Mr. February by Ann Roth Read Free Book Online

housewife with empty nest syndrome, raised her hand. “I’m worried my clay will dry out before class next week. How do I keep that from happening?”
    “It can easily dry out, so I’m glad you asked.” Jillian demonstrated how to wrap the clay in wet paper towels and seal it in a plastic bag. “Go ahead and do that now. There are paper towels in the dispenser next to the sink at the back of the studio.”
    She waited for everyone to comply before she nodded at the shelves JR and Chelsea had installed. “The empty shelf space is for you to store your clay and whatever you make during class. Be sure to label your space so you don’t accidentally take someone else’s clay. Next week, you’ll be throwing the pots we’ll eventually fire in the kiln.”
    Excited murmurs filled the studio.
    “I hope mine looks half as pretty as yours,” Edie, a grandmotherly woman, commented.
    Jillian had showed her students her own work-in-process drying on the shelves, along with photos of the pieces she’d sold through the years. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” she said. “It took me years to get where I am now. With time and practice, you’ll get there, too. That reminds me. When these sessions end, I’m planning to teach a more advanced class. I’d love to see you come back. Are there any last questions before you leave?”
    Wanda, a hair stylist about Jillian’s age, posed the next question. “Even though I wore an old smock, I got clay on my tights and under my nails. How do I get it out?”
    “I use a nail scrub brush on my hands. For clothes, I let the clay dry and then brush the excess off. Any residue usually washes out.”
    A pretty redheaded woman named Nora spoke next. “This has nothing to do with pottery, but it is related to this class. Being divorced and on the market, I hoped to meet guys here. Why didn’t any sign up?”
    Jillian grinned. “When I taught at the Artist Cooperative, I did have one or two men in my class who went on to become decent potters. I did hand out flyers to some of the firefighters from the Guff’s Lake Fire Department, but as you can see, none of them signed up.”
    Not that she’d expected anyone from the crew who worked with Rafe. Monday nights, they were all on duty.
    Nora glanced at the calendar on the wall, and the color photo hunky Mr. March, the same Gus Jillian had met the other day, and sighed. “Too bad. Maybe you can introduce me around?”
    “I don’t know the firefighters that well,” she said.
    Except maybe Rafe. But the thought of introducing him to Nora or any other woman didn’t sit well with Jillian. Even if his negative reaction to the idea of marriage and kids made her all the more determined to steer clear of him.
    But, oh, when he gave her that intent, steamy look… Ignoring the warmth flooding her, she ushered her students out. As soon as they drove away, she headed to the house to find JR, who had promised to help clean up after class.
    She couldn’t find him anywhere. She peeked in the spare bedroom he and Chelsea had taken over. Chelsea was alone and curled up under the covers. Lying on the floor next to her, Pooh raised her head and woofed softly. The girl stirred and offered a sleepy smile. “What time is it?”
    “A little after ten.”
    “I was so tired, I climbed into bed early.”
    “No wonder. You’re pregnant. You need your rest. Where’s JR?”
    Chelsea yawned. “He went out with a friend from high school.”
    Jillian hadn’t realized he’d reconnected with any of his old friends, guys he hadn’t seen since before he’d moved to Seattle. “Which friend, and where did they go?”
    “I think his name is Pete? They went out for a beer.”
    With what money? JR didn’t have any to spare. Jillian remembered Pete as a partier and a troublemaker. Of course, he could have changed since then. Still, she was uneasy. She frowned. “JR was supposed to help me clean up the studio after class tonight.”
    “I didn’t