“Sounds like Stu,” I muttered. I was only surprised he had bothered getting an actual job in the first place.

“Yeah, that guy’s a couple cans short of a six-pack. So anyway, I’ve got an opening. If you need some extra cash, the job is yours.” Jeb grinned with a mouth full of yellow teeth.

While I appreciated his offer, the thought of working at JAC’s again made me want to run away screaming. Coming back to Wellston was hard enough. But finding myself working at JAC’s would be enough to drive me insane. I could only go backwards so far before I fell over.

“Thanks, Jeb. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, taking the bag Melanie held out and grabbing my change.

Jeb held the door open for me. “Good to see ya, kiddo. Don’t be a stranger. Though there aren’t any strangers in Wellston, are there? You can’t get away from anyone, no matter how hard you try,” Jeb chortled and I knew he was all too right.

**

Visiting with Jeb at JAC’s had kind of killed my motivation to go job hunting. Faced with a long day ahead, I decided to head over to Black River Community College to visit Flynn and to maybe see him in action.

I was curious about what kind of professor he was. I remembered how hard it had been for him to lead the art workshops. I assumed since he was offered additional classes, he must be doing okay.

I parked my car at the community college and promptly realized that I had no idea where Flynn taught his courses or what times they began and ended. My grand idea of surprising him was starting to look like a really stupid idea.

“Hey!” I called out to a passing student. The girl jumped and looked at me with wary hesitation. And here I thought I had gotten rid of my scary, stay away persona.

“Yeah?” she asked, looking like she wanted to bolt.

“Do you know Professor Hendrick?”

“Yeah,” she repeated. This girl’s vocabulary seemed to be severely limited.

“Okay. Well can you tell me where his class is?” I asked slowly, overly enunciating my words on the chance she was a bit slow.

She pointed towards campus and I had to tamp down on my urge to strangle her in frustration.

“Let me try this a different way. What building will I find him in?” I snapped, losing all semblance of patience.

“Oh, um. I think he teaches in the Bancroft Building,” she stammered and then hurried away as though her ass were on fire.

I wasn’t entirely sure which of the buildings was the one I was looking for. Monosyllabic girl ran away before I could ask her. I remembered that Flynn used to spend time in an art studio near where I would go to class. I assumed that was the place I was supposed to go.

Black River Community College was one of the prettier areas of Wellston. I noticed new benches and an outdoor picnic area in the middle of a copse of trees. Even though it was close to freezing, there were the few students studying outside, their books and papers spread out around them.

I loved going to school. I loved learning and feeling as though I was working toward something. I remembered how scared and unsure I had been the first time I had stepped foot on the campus. I had made the decision to take a class on a whim.

It was one of the few impulsive actions in my life that I was glad to have made.

I walked through the side door of the Bancroft Building and walked down the hallway, peeking through windows into classrooms. When I reached the end of the corridor, I looked into the art studio where Flynn had spent his time when I had been a student.

And there he was.

The room was full of students with their hands deep in clay. Flynn stood in the front of the classroom, a projector focused on the lump he was manipulating.

The people in the room watched him intently and then attempted to emulate his movements. Flynn was completely fixated on his task and didn’t notice when I quietly entered the studio and made my way to the back of the room.

I took a seat in the corner and watched my boyfriend teaching a class. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

I remembered the workshop I had attended before and how he had barely spoken, instead letting his art speak for him. He had been uncomfortable and awkward. You could tell he hadn’t wanted to be there.

Flynn had always hated people staring at him. It was hard for me to admit that I was partly to blame for his aversion. I had made him feel like a freak. Teasing and taunting him mercilessly.

It had shaped the person he became just as surely as it had shaped me.

But here he was, standing in the front of the class, molding the clay with his adept fingers, talking in slow, halting words about the methods he was using. His tone never wavered. As usual he showed no emotion. But he appeared at ease at the front of the classroom. Even with everyone watching him, he was confident and sure.

“Press and smooth the surface using the pads of your fingers. You can use the sculpting tools for better detail. Some people use pieces of fabric to add texture and depth. In your pieces I want to see elements of folding and flattening as well as the rounding technique we discussed last week,” Flynn said clearly and without hesitation.

He put down his clay and wiped his hands thoroughly on a cloth beside him. Then he began to walk up and down the aisles, speaking to his students, offering advice. He was oblivious to the flirting smiles and batted eyelashes of the female co-eds.

He also kept a certain amount of physical distance between himself and his students. But this wasn’t the man who had been terrified to speak in front of others for fear of being ridiculed. This wasn’t the guy who had isolated himself because it was easier than dealing with people.