SALT AND pepper shakers? Is that what Charlie said?
Oh! His salt and pepper shakers.
Gay cleared her throat. “Charlie absolutely loved the bowl you made. And his holiday dinnerware has a holly theme. So he thought he’d see what else you have. Especially—”
“My salt and pepper shakers?” Tory finished, finally putting it all together. Cute Charlie. He was blushing. The man had to be in his late forties, and he could still blush?
He looked at the sweet man, saw (for goodness’ sake) that there was still fear in his eyes (What does he think? That I want to eat him or something?).
“I’m assuming you’d like the same holly design?” he said, being the absolute professional.
Charlie nodded. Gulped. Tory actually heard him gulp.
“Well, you’re in luck. I have one set left.” He pointed toward his second table, half of which was his holly collection.
Charlie moved, shifting his attention to where Tory was pointing. He came around the corner and let out a little gasp when he saw the display. “Oh my,” he said. “I… I don’t even know where to look. It’s all gorgeous!”
Tory grinned and realized he was blushing. “Thank you.” He touched the salt and pepper shakers, dark green leaves, oval shaped, and sitting up on their ends. Red berries formed the S and P on either of the pair.
“Oh! Oh my,” Charlie said, and Tory felt that little tingle again. He was so cute. He was! So cute.
Tory placed the shakers in the man’s very big hands. There was hair, just a bit, on the top of each. And look. Because his long shirtsleeves were cuffed back, he could see that hair traveled up his arms. Exactly the right amount. A man’s arms. Might his chest be hairy too (Please. God)?
“They’re perfect!” Charlie turned to their mutual friend. “Gay. They’re perfect, aren’t they?”
Tory couldn’t help but smile. Perfect. He loved it when people loved his work. It was almost enough to distract him from how… well, gosh, aroused he was!
Calm down, Tory, he told himself. You’re going to scare him away!
“Absolutely.” Gay was nodding enthusiastically. “Perfect! You’d be a fool not to get them.”
“How… how much?” He was turning the shakers this way and that, holding them as if they were priceless Fabergé eggs. Then he froze again. He was looking at the bottom of them. Where the prices were. “Oh,” he said in a little whisper. Or was it a gasp. “Fifteen? As in apiece?”
Tory nodded. “I know thirty seems a little steep, considering their size—”
Charlie nodded as well. “But you’re an artist, and you need to make a living. An artist should be paid his worth.”
The comment surprised and pleased Tory. He heard lots of complaints. And lots of people trying to talk him down in price. Not enough people realized his work wasn’t arts and crafts, but art. Even if most of his work came from molds these days. He simply didn’t have the time to make his real art. “Actually, they’re a bitch. See, I have to make a lot of them to get pairs. It’s not at all uncommon for the glaze to fill the holes during the firing process. And you can hardly use them that way. I lose quite a few.”
Charlie nodded again and bit his lower lip. “I want them. Got to have them.” He looked at Tory (with those eyes of his) and said, “You’ve got yourself a sale. I don’t suppose you take cards?”
“I do,” Tory replied. “A merchant just about has to these days, even if it means losing a part of the sale to the bank.”
“Aren’t you going to look at his other treasures?” Gay asked, and they both looked at her. Tory had almost forgotten she was there.
And that wasn’t easy to do.