Free Snake in the Glass by Sarah Atwell

own, I decided, although it was delightful to learn about something so different.
    It must have been an hour later when Frank extricated himself from conversation with Stewart, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed any customers approach in that time.
    “Shall we tour out the rest?” Frank asked.
    “Fine with me. Miranda, Stewart, it was great to meet you. I hope you have a chance to enjoy a bit of Tucson while you’re here.”
    Miranda laughed. “Oh, you mean the world doesn’t end at the doors of this place? Thanks for the thought, Em. I’m glad we met too. It was good to see you again, Frank.”
    As Frank and I meandered off toward another cluster of booths, I said, “I didn’t see much business going on.”
    “It’s not all done by daylight. But Stewart and Miranda have done well for themselves.”
    “So, are you friends? Colleagues? Competitors?”
    “A bit of each. It’s a complicated business. Ah, here’s Virender!” And we were off again.
    We made it back to the shop in good time, and Frank went on his way when Denis appeared again at four, ready to go. I got him started, then retreated to the shop where I could keep an eye on him. He spread out little piles of rough stones on the metal surface of a marver and then laid a notebook out. As I watched unobtrusively, he would measure out a group of stones into a crucible, stick it in the kiln, set a small electronic timer he had brought with him, and make a notation in his notebook. While I didn’t spend all my time watching, I had the impression that he was starting with short periods of exposure to the heat and gradually increasing it. Two hours later Denis was still in the studio, and he looked depressed. When I opened the door from the shop, he must have jumped a foot.
    “How’s it going?” I asked.
    He sighed. “Nothing yet. I’ve read up on most techniques, but I guess each type of stone is different. So far I’ve been trying out a fairly low temperature for different intervals. Next time I’ll have to crank it up and see if that makes a difference. Oh, did you want me to leave now?”
    “Yes, I need to close up.” So I could get ready for my “date” with Matt.
    “Oh.” He looked disappointed. “Okay. Can I come back tomorrow?”
    “Sure. We’re open all day. But this time call me first, okay?”
    “Right,” he said in a distracted voice as he gathered his materials up.
    I escorted him out the back door and locked it behind him. Before I shut down the studio, I made sure the little kiln was turned off. At least Denis was neat: he hadn’t left any mess behind him. Odd duck, he was, but maybe a lot of professors were lacking in social graces. Unpolished, as it were. Smiling at my own pathetic joke, I finished closing up and went upstairs to prepare myself for dinner with Matt.

Chapter 7
    Peridot has been assigned many mystical powers throughout history, including warding off anxiety, enhancing speech, inspiring happiness, and strengthening both the body and the mind.
    Three dinners in a row with Matt—it was a record. Maybe he really had missed me, although I’d been gone only ten days or so. Although maybe that first night home didn’t really count, considering that I had fallen asleep.
    I had to admit I was uneasy about going to Matt’s house, but I told myself to get over it. I realized that it was stupid of me to insist that Matt and I get together only at my place. Matt deserved equal time, and he had been patient. After all, I believed in relationships of equals, didn’t I? So I’d suck it up and go. I hoped he was a better cook than I was. Or that his neighborhood had better takeout than mine.
    Still, in some corner of my mind it was still Lorena’s house. Maybe I was projecting, based on my own experience: I had chosen and shaped my living space. It was Mine , with a capital M. My kingdom, my lair, my sanctuary. I had no reason to think that Lorena had looked at her house in that light; from what little Matt