should consider it a warning before Saturday.”
At her car, she hugged me again.
This time, I rested my hand at the small of her back for a moment before letting go. She looked at me as if she might say something else. Then a group crossed behind us, laughing loudly, and the moment scattered.
“Saturday,” she said.
“I’ll be there.”
“And don’t practice.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
The pottery studio smelled of damp earth, wet wood, and coffee that had been left warming too
