CHAPTER 13: CHAPTER 13: ADD ON WECHAT?

As soon as she spoke, she regretted it.

It’s completely normal for parents to accompany their children, but this was Blake Sinclair!

Holly Crowe’s gaze swept over Blake Sinclair’s expensive three-piece suit, which seemed out of place here.

For someone like him, under constant public scrutiny, how could he possibly want to get his hands dirty with clay?

Even Zion Pence called pottery "dirty" and "unpresentable," let alone Blake Sinclair.

Holly Crowe laughed at herself mockingly within.

"Sure, thank you."

The deep voice made Holly look up abruptly.

Blake Sinclair’s hand was already on the frame of his glasses as he slowly took off the suit jacket, revealing a broad shoulder and narrow waist outlined by his shirt.

The suit he took off was draped over his arm; his well-defined fingers lightly unbuttoned the cuffs and leisurely rolled up the sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms.

Holly could even see the subtle veins on his arm.

She unconsciously held her breath.

Yet the faint cedarwood scent slowly spread in the air with his movements, sneakily lingering in her nostrils.

Do you wealthy gentlemen even slow down time when taking off a suit jacket?

"Miss Crowe?"

Blake Sinclair’s voice brought her back to reality.

The hands she’d been staring at were now held mid-air, waiting for her to hand him an apron.

Holly finally reacted.

"Sorry."

She hastily grabbed an adult apron matching Shirley Sinclair’s from the rack.

In the moment she handed it over, their fingertips touched.

That brief contact felt like an electric current down her spine.

Holly quickly withdrew her hand, hung his suit jacket on the rack, and then swiftly squatted down next to Sinclair, her voice slightly unnatural, "Come, Sinclair, let the teacher show you..."

Even though that person was several meters away, Holly still heard a barely audible chuckle.

The nape of her neck tingled, and she instinctively turned to look at Blake Sinclair’s position.

He was leisurely taking off his watch, but his gaze never left her direction.

Holly quickly turned back, exhaled a breath, and finally focused her attention on the clay in her hands.

The familiar feeling of touching the clay again made Holly’s nose tingle with emotion.

All those late nights spent on her senior project came rushing back.

Once, she thought of giving this up as the price of love and growth, but at this moment, she finally understood it was just Zion Pence slowly stripping away her sense of self.

Someone who truly loves you wouldn’t let you give up your passions...

"Teacher Crowe, my clay turned into a pancake..."

Shirley Sinclair’s tender voice pulled her out of her memories.

Holly looked at the lump of clay spread out on the pottery wheel and couldn’t help but chuckle.

"It’s okay, let me set a center for you, and we’ll try again slowly..."

Little Sinclair was learning earnestly, but the clay just wouldn’t cooperate with her hands. After several failed attempts, her little mouth pouted to the ceiling.

"It’s okay, Sinclair, you’ve done well...."

As Holly was about to reassure her and assist, she saw that Blake Sinclair, who had been watching from the side, had naturally sat on Shirley’s little stool.

The man’s long legs were obviously cramped at the low pottery wheel, his legs forced to awkwardly bend and spread apart.

The fabric of his suit pants instantly became taut, stretching into tension-filled creases over his thighs.

Blake Sinclair took a new lump of clay and skillfully placed it on the wheel. He dipped his fingers in water, started the wheel, and with a little pressure from his palms and thumbs, successfully centered the clay in no time.

In less than twenty seconds, a small bowl had formed.

"Wow! Uncle, you’re amazing!"

Shirley Sinclair clapped her hands in admiration, her eyes sparkling with adoration.

Holly Crowe was stunned too.

Centring the clay, forming these basic tasks look simple, but they demand precise control of force and angle.

Even the most talented would rarely get this right on the first try.

Blake Sinclair indeed!

Little Shirley watched the small bowl on the wheel bounce around several times, "Teacher Crowe, isn’t my uncle amazing!"

Holly nodded, genuinely impressed, "I didn’t expect President Sinclair to be so skilled in pottery."

As Blake Sinclair washed the clay from his hands, he looked up at her.

A subtle smile lifted the corners of his lips: "I know a thing or two."

Water droplets slid off his well-defined fingers, leaving invisible traces on his black suit pants.

His gaze fell on Holly’s clay-covered fingertips, then slowly returned upwards.

Their eyes met.

"Miss Crowe as well."

That statement was like a pebble tossed into a calm lake.

It took Holly a moment to grasp the meaning behind his words.

Did it mean he didn’t expect her to know pottery too?

Indeed.

After all, in the public eye, she’s just the dull, uninteresting secretary by Zion Pence’s side.

"I majored in Ceramic Art Design at university," she said.

Her fingertips, almost unconsciously, traced the faint ring mark on her ring finger.

It’s been five years since she last mentioned her field of study as if acknowledging a forgotten identity.

Holly’s nose stung, and she slightly turned her head away to avert her eyes.

Due to this missed opportunity, Blake Sinclair’s amber eyes showed no surprise, but more... heartache.

"I see."

Blake Sinclair pulled out two tissues, slowly wiped the water droplets off his hands, and looked up again, his eyes calm as water.

