Page 68 of Maxwell

Jasmine stepped into his condo. “This is where the magic happens?”

“The magic happens wherever I am.”

“Excuse me.”

He chuckled as she strolled deeper into his home, her heels clicking on the gray hardwood floor.

He let her take her time, watching as her eyes examined the high ceilings and clean lines, glancing through the arched doorway leading to his dining room, occupied by a round, walnut table and four chairs. Beyond was a glimpse of the kitchen, its countertops completely bare. Open shelving and glass door cabinets displayed neatly stacked dishes.

“You’re as neat at home as you are in the office,” she remarked.

“I believe everything has a place, and putting them in their place each and every time keeps me from having to hunt for what I need. Besides, it makes it easy to have unannounced visitors.”

“You never have to scramble to clean up if the place is always neat and tidy.”

“Exactly.”

She walked into the living room—observing, cataloguing the decor. He leaned against the wall, continuing to watch her.

A charcoal sectional dominated the room with oversized cushions and earth toned pillows. A cream and brown rug anchored the space, surrounded by a comfortable looking leather recliner and an armchair around a glass coffee table. On the far wall, floor to ceiling windows overlooked the Midtown skyline, and an unlit fireplace took up half of the left wall, with a huge television suspended above it.

She swung in his direction. “Did you hire a decorator, or do you have really good taste? Because somehow you managed comfort and style without appearing too... matchy.”

“Some of the decorating was done by me, but most of the ideas came from my sister, Audra—the one who tells corny jokes like you do.”

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Maxwell straightened with a laugh. “She has an eye for design and helped me out.”

Her eyes were drawn to a vase, roughly two feet tall, sitting on a table by itself. The glaze was a cream color layered with brown and gold swirls like rivers running from the top to the bottom.

“What a gorgeous vase,” she said, walking over to it. “Where did you get this?”

“I made it.”

“You made this?”

He nodded, strolling over to stand beside her. “Last year, right before I finished my residency. I needed something to do with my hands, to distract me as I considered my next steps. I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking, because I’ve seen that look before.”

“And what look is that?”

“Disbelief. You’re trying to figure out if I really made this vase, and if I did, how does it fit with your opinion of me.”

“Guilty.” She returned her attention to the vase. “Do you have other pieces that you made?”

“Yes. I’ve been doing pottery since college. I took it as an elective and really enjoyed the process and continued taking classes at a studio near the school. Honestly, at first I was no good.”

“Are you telling me you were actually bad at something?”

“I’m bad at a few things, but I don’t advertise them.” He turned and nodded toward the hallway behind him. “Want to see my studio?”

“Absolutely,” she said enthusiastically.

He led the way down a short hallway and showed her inside his studio. There was a pottery wheel centered on a wide mat and a work table along the wall with neatly arranged tools. Above the table, shelves held pieces in various stages of completion. A couple were raw clay, others had been glazed with different colors.