seems like you sleep well there.”
“You’re an asshole,” Bonnie mutters while Dakota chuckles.
That puts a smile on my face.
I pull my shirt over my head and toss it into the hamper. Slipping my boots off, I tuck them away where they belong and then remove my socks. As I walk out of my bedroom, I take one quick glance in the mirror and notice how rumpled my hair is.
It wasn’t from me pushing my hand through it.
No, it was a little gift from Bonnie. Once it became clear I wouldn’t put her down until she was in her bed, she decided she’d mess with my hair, sticking it on all ends.
“Take that and that and that,” she said, over and over again while digging her fingers through the thick strands.
Hell, it felt fucking good.
She thought she was annoying me, but in reality I was hoping she’d keep doing it. And that’s how I knew I might be a bit sloshed too.
I walk into my kitchen, grab the glass that I keep next to the sink, fill it up with some tap water, and guzzle it down, only to fill it up again.
Too wired to even consider going to sleep, I push through my front door, the evening air putting life into my chest while I walk over to my shed. Crickets chirp in the distance, and my front door light illuminates my path as my bare feet close the distance.
Slowly, I unlock the shed door and slide it open. I flip on the light I installed a few months ago when I realized I do my best work at night.
My small but comforting space comes to life from the overhanging light, instantly relaxing me. Shelves of drying projects, half-glazed pots, and finished products line the walls. My kiln, which I replaced last year after my first one broke down, sits in the corner. And then there’s my wheel, my place of solace.
It’s been a long fucking day of repairing things here and there before giving my parents a quick send-off. I didn’t get much more than a hug from my maw and a grunt from my da. After that, I helped some of our older residents with menial tasks, and then, of course, assisted Bonnie and Dakota. I’m exhausted but exhilarated at the same time.
I take a seat, set my glass down, dip my hands in water, and then grab a chunk of clay. I set it on the potter’s wheel in front of me, where I spiral wedge it, letting out the air bubbles. The feel of the clay beneath my fingers soothes my busy soul, giving me the chance to clear my mind and just breathe. I turn on the wheel and slowly start to move my hands over the clay. Normally I listen to music while throwing, but the sounds of the night filter through my shed instead, and I get lost.
My annoyance at my parents and their evasiveness washes away.
The irritation of doing a job I hate, to appease my duty-driven father, disappears.
The anguish of not living the life I want slowly vanishes.
The horror of my past fades.
All that’s left are my hands and my clay . . . and Bonnie.
Fuck.
Those eyes, that attitude, that smile.
I dip my fingers into the center of the clay, forming a hole.
Her brazenness, her quick wit, her eagerness to dance with me.
My teeth pull on the corner of my mouth as I round the clay back together.