She was always amazed at how little friction there was in pottery making. With the wheel spinning and the clay being moulded, her hands felt as they were flying–they were grimy to be sure–but they still felt as though they were flying. Anna-Lee knew that her pottery making skills weren’t up to par, especially not considering the fact that she was comparing herself against the rest of her class, but she did like the appreciative smiles that her relatives gave her at Christmas and on birthday’s when she gave them her little gifts.
“Oh thank you,” they would say. “It’s so…unique.”
And if Anna-Lee knew that deep down ‘unique’ meant horrible she didn’t show it and neither did her teacher Dan Mulligan. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. He spoke with the vaguest hints of an accent which made him so mysterious and so appealing and so incredibly sexy. And best of all, he would always compliment her on her work.
“Well done my Annalee,” he would say, stringing her hyphenated names together in a way that sounded oh so pleasing. “You are improving so well.”
Anna-lee would smile and blush and bat her eyes but she couldn’t say anything more than a squeaky ‘thanks’ before turning back to her work. For some reason Dan made her so tongue tied and while she knew that it was because she was horribly attracted to him, it infuriated her to no end that she couldn’t hold an actual conversation with the man.
“Never mind conversation,” her friends would tell her. “Men are always after one thing.”
Well if Dan was after that one thing, he certainly didn’t go after it with his students. Barely out of his twenties he was the volunteer instructor at the art centre and Anna-Lee knew that if she wanted something to happen with the guy, she was going to have to go after him herself.