"If five years ago Miss Crowe had continued her advanced studies in ceramics after graduating from university, perhaps I would have heard your name at the Corinium Pottery Exhibition, instead of at The Genesis Forum."

Three months ago at The Genesis Forum, she had taken the stage to speak in place of Zion Pence, who had gone to Vantria for a last-minute business negotiation.

At the time, in the middle of the first row, Blake Sinclair sat quietly.

No one expected someone like Blake Sinclair would attend the forum.

Holly Crowe was no exception.

It was supposed to be just a very ordinary speech, yet at the moment she met Blake Sinclair’s gaze, her palms began to sweat.

Turns out Blake Sinclair remembered her name from that moment.

But right now, Holly Crowe’s mind was filled with the word "Corinium."

The word Blake Sinclair suddenly mentioned was like a needle, piercing through her long-numbed nerves.

It was the place she once dreamed of going.

The Art Corinium is the dream palace for every ceramic artist, and having one’s work exhibited at the Corinium Pottery Exhibition is undoubtedly the highest honor.

On the day when she started as a freshman, she eagerly wrote "See you at Corinium" on the freshman wishes wall.

Holly Crowe remembered that it was a sunny day, and her heart and eyes were filled with dreams.

And not like now...

Shuttling back and forth between meeting rooms and offices every day, to the point where her name was simplified to "Secretary Crowe."

The sunlight was making her eyes a little sore, and she forced a smile, her voice as light as a feather, "President Sinclair thinks too highly of me."

Blake Sinclair glanced around at the Lunar Lotus Studio and then slowly returned his gaze to Holly Crowe’s face.

"I’m looking forward to it."

Four words.

Very light, like a sigh.

Very heavy, like a promise.

Holly Crowe once doubted if she heard it wrong.

Her fingertips trembled slightly as she looked up at him.

Blake Sinclair had already put his glasses back on, reverting to his initial aloof demeanor, while the amber eyes behind the lenses held emotions she couldn’t understand.

The sunset was slanting.

Drawing the shadows of the three people long, intertwining them.

The afterglow wove a golden web in the air, with dust dancing like a dream.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment as Holly Crowe seemed to see a blurry outline.

The eighteen-year-old version of herself.

The hour of pottery experience ended quickly.

Little Sinclair held the ceramic bunny that Holly Crowe gave her, unwilling to let go.

Holly Crowe wrote the date and name on a sticky note and stuck it next to the small bowl.

"Once the clay dries, it can be glazed and fired. You can either come to pick it up or we can mail it to you."

Little Sinclair’s eyes were full of anticipation as she tilted her head and asked, "When will Shirley know that the small bowl is ready?"

Holly Crowe patted her on the head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake Sinclair standing not far away, talking on the phone. He stood sideways to them, a neutral expression, not noticing their conversation.

His hand loosely held the phone, and with the other, he hooked Sinclair’s pink strawberry bear backpack.

"Ceramics need to be fired twice and glazed; it usually takes about a month. Once it’s done, someone from the store will contact...."

Holly Crowe realized halfway through that the store’s work phone should be with Celia Stiles.

Little Sinclair blinked her big eyes, "Can Shirley add Teacher Crowe’s WeChat? When the small bowl is done, you can message me, and I’ll let Uncle Driver come and get it."

"Huh?"

Holly Crowe was momentarily stunned, then quickly reacted.

"Sure," she replied softly, patting her head again, "But Little Shirley, do you have a phone already?"

Little Sinclair shook her head like an adult, "No, no, no, mom says kids can’t play with phones."

She said proudly, "But Shirley has a Genius phone watch." She counted with her fingers, "Teacher Crowe, you’re the seventh adult in my watch."

Holly Crowe: "So who are the six before me?"

Little Sinclair named them off one by one, pointing her fingers, "Great-grandpa, grandpa, mom, uncle, Auntie Irving, Uncle Irving."

She almost revealed her entire family background.

Holly Crowe laughed and took out her phone to bring up the WeChat QR code.

Blake Sinclair, having somehow finished his call, walked towards them slowly, his shadow elongated by the setting sun.

Little Sinclair ran over, tugging at his coat, looking up and asking, "Uncle, can you take out the Genius phone watch from my backpack? I want to add Teacher Crowe’s WeChat."

Blake Sinclair handed over the backpack.

Little Sinclair rummaged through every corner of the backpack, her little face starting to fall.

"Where’s my watch?" she said, her voice tinged with tears, "I definitely put it in here... without the watch, I can’t see my little bowl immediately..."

"You should take care of your own belongings," Blake Sinclair said calmly.

Little Sinclair’s tears finally began to fall.

Holly Crowe, somewhat displeased, glanced at Blake Sinclair.

She quickly crouched down, reaching out to wipe Sinclair’s tears, soothing her in a soft voice, "Don’t cry, don’t cry..."

Blake Sinclair paused for a few seconds after she cast that glance his way.

"Instead of crying," his voice became softer than before, "you should think about how to solve the problem."

That sentence seemed to have magical power, as Little Sinclair gradually stopped crying. She sniffled and looked up, her tear-filled eyