The request took Sierra off the guard. Jonas's reactions had the hack of surprising her. The man never said or did something she expected.

Sierra came back to stand next to him. She switched Leone from one arm to another.

"Perhaps you can lay him in your car."

Sierra began to tap on her jogger's pockets, remembering she had her car keys with her just in case she had to tail him. The woman already saw herself stalking the man's whereabouts by following him undercover police style.

Sierra clicked the car door open and slid Leone's stroller inside. She covered Leone with the plaid she left in the car.

She caressed his head; the boy slept profoundly. Hands freed, Sierra returned by Jonas.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"I started at a young age. I was a hyperactive child and a restless teen. Before throwing pottery, I drove my parents up the wall. Pottery appeases me. The process of building and creating comforts me somehow."

Sierra listened; she realized how poised Jonas was in all circumstances. Even here, where he found no sleep, he managed to come across as calm and peaceful.

The man smiled at the memory that came to mind, "Cecile used to say it was boring. She called me granny pots amongst a string of devaluating adjectives."

When angry, Jonas would go and work with his clay. The man preferred transforming the negative feelings to fuel his creativity instead of saying things he did not mean. Jonas then recalled how Cecile shattered a good part of his work. He sat poised in a total autistic manner pressing on the pedal and formed a new vase.

"Jonas, don't ignore me. Look at me, look at me. You want me to stay with you when all you care about is Moder Yord and these frigging vases, plates, and pots. I never thought you'd become a slave to capitalism. This man isn't you. I thought you wanted to do things for the environment. Now you wish to sign with all these companies. Hey, is silence you're new technic? Do you think it will help you?" the woman yelled.

Cecile provoked him, he hated her violent ways, but he loved her more. Of course, Jonas withheld himself from telling Sierra the sad part of the story. The woman only retained Cecile called him by bird's names.

Sierra put her hands in front of her mouth to muffle her laugh. "Sorry, it's so, Cecile. She has no patience or filter on her mouth."

Jonas paused, and Sierra realized she spoke in the present tense.

"I meant she had no patience," Sierra rectified.

Cecile was still present and alive in their mind. Her spirit lingered, and they had a difficult time admitting that they were not done with grieving.

"Do you want to try?"

Cecile criticized him for not letting her enter her bubble. With Sierra, Jonas discovered how hopeless one could feel when the other held back to protect themselves.

Life was an everlasting course where one retook the exams of failed experiences, so Jonas tried to pierce the invisible bubble around Sierra.

He would share these elements of his traits that constituted his being. No matter how small the thing was. In the present, it was his passion for pottery the man wished to show in the still of the night.

Sierra shook her hands in front of her, "no, Jonas, you know I'm not good with my hands."

"I think your hands just haven't find the right activity."

"Jonas."

"Come on," the man beckoned.

"My fingers can't do anything else except tapping on remote controls or a phone's virtual keyboard and hold a knife and fork to eat, you know it, Jonas."

"Come on, Sierra, you've never tried."

"Jonas, I'll waste your clay."

"Can you please stop objecting and come."

Sierra sighed and advanced. Jonas left the stool to let Sierra sit.

"Put your foot on the peddle. It will make the wheel turn."

Sierra did as asked. Jonas added the clay.

"Put your hands around the clay and keep your foot on the peddle. The harder you kick, the faster it goes, and when you want to slow it down, you drag your foot over the base wheel to decelerate."

Sierra followed Jonas's instructions. The man stood on her side and gestured the way she should hold the clay.

The clay began to swirl tall as Sierra's excitement mounted.

"What should I do now?" Sierra asked when the clay began to take shape.

"You need to use both your hands and fingers. When you are satisfied with its height, you need to press your thumb in the middle to create an indentation."

"How?"

Jonas gestured, unable to demonstrate the technique with words; he came to stand behind Sierra before the clay swirled out of control. There he passed his hands around her shoulders to grasp hers, which still molded the object.

Surprised, Sierra remained motionless, letting Jonas guide her hands.

"You do this in the middle. There, you see?"

Sierra not only saw, but she felt the softness of Jonas's hands, which covered hers. His warm breath fanned her ears, and his soothing voice dressed as a murmur for the occasion echoed within her. Jonas transported them in the remake of the infamous pottery scene in Ghost that had a generation of women wanting to foreplay with clay.

"You see, it seems all you needed was an extra pair of hands."

