Baker Boy ~ T.N

Chapter Eight

Martha worked the craft knife in deep slow strokes, carving out the clay in front of her. At the end of her internship, the gallery was due to hold a showcase; where the interns for that year —herself and Blaise included— put their work on display and the best pieces went up for auction, with a percentage of the proceeds going to charity.

She wiped her hands on her apron, ridding herself of the blotches of clay that had stuck to her fingers. Martha was sat hunched over on a small wooden stool, in a small nook of the gallery. Attempting and she really did mean attempting to mould the clay into something half decent. She'd started practicing early --months in advance-- for the showcase.

If you fail to prepare, you prepare to fail. She would always say to herself, at least this way, if she needed to rethink her idea or brush up on her skills then she had plenty of time to do so.

She set her tools down on the table next to her and contemplated what she wanted to do next.

"Long time, no see." Blaise teased, coming to stand behind her. Martha twisted her head to face him and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. Blaise reciprocated her action. "How are things with baker boy?" He enquired.

She couldn't help the beaming smile that etched its way onto her face, her cheeks dimpling and flushing a pale shade of pink. "Very good," she answered.

"Has he shown you his baguette yet?" His tone nonchalant.

Martha dipped her head and tried to hide behind her blonde locks that fell in front of her face, sweeping like a pair of curtains. She buried her face into her shoulder and screwed her face up, realising how fucking obvious she was being right now. She hesitantly looked up at him and his jaw was almost hitting the floor.

"You did, didn't you, you fucked baker boy." Blaise's voice boomed through the studio and Martha playfully smacked him on his arm to be quiet.

"Not so loud!." She half whispered, half shouted.

"But you, did!"

"Alright, yes I did. Now will you whisper, Jean Claude will have a stroke if he hears you!"

The last thing she wanted was her over eccentric boss finding out about her sex life, she'd have a stroke herself if he found out the things she'd been up to during he free time. And not to mention the positions she'd been twisted and moulded into as if she were the clay between Theo's hands.

"Was he goo—"

A loud knock startled the pair of them.

Their heads whipped round to face the direction of the studio door and they were greeted by none other than Theo, leant against the door frame with a brown paper bag in hand.

"Speak of the devil." Blaise drawled.

Theo pointed to Martha and then to Blaise. His brows knitted together in confusion.

"Ignore him," Martha said, jumping from her stool to greet him. Theo met her in the middle, reaching down to steal a kiss, "what are you doing here?"

Theo took a step back and offered her the brown paper bag he was clinging onto, "I bought you some lunch." Martha gracefully accepted and reached onto her tiptoes to kiss him again. Thanking him.

"Will you two get a room," Blaise teased, playfully rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

"We're in one," Martha quipped.

The three of them all burst out into a fit of giggles.

They stood in the back room of the gallery, enjoying a quick catch up over the events they'd missed over the past couple of weeks. Theo bent down to press a kiss onto her temple, telling her he'd see her after he's finished work.