Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  Two hours later, Jaye uncovered something that would screw up Mitch’s life. She printed the newspaper article, carried the damning evidence across the hall, and tapped on the open door. “Do you have a minute, Nick?”

  “Sure, come in.”

  Choosing not to sit across from him, she approached his desk. “When I design a website for a client, I do an extensive web search to see if there’s any bad publicity to combat. I found something odd this morning.” She handed Nick the article. “Someone was thinking of buying Blake Glassware a short while ago.”

  Nick scanned the article. His good-natured expression faded. “Where did you find this?”

  “In the online edition of a newspaper from Buffalo.” Jaye waited for Nick to offer an explanation, but he stared at the article as though the intensity of his gaze might vaporize the print. No matter if he burned the printout, the information would remain online for years. “We have a problem. If word gets out there’s a chance your factory is for sale, revenue might plummet. Customers shy away from companies with uncertain futures.”

  “Damn.” Nick set aside the article and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Worry spiraled through her chest. “Are you thinking about selling the factory?”

  “No, not really. Well, a little.” Nick pushed his hands through his hair. “A few months ago, I ran across an old friend when I was up in Erie. He started talking about how I’m sitting on a gold mine, with plenty of land to expand. After a few beers, he offered to buy the factory. I thought about selling, but I couldn’t bail out on Mitch. He lives and breathes this place.”

  Jaye noticed Nick didn’t feel the same way. She tucked her skirt behind her thighs and sat across from him. “Does Mitch know your friend wanted to buy the factory?”

  “I didn’t bother telling him because he’d never sell the business.” Nick’s cheeks puffed, blowing out a sigh. “There was no point mentioning the offer to my other partner.”

  Jaye’s hand slipped off the hem of her skirt. “You have another partner?”

  “Mitch’s mother owns twenty percent of the business. She doesn’t have much to do with the factory since she moved to New York two years ago, but she won’t sell her shares to anyone but Mitch.” Nick’s expression flattened. “I didn’t realize how tough running this place would be without her. Funny thing is, she was pushing us to go digital a few years ago, and I dragged my feet. Turns out, she was right. Now I’m trying to catch up.”

  Jaye offered an encouraging smile. “I look forward to helping.”

  “You were the only one willing to work with me.” Nick gave her a rueful smirk. “No one else would accept the unusual terms of my contract.”

  Jaye had a feeling their unconventional arrangement would create problems if Mitch ever learned the details. “Did you ask me to keep our agreement confidential because you don’t want Mitch to know?”

  He nodded, his gaze skittering over the desktop. “My son has enough on his plate. Not only does he run the glassblowing studio, he’s the glue that holds this place together. Everything from resolving personnel issues to changing light bulbs falls into his lap. Can’t remember the last time he took a vacation. I don’t want him to worry about what we owe you or anyone else.”

  For the first time in their short acquaintance, Nick Blake looked dead serious. Lacing her fingers together in her lap, Jaye squeezed so hard a knuckle popped. “Does the factory need cash?”

  “Doesn’t every company?” Nick gave a dismissive wave. “Nothing serious. Sales have taken a bit of a dip, but they’ll peak again. We’re heading into the holiday season, which is when our numbers bounce back.”

  Jaye set her molars together with a tight clench of her jaw. Something weighed upon Nick, and he hadn’t shared the trouble with Mitch. Withholding that information was a sad commentary on the health of their partnership. If they were closer, Nick would have sought Mitch’s support.

  In a way, Jaye sympathized. She’d been hiding the details about her breakup with David from her family. Keeping bad news to oneself was a lonely road to take. “I understand, Nick. More than you know.”

  “I’m sorry you do.” Nick wadded up the article and threw it into the garbage can.

  The roar of the furnace muted the thump of the heavy steel door closing behind her. Jaye hoped to steal a moment to get her bearings, but Mitch spotted her the instant she stepped into the studio. She half expected him to throw her out.

  Instead, he lowered his gaze and continued working.

