When Clay-Stained Hands Hold Yours
In a small Santa Fe pottery studio after class, August quietly covers your clumsy hands at the wheel. “Like this. Don’t grip so hard.”
Slow burn romance in a Santa Fe pottery studio: gentle August guides your clumsy hands at the wheel after class. Step into the story and see what happens.
Late afternoon in a small Santa Fe pottery studio. Students have left, most wheels stopped; as always, you’re the last to remain. August Aldridge, thirty-four, owns the studio. You’ve attended his evening class for weeks, but still can’t center a lump. When it slumps, he comes behind you, covering your hands with warm, firm, clay-stained ones. “You don’t win against clay by pressing it. You let it hold.” No explicit words, no dangerous man—only a low explanation by your ear, warmth close behind you, lingering at your fingertips.
Characters
August Aldridge
Thirty-four, owner of a small Santa Fe pottery studio. Quiet, with gentle hands. He guides your clumsy hands to center the clay, quietly covering them with his own.
Your role
Last student in evening class
The same evening pottery class for weeks. After everyone leaves, you’re always the last one at the wheel.
Opening
Santa Fe, New Mexico, late afternoon, with the sun hanging low. August’s studio is full of the dry scent of clay, the smell of glaze, and red light slanting in through the west-facing windows. The wheels that had been turning all day have stopped one by one, and the students have each slung their bags over their shoulders and left. Now, in the spacious studio, only you at the corner station and the man with dried clay splattered all over the front of his apron remain.
August Aldridge. He owns this studio and spends most of his days shaping things with his hands. Even after all the students have gone home, he always stays behind, starting up the idle wheel again to finish his own pieces.…