At this point, the man sat behind her to engulf her frame and took over the pedal.

It had been a while since a man touched her. The hairs on Sierra's skin stood up and tilted with the cold breeze circulating in the basement. Their pajama jogger's fabric was thin, and Sierra breathed in a little gasp as she felt the proximity of his member. The tap on her lower back was light, and the woman supposed the man was not even aware of his wandering part.

Jonas built seriously. There were no second thoughts in his actions. Sierra suddenly felt shameless as her fingers intertwined with his rugged fingertips, and the clay took its final form. Jonas's heart throbbed fast and hard on the woman's back.

Sierra desired to see what expression filled his face at this moment. She turned her head to the side only to fall nose to nose with Jonas's lips slightly agape and soft gasping.

The wheel stopped turning as he released the pressure. Silence filled the basement leaving a place for heaving breaths.

Despite the dim light, Jonas's eyes shone bright, and Sierra's forehead and nose glowed from the effort. He slightly nudged her nose with his.

Seconds, maybe a crucial minute, passed where blinding lights light up in both their minds to warn them.

The air became thick with the heat of their lust and forbidden desires. Where many would have surrendered to passion, the morals and principles rooted within them refrained woman and man from taking further actions and committed what they estimated as irreparable.

Sierra sprung up, almost making the man tilt backward and fall off the stool, "IㅡI," she stammered, "I think I should go to sleep. I have to wake up early."

Jonas nodded; the man was too out of breath to reply with words.

Despite her giddiness, Sierra hurried to get to the car and grabbed Leone while praying to not faint or die from heart failure.

"Eh, I'll clean up here," Jonas said while sliding a hand at the back of his head.

"Okay, Sierra said as she rushed off.

"Sierra."

"Huh?"

"The elevator is that way."

The woman was more shaken than she imagined.

"Ah, yeah, silly me," she said, nudging her head with her hand and going in the other direction.

She was almost at the door when she turned, "it's not boring."

"What?"

"Pottery, it isn't boring."

Sierra did not expect making an object would leave her breathless. Her heart leaped. Even once in bed, the woman felt unsettled. Every time she closed her eyes, images of their hands or the cold sensation of his nose touching hers electrified her body.

Jonas cleaned up and went back to the apartment. He fell back on the convertible sofa and fixed the ceiling while trying to assess what occurred.

All he did was show Sierra how to throw clay, nothing more, nothing less.

Their hands touched. It was the second body contact. Never since Jonas arrived did he found himself in such a situation with Sierra. Short yet so intense, the imprint the moment left felt weird, awkward, and appeasing at the same timeㅡ.

Jonas got up; he needed to distract his mind. He switched on his laptop and began to work on pending projects until his eyes were sore and his eyelids begged to close.

The man rose to a blurred vision of Sierra slipping on her heels, ready to leave. The man wiped his eyes; the clear view of her triggered a burning sensation in his chest.

"You're leaving early."

"Yeah, we have a meeting," Sierra replied as she slipped on her trench coat.

"Ada."

Jonas turned his head to find a chirpy Leone who tapped gleefully on the bed. He ruffled his son's hair, "Good morning, Leone. I see one of us slept well."

"Since it's Wednesday and daycare closes early, Iㅡ."

"No problem, Sierra, I'll keep him."

Sierra's shoulders relaxed, "thank you, Jonas, you're a lifesaver."

The woman's radiant smile made Jonas's lips curve.

Being helpful in general made him happy, but here he almost swam in an ocean of bliss.

Jonas saw the threat, and he did not like or want to acknowledge the hints his heart gave. Admitting his feelings would only encourage their outburst.

Sierra left the pinch in her heart occurred when she stepped into the elevator. She realized May's assumption was correct. The man was a killer but not the type her friend imagined.

Until then, Sierra closed her eyes on the little sequences of temptation. Just like the man, Sierra dismissed the text messages her heart sent to her mind. Jonas was a polite man, and all her concerns were just misinterpretations of her unlawful desires. The man had no other intentions concerning her, yet the woman could not explain how she felt in his presence. His stare and voice stirred something inside she refused to accept.

"It's wrong, Sierra, and you know it," she muttered.

The situation was becoming critical for the woman emotionally speaking, and she prayed something or someone would pull the brakes on the budding feelings course.

Be careful what you wish for some say, as sometimes karma executes without warning.