  The clock on the wall inched toward six o’clock. This late, Mitch and his partner Freddie were the only ones left in the vast room. Not wanting to interrupt, Jaye waited by an empty workbench and watched. Because they had only a few minutes to shape the hot pliable glass, the two men worked with careful urgency.

  Freddie adhered an orange glob of molten glass to a metal pipe.

  Mitch used a long set of pliers to attach the glowing mass to the half-finished glass goblet fused to his pipe. Laying the pipe across the arms of a workbench, Mitch rolled it back and forth with his left hand while he used a piece of wood to flatten the molten glass to shape the flat base of the stem. Smoke wafted into the air, scenting the studio like someone had just extinguished a large candle.

  When the goblet was finished, Mitch held the pipe over a thick towel and knocked off the glass. With a pair of tongs, he placed the hot glass into the lehr to cool.

  “Thanks for staying late, Freddie. Go home. I’ll clean up.” Mitch removed the bright orange plugs from his ears and pulled an arm across his chest in a stretch.

  “See you tomorrow.” Freddie strode toward the door and offered her a shy smile. “Bye, Jaye.”

  She waved to him and returned her attention to Mitch. The furnace’s orange glow flickered across the sharp planes of his face. He used a clean rag to wipe off his glistening forehead. His short pelt of hair was drenched. Sweat poured down his thick neck, staining the upper half of his red shirt a dark maroon.

  Jaye plucked the neckline of her blouse. The air in the studio was as hot as the equator. She took a step toward him.

  He held up a hand and approached. “Too loud by the furnace. I’d never hear you. What’s going on?”

  “I’m getting ready to go to Veronica’s house to play cards, but my mapping software can’t find her street.” Jaye handed him a blank piece of paper. “Would you please write directions?”

  “You bet.” He placed the paper on an empty workbench and sketched a map. “Must goad you high-tech types when you can’t find something on the computer.”

  “Yes, but my computer searches rarely come up empty.”

  The corner of his mouth pulled back in a half-smile. “The Internet can’t tell you everything.”

  A prickle of sweat bloomed under her arm. “Care to test your assertion? I spent all day doing searches for Blake Glassware. I learned a lot about you.”

  He concentrated on the task at hand, moving his pen across the paper with short, deft strokes. “You probably found out I’m a thirty-two-year-old glassblower who lives near the small town of Shinglehouse, Pennsylvania.”

  “I also discovered you went to Alfred University on a football scholarship.” She admired the broad shoulders filling out his red T-shirt so well. Her insides flipped like a cheerleader on the sideline of a football game. “You weren’t all about football, though. You got a Bachelor in Fine Arts in Art and Design.”

  One of those shoulders rose in a shrug. “Common knowledge. Everyone around here knows what I did at college.”

  “Really? I haven’t heard any of your employees talk about your naked sprint through the academic quad.”

  He stopped drawing and looked up. A deep flush crept up his thick neck. “A stupid fraternity prank thirteen years ago.”

  “Yes, I know.” Jaye smiled, enjoying his evident discomfort. “You boys were running around without a stitch of clothing in the middle of January. Two feet of snow layered the ground. Must’ve been cold.”


  “Well, I had longer hair back then. Kept me warm.” He tossed the pen onto the bench and scratched his jaw. “Did you find pictures?”

  “Your fraternity brother posted a few. Three of them featured you. The photos were a little blurry, but I got the general idea.” Jaye grinned. Mitch looked so vexed, there was a good chance steam might come out of his ears.

  “I never saw those pictures on the web,” he snarled.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I learned how to do a computer search when I was eight.” She waved a hand in the air. “Tracking down your past was child’s play.”

  He rolled the paper into a tube and handed her the hand-drawn map. “Is there any way to delete those pictures?”

  “You could ask your buddy to remove them from his blog, but I suspect a few thousand ladies have already downloaded your picture to their computers.”

  With a grimace, he pulled a palm down his face. “Crap.”

  Jaye laughed. “I expected to hear a different four-letter word.”

