Free Out of Control by Teresa Noelle Roberts Page B

not.

Chapter Seven
    The thrift store was low on decent towels, but Jen found a purple bath towel and hand towel and a lonely bath towel in a deep rose. The color reminded her of a dress a particularly conventional grandmother might wear to a wedding, but it would look warm and pretty in that neutral bathroom on a gray Ithaca winter day. To her glee, they’d also had some crazy-cheap curtains in a retro teapot print that would make the weird color scheme in the kitchen look kitschy rather than misguided.
    She arrived at the studio feeling accomplished and peaceful from knowing she was one step closer to achieving color coordination in her new home. Admittedly, maintaining this serenity required ignoring the need to find clean underwear and clothes, color coordinated or not, for her overnight shift at the bakery. Not to mention ignoring the problem of Drake.
    Sean was at the studio when she arrived, working on something that involved slabs of bubbly glass in shades of amber and olive green. He was fitting them into a heavy wire armature that she thought was a conceptual nod to a bowl or serving piece. A lot of Sean’s work were things that looked almost functional but weren’t. She didn’t get it, but not as much as she didn’t get his penchant for muddy colors. The way she saw it, you could make lovely functional pieces or lovely purely decorative pieces and they were both great, but she didn’t get why Sean used his impressive technical skills to make things that were awkward and butt ugly.
    But for all she knew, Sean thought her work was too bright and pretty-pretty, and, fondness for muddy colors or not, he was a great guy. She smiled and waved as she came in.
    He looked up from his ugly work. “I didn’t expect to see you today. Weren’t you moving into the house of Professor Hot-Stuff, Ithaca’s buffest landlord?” He’d never met Drake, but he’d listened to Jen’s descriptions with avid interest.
    “Got my stuff in, started unpacking, decided I needed to get away from the chaos.”
    “So you came here?” Sean gestured around the studio. With three glass artists working in it constantly and a woman who came in occasionally to do batches of beads, it did define the term chaos pit, though a colorful, welcoming one.
    “This is good chaos. Creative chaos. Not being sure where my underwear and coffee ended up is bad chaos.” She regretted that Ryoko wasn’t there. Ryoko would probably have something useful to say about the other chaos in Jen’s new place of residence, the chaos between her and Drake, but she didn’t dare bring the situation up to Sean. He might tease her about it forever. Or worse, he might take it very seriously and ask a lot of questions that she couldn’t answer without risking the entire gay community in Ithaca knowing her business and Drake’s.
    She unloaded the stained glass supplies she’d had in her backpack and replaced them on the shelf.
    “Trying something new?”
    “Reverting to something old. There’s a stained glass window in my new apartment, and I fixed some damage to it in exchange for a rent reduction.”
    “Stained glass?” Sean raised one elegant eyebrow. “You’ve come up in the world, girlfriend.”
    “Stained glass and a turret. Of course it’s an itty-bitty apartment in a huge Victorian, but it’s still classy.”
    “And I keep hearing how hot your landlord is.”
    “Lies.” She said it so decisively that Sean, no fool, changed the subject.
    “So did fixing the window give you the itch to try stained glass again? You have such an eye for color I’d think you’d be great at it.”
    She shrugged. “Not really. I like shape and form fused with color. And I love blowing.”
    Sean raised an eyebrow and looked like he was about to make a rude joke. Then he shook his head. “No. Too obvious. Every glass artist has heard a variation on that one a million times. You’ve used it on me. And I deserved it, I bet.”
    “Truth on both counts.”
    She set