Two weeks later, she saw him again.

He had emailed over the logo he wanted on the mugs and she had set to work straight away. She had been busy throwing mugs and plates of various shapes and sizes. Her 3D-printer had provided her with the logo of his brand that she then carefully stamped into the pots once they were leather hard and had been trimmed.

She was happy with the bisqueware that came out of the kiln and applied the glazes he had picked carefully. The morning she had opened the kiln after the glaze firing, she was so excited that she had called him and probably left him the most geeky voicemail in history.

She was outside, to the side of her studio - a double garage, really - busy grinding some glaze drips off the kiln shelves. A noisy, dusty job. She was all decked out in ear protectors, half mask and gloves, looking like something out of a sci-fi movie, working her muscles as she stabilised the vibrating grinder to get a smooth surface. A dust cloud surrounded her as she was working. When she turned off the grinder, she took off the ear protectors and ripped down the mask, peeling her gloves off to finally wipe the sweat beads off her face. It was a hot day.

"Hello, darlin'."

It made her jump and she turned around to see him leaning against the side of her studio, hands stuffed in his pockets, jeans today, his muscles accentuated in the t-shirt he wore, sunglasses hiding his eyes from her. A smirk danced on his lips as he pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her.

She patted the dust off herself in a panic. The second time he'd seen her in a right state.

"The samples are this way," she managed, after she unplugged the grinder and stalked into the studio.

She heard his footsteps follow as she made her way over the concrete floor, then opened the door at the back that led into her kitchen.

"They're on there," she said, nodding towards the table, as she turned on the tap of the sink, leathering her hands and arms up in soap and washing her face and glasses as well. She grabbed the towel next to the sink and dried off, polishing her spectacles and putting them back on, before she turned around.

She had expected to find him over by the table, instead he was in her personal space again. He had taken off his sunglasses and he just stood there, smiling that goddamn smile at her that had her heart racing.

"You didn't quite get something," he said and she wondered if this was what he sounded like in the morning, after a long night of passion.

His hand reached out for the towel in her hand and she gulped when he gently rubbed on the side of her jaw and down her throat. His fingers grazed her skin, only ever so slightly, but enough to send little electric sparks over her skin, down her back.

She shuddered.

He noticed. His eyes darkened. Then he smirked.

She practically lunged away from him towards the table. "The samples came out really great, have a look. I particularly like the textured autumn, it took really well to all the shapes: the mugs, the plates, the jugs... It looks really nice in artificial light, but particularly in the sunshine. But of course that's just my opinion."

Her fingers traced the deep purple hues on the layers of warm browns, the specs of yellow giving the dish warmth and depth. He came to stand beside her, his fingers gliding over hers, tracing with her.

She thought her heart would stop beating. She nearly dropped the mug.

His body radiated warmth and strength. He was so impossibly close. His fingers felt calloused, strong. And jet, his touch was incredibly soft.

She retracted her hand slowly and he kept on turning the mug in his hands.

"I don't want to put it down," he said, looking up at her. "I just want to keep on touching it."

And her dirty, dirty mind was replacing 'it' with 'you'.

She quickly turned around to the kettle and flicked it on. He didn't need to see her blush as she was imagining those fingers all over her body. What would that feel like? It had been so long, she'd forgotten.

"Well, the true test is how the coffee tastes in the different mugs," she tried to sound professional. He was a potential customer, after all.

She put a pour-over on top of a pot, placed a paper filter in it, shook some coffee beans he had left at his first visit in a grinder and gave it a quick whizz. Carefully, she spooned the freshly ground powder into the paper filter. The kettle boiled and she poured the water slowly into the pour-over. It smelt divine. Homely.

"I made some cake this morning. Care for a slice?"

"You bake?"

"I couldn't sleep."

I was thinking of you, like a teenager pining for their crush.

She finally dared to look at him. He was watching her with his intense eyes, a smile curling his gorgeous lips.

"That would be lovely."

She took the cake stand that was on the table and walked towards the sliding doors by the kitchen. He followed her as she stepped out onto hardwood decking. She walked over to a table that was in the shade of the trees, a cool breeze from the shallow stream a stone's throw away gave the place a peaceful feeling.

He sat down on the rustic bench, his hands sliding over the wood, appreciating the grooves and ridges.

"My friend made it, she's a carpenter and loves to keep the natural shape of the trees in her work. She uses cut offs that sawmills can't use, because the trunks have holes or are too gnarly."

"It's amazing," he said.

She went back inside to put the coffee pot, the mugs and plates on a tray, along with some milk and sugar.

When she stepped back out to him, he was sitting with his head tilted back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

Those luscious, delectable lips.

She stilled for a moment, taking in the painting of a man in front of her. She wondered if he knew just how beautiful he truly was.