  His hand opened toward her. “There’s a lady present.”

  The statement sounded like a sincere compliment in his deep say-it-like-it-is voice. Jaye tilted her head. “Why doesn’t anyone around here know you entered a piece of glass in the Art Dealers Association of America show two years ago? I mentioned the competition to Sarah and Veronica, but they had no idea you won.”

  Two vertical lines bracketed his mouth. Hitching his hands on his hips, Mitch looked down at the concrete floor.

  “Wait a minute.” Her insides contracted and she almost reached out a comforting hand. “You did tell someone. Let me guess. You told your father, but he didn’t tell anyone else.”

  Mitch’s shoulders shifted in a poor facsimile of a shrug. “Awards don’t sell stemware.”

  She wanted to shake him. “Yes, they do. You’re an award-winning glassblower. Blake Glassware should boast about that achievement.”

  “Not if the award is for sculpture.” He asserted.

  His steady voice didn’t reveal any of the resignation he must have felt. Sympathy flooded her. “How many other contests have you won?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  His gaze flew up to hers, the furnace’s bright light making his blue eyes iridescent. “I’ve won seven competitions. Six of the trophies are in my office.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “Where’s the seventh one?”

  “I gave it to someone.”

  “Oh.” Wondering who merited such a prize, Jaye glanced at the directions Mitch drew for her and sucked in a breath. He’d spent less than a minute drawing the map, but she never saw anything drawn so well. She looked up to thank him, but he was dragging a hose toward a bucket as though he was used to doing things without getting anything in return.

  Something else they shared in common.

  Awards and appreciation didn’t seem to matter to him, but Jaye knew Mitch deserved some recognition. She glanced again at the beautifully sketched map. Even though she’d witnessed Mitchell Blake’s ability to work with materials sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone, she held proof he possessed the sensitive soul of an artist.

  A note printed in square letters ran across the bottom of the page. Don’t bring more money than you’re willing to lose. Veronica is serious about taking your money.

  Jaye couldn’t remember the last time someone bothered to look out for her.

  A few feet away, Mitch lifted a wood plank out of a bucket, sending an arc of water droplets into the air. “What else did your Internet search find?”

  “Nothing much.” She walked away, putting enough distance between them so the roar of the furnace prevented further discussion. When she got to the heavy steel door leading out of the studio, she looked back at the man who did things for nothing in return.

  The furnace’s glow threw half of his handsome face into shadow. His steady gaze burned across the smoky distance between them, the long lines of his body facing her, hands hanging loose at his sides like he was ready to catch her if she ran across the concrete floor into his arms.

  For a crazy moment, she contemplated staying in the studio so he wouldn’t be alone in the roaring heat. She doused the impulse with a brittle reminder. Don’t fall for a man who doesn’t want you around.

  Lifting the map, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  Mitch acknowledged the statement with a nod.

  Jaye turned her palm toward him in silent goodbye.

  He mirrored the action, splaying his fingers for a taut moment before lowering his hand.

  Before she gave into the urge to sprint into his arms, she walked out.

  Chapter Six

  Jaye glanced at the pathetic cards in her hand. Ever since she took her place at Veronica’s kitchen table, she felt her luck slipping away. She’d lost nine dollars so far. Judging by the pair of threes staring back at her, she’d have to bluff for a chance to win.

  A little girl approached, carrying a purple stuffed animal. “Would you like to pet my unicorn? His name is Mitch.”

  “I know someone with the same name.” Jaye gave the sparkly creature a gentle pat. “Is your unicorn named after Mr. Blake?”

  “Yes. He took me to the fair and won this toy.” With a little help, the purple unicorn made a regal bow.

  Jaye scratched him behind the ear. “Do you think Mitch would kiss my cards? I could use a little magic.”

  The unicorn slapped a loud, sloppy kiss on the faded cards and galloped away.

  Jaye smiled at Veronica. “Your granddaughter is adorable. How old is she?”

