Saturday's pottery studio occupied a renovated warehouse beside the river, with broad windows facing water darkened by late-afternoon rain. I arrived through my own bus route at three forty-seven, then sent the agreed safe-arrival message without asking whether Thea had left yet.
Her reply appeared two minutes later from a tram stop across the street. She entered wearing a fitted black sweater, a rust-colored skirt below her knees, plus silver earrings shaped like unfinished circles.
"Appearance compliment?" I asked after we confirmed the date had officially begun.
"Yes," Thea replied, removing her damp coat before looking over my blue shirt, "you may also receive one if you behave normally."
I told her the skirt made the rust color look deliberate beneath the warehouse lights, while the sweater kept stealing my attention toward her waist. Thea accepted every specific word without joking, then stepped close enough to straighten my folded collar after asking.