Her feet started walking on their own, bringing her out of her reverie. She placed the tray on the table with a bit of a clatter, startling him.

"I don't know how you like your coffee, so here's sugar and milk just in case."

She poured a bit of coffee in all seven mugs and placed six of them in front of him, along with a generous slice of cake on a plate.

"I can make different shapes of the plates, if you want to go unconventional. Oval or triangular. Square is something I can't do on the wheel, I'd have to slip-cast it, which then looks a bit more manufactured and less... organic."

"I see," was his only comment.

He licked his lips and took a sip off the first mug, his eyes smiling at her over the rim of the cup.

God he made her nervous. He looked so confident and calm, sitting here in her garden, sipping coffee, as if nothing could ever shake him. As if it wasn't the most unusual thing for a man like him to be sitting under some trees, sampling his coffee out of her mugs.

She shook her head at the surrealism of the situation.

"They're of course 100% food and dishwasher safe," she rambled. "No lead, no toxins used in the glazes. The studio is completely solar powered."

He took his time, holding each cup between his hands, sipping his coffee. Keeping a close lid on that poker face.

She was a wreck, twisting her fingers under the table.

Maybe he didn't like the pots at all. Maybe the glaze didn't live up to his expectations. Maybe he would get up any moment now and give her the often heard "I'll be in touch"-line, only to never be heard of or seen again.

It wouldn't be the first time.

And she would then be left wondering what had gone wrong. If it was the type of clay she had chosen, the thickness of the cups or if the glazes didn't meet expectations. It was a potter's curse and blessing at the same time, the fact that not one mug looked the same, every single one was different, even if only slightly.

It was the unpredictability of how the clay and the glazes reacted in the kiln. And exactly what had drawn her into pottery so many years ago. The magic that happened in the kiln. The patience it required. The fact that some factors were completely out of your control. The versatility of the clay.

Only this time, this time the rejection would sting on an entirely different level. She felt this weird connection to him. Maybe she was going crazy. But if he would get up and walk out that door and never come back, she would be utterly heartbroken, her soul shattered.

She bit her lip and watched him as he placed the last mug down on the table.

"Alright, let's talk business, darlin'," he said.

His hazel eyes found hers. "No need to look so worried. I love the mugs, all of them. I think they'll go really well with our concept. So how long do you need to make, say 300?"

She did a quick calculation in her head. "One month."

He smiled again, showing off his perfect teeth. "Fantastic. Can I take these to show my business partners?"

She nodded her head and stood up, collecting them. "Let me just wash them for you quickly."

After she had washed the mugs and plates, she carefully wrapped them and put them in a box.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed. The black ink patterns seemed to come alive when his muscles flexed. She wanted to find out the stories behind each design.

"You really like your work, don't you?"

She blinked, a bit surprised. "Of course. It makes me happy to think that one of my pieces will be in someone's home, being used on a daily basis, functional. And maybe it gives them a little bit of... comfort."

"I'm sure they do. People in the shop will love these. I know I do. I could feel the care and love you put into making these."

She felt tears stinging in her eyes. Could he be any more perfect? Good looks, gentle nature, attentive and mindful.

"Thank you," she croaked eventually. "That... that means a lot."

He walked to her, taking the box off her hands. "Thank you, darlin'. You'll just call me when they're done. I'll swing by and pick them up and pay for them."

She shook her head. "Two things: number one, I don't want to trouble you with coming here, I can ship them out to you by courier. Number two, regarding payment... Actually, I was wondering if you could do something else for me instead."

His eyebrows lifted, his eyes were now guarded. Why, she didn't understand. Maybe he got the wrong idea.

"I wanted to give these mugs to you for free, in return for you putting up a sign in your shop saying they're from me. With my website on it? If that's okay with you..."

"We're talking about 300 mugs, darlin'. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

He regarded her for a long moment. "I'll think about it. I have no problem putting a sign up in my shop, but I don't know if I feel comfortable about ripping you off that much money."

"You wouldn't," she insisted. "This is invaluable PR for me. No one from LA ever comes out here, so... really you would be doing me a massive favour. Even if I just get a bit more traffic on my website, that would be enormous."

His hazel eyes bore into hers. "I'll think about it, darlin'."

He walked through the kitchen, back out into the studio and out the open garage door. She followed as he carefully placed the box on the floor behind the driver's seat of his car.

He waved at her, before he climbed into the car, then he turned on the engine and lowered the window and said with a wink: "I'm looking forward to your voicemail."

She was probably the shade of a tomato, judging by his laughter. He put the car into gear and drove off, his hand up in the air for a moment, before he disappeared around the corner.

She turned, closing her eyes and banged her head against the door frame.

Stupid, silly schoolgirl crush!