  “Lydia turns eight tomorrow. She and my daughter-in-law are living with us while my son is stationed overseas.” Veronica nodded toward a framed picture of a man in uniform. “In his absence, the men in town have taken Lizzie under their wings. Mitch took her to the fair in August. She adores him.”

  Across the table, Sarah giggled. “What female wouldn’t love a man who wins her a truckload of stuffed animals and takes her to every stall at the fair?”

  “Sounds like fun.” Jaye felt a little jealous. She’d never gone to a fair with someone who won her a whimsical toy. Her youth was spent in constant preparation for the future, learning HTML and JavaScript. The closest she came to playing was when she took pictures with a camera she got for her tenth birthday. Not much had changed. Photography was still her favorite activity. Often, Jaye wished she never had to put down her camera.

  Abigail, a white-haired grandmother who worked in Blake Glassware’s retail shop, peered over her cards. “Do you have a boyfriend, Jaye?”

  “Um, no, I don’t.” She looked up and froze like a bunny with nowhere to run. All three women stared her way in various degrees of disbelief.

  “A pretty girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?” Sarah drummed her fingers on her pregnant belly and sighed. “What is the world coming to?”

  “Well, I had a boyfriend,” Jaye admitted. “We broke up a few weeks ago.”

  Abigail’s white eyebrows arched. “How long were you together?”

  “We dated for a year.” Twelve months with David felt like a decade.

  Sarah lowered her cards. “What did he look like?”

  “Blond. Green eyes. He had a little dent in his chin.” Jaye shrugged. “We met at work. He designs promotional campaigns, too.”

  “He sounds dreamy. What happened?” Abigail pointed a sugar cookie at her. “Don’t hold out on us.”

  Sarah laughed and pointed to the wedding band on her swollen finger. “We’ve been married forever, so we live vicariously through girls like you. So, tell us why this guy didn’t pop the question. Did he get cold feet?”

  As much as Jaye liked these women, she couldn’t share the sordid story of David’s betrayal. The memory stung too much. “I broke up with him because we weren’t right for each other.”

  “Oh.” Sarah made a face. “Sounds rational, logical, and not at all dramatic. There’s more excitement here i
n town. Let’s see, we’ve got a tramp sleeping with three brothers, and none of the young men have a clue. Oh, and a girl who wants to get pregnant so her boyfriend will marry her.”

  Veronica patted Sarah’s big belly. “You, on the other hand, get pregnant after your husband gets a vasectomy.”

  “He has very determined sperm,” Sarah quipped with a sigh.

  All of them laughed.

  “Don’t forget Harry, who just told his wife of thirty years he’s gay.” Abigail tossed her chip into the kitty. “And we’ve got a lovesick postal worker who hasn’t worked up the courage to ask the piano teacher on a date. We’re watching that one with bated breath, because a handsome dentist just signed up for music lessons. Nothing more entertaining than a good old-fashioned love triangle.”

  Jaye widened her eyes. “All you need is a tale of someone getting left at the altar, and you’ve got everything.”

  “Oh, that’s old news.” Veronica tossed her chips into the pile and glanced at the unicorn sitting on an empty chair. “Poor Mitch.”

  Disbelief vibrated along Jaye’s spine. “He was left at the altar?”

  “Two years ago. He had to get up in front of a packed church sanctuary to announce his fiancée changed her mind.” Veronica dipped a tortilla chip into some salsa and glanced at Sarah. “Are you in?”

  “I fold.” Sarah met Jaye’s gaze. “His fiancée left him about the same time his parents broke up. She lived in Coudersport, which is about twenty miles away. They met when Mitch reported at the courthouse for jury duty.” Sarah wrapped two arms around her belly. “I can’t understand why anyone would get mad at Mitch. He’s such a good guy.”

  No one disagreed with Sarah’s assertion. Jaye watched her hug the large pregnant mound of her stomach like it was some crystal ball capable of revealing the mysteries of the universe. Deep down, she suspected Sarah was right. Mitch was a good guy—but he mistrusted anyone who threatened his plans for the factory.