“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
