storage room in the back of the shop so I’d have enough room to work. Her studio upstairs is pretty cramped.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to finish the statue?”
“I’ll be here all summer, but the grant covers the entire project no matter how many hours I put in.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve got one more semester of grad school left and then who knows? Italy sounds good. Or I could work in a gallery. Maybe apprentice with another sculptor. At our age, life is a buffet. We can wander through and pick out what we like best. We can even skip the salad and go straight for dessert if we want to.”
“You’re talking about having a lot of choices.” At least that’s what I hoped he was talking about. Otherwise there was a great big helping of it’s all about me in that philosophy.
“I guess so.” Jared shrugged. “I may not know exactly what I want to do yet, but I know what I won’t be doing—making soup bowls and coffee mugs.”
“Are you talking about Marissa?” The shock in my voice didn’t seem to faze him.
“She’s talented but she’s wasting it here. She might make a living selling dessert dishes but as for making a life, sorry, not seeing it.”
“Maybe it’s what she chose to do. You know, off the buffet.” It was snarky to throw the buffet analogy back at him but Marissa was a friend of Bernice’s so I was feeling loyal on her behalf.
“There’s choosing and then there’s settling,” Jared argued. “My dad settled and he was miserable his whole life. All he wanted to do was play jazz guitar and he wound up teaching music lessons to whiny rich kids after school instead.”
I didn’t know Marissa well enough to argue that she wasn’t miserable, but when I’d seen her in church on Sunday, her eyes closed and her hands lifted in worship, I remembered thinking how serene she’d looked. She didn’t look like someone who’d been given a handful of celery sticks from the salad bar of life.
“Look at you. You’re helping out a friend this summer, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be fulfilled if you stayed here and cut hair the rest of your life.”
“Maybe I would.” I lifted my chin. If that’s what God wanted me to do, wouldn’t I be happy doing it? Or didn’t happy matter? Maybe sometimes a girl had to accept the plan God had for her, like she would a dose of liquid cold medicine.
Jared stared at me intently for a second, and then he draped his arm over my shoulder and leaned closer until we were almost nose-to-nose. “There’s more to life than a steady paycheck, Heather. Ask my dad.”
It wasn’t fair that sometimes chemistry won. My brain heard the words but my heart ignored them and chose to focus on his blue-lagoon eyes. What had Jared said about dessert first?
I moved a fraction of an inch away from him and Jared sat back. “I have something for you.” He retrieved the foil package from the cooler and unwrapped it carefully, exposing a raspberry Danish in perfect condition. “I heard these are your favorite.”
A double hit. Blue eyes and my favorite pastry.
“I…” Can’t form an intelligent sentence to save my life? “Do you want half?” Saved by good manners. Mom would’ve been proud of me.
“It’s all yours. I’m going to go back to the studio to work a few more hours. My muse usually comes out late at night, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to see you.”
I inhaled a chunk of frosting as I tried to process that information. He. Wanted. To. See. Me.
“Oh, that’s—” Unbelievable. Incredible. Amazing. “—nice.”
The kind of lukewarm response guaranteed to puncture a permanent hole in the male ego. I didn’t mean it! I can come up with a better word!
“So, we’re going to give the canoe another try Friday night, right?”
Obviously Jared had a sturdier ego than most guys. Or maybe he thought I was playing hard to get. Was I playing hard to get? I wasn’t sure. I’d never played at anything before. And I’d never
“How long do you think it’ll take to finish the statue?”
“I’ll be here all summer, but the grant covers the entire project no matter how many hours I put in.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve got one more semester of grad school left and then who knows? Italy sounds good. Or I could work in a gallery. Maybe apprentice with another sculptor. At our age, life is a buffet. We can wander through and pick out what we like best. We can even skip the salad and go straight for dessert if we want to.”
“You’re talking about having a lot of choices.” At least that’s what I hoped he was talking about. Otherwise there was a great big helping of it’s all about me in that philosophy.
“I guess so.” Jared shrugged. “I may not know exactly what I want to do yet, but I know what I won’t be doing—making soup bowls and coffee mugs.”
“Are you talking about Marissa?” The shock in my voice didn’t seem to faze him.
“She’s talented but she’s wasting it here. She might make a living selling dessert dishes but as for making a life, sorry, not seeing it.”
“Maybe it’s what she chose to do. You know, off the buffet.” It was snarky to throw the buffet analogy back at him but Marissa was a friend of Bernice’s so I was feeling loyal on her behalf.
“There’s choosing and then there’s settling,” Jared argued. “My dad settled and he was miserable his whole life. All he wanted to do was play jazz guitar and he wound up teaching music lessons to whiny rich kids after school instead.”
I didn’t know Marissa well enough to argue that she wasn’t miserable, but when I’d seen her in church on Sunday, her eyes closed and her hands lifted in worship, I remembered thinking how serene she’d looked. She didn’t look like someone who’d been given a handful of celery sticks from the salad bar of life.
“Look at you. You’re helping out a friend this summer, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be fulfilled if you stayed here and cut hair the rest of your life.”
“Maybe I would.” I lifted my chin. If that’s what God wanted me to do, wouldn’t I be happy doing it? Or didn’t happy matter? Maybe sometimes a girl had to accept the plan God had for her, like she would a dose of liquid cold medicine.
Jared stared at me intently for a second, and then he draped his arm over my shoulder and leaned closer until we were almost nose-to-nose. “There’s more to life than a steady paycheck, Heather. Ask my dad.”
It wasn’t fair that sometimes chemistry won. My brain heard the words but my heart ignored them and chose to focus on his blue-lagoon eyes. What had Jared said about dessert first?
I moved a fraction of an inch away from him and Jared sat back. “I have something for you.” He retrieved the foil package from the cooler and unwrapped it carefully, exposing a raspberry Danish in perfect condition. “I heard these are your favorite.”
A double hit. Blue eyes and my favorite pastry.
“I…” Can’t form an intelligent sentence to save my life? “Do you want half?” Saved by good manners. Mom would’ve been proud of me.
“It’s all yours. I’m going to go back to the studio to work a few more hours. My muse usually comes out late at night, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to see you.”
I inhaled a chunk of frosting as I tried to process that information. He. Wanted. To. See. Me.
“Oh, that’s—” Unbelievable. Incredible. Amazing. “—nice.”
The kind of lukewarm response guaranteed to puncture a permanent hole in the male ego. I didn’t mean it! I can come up with a better word!
“So, we’re going to give the canoe another try Friday night, right?”
Obviously Jared had a sturdier ego than most guys. Or maybe he thought I was playing hard to get. Was I playing hard to get? I wasn’t sure. I’d never played at anything before. And I’d never
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