“I know.”
For a moment, the easy rhythm between us vanished.
Around us, wheels hummed. Someone at the next table asked for another sponge. The instructor helped a woman whose cylinder had developed an unexpected opening.
Sabrina looked at the clay on her fingertips.
“There,” she said quietly. “The thing I warned you about.”
I watched her wipe her hands on the apron.
It would have been easy to tell her it did not matter at all. It did matter a little. Not enough to hurt us, but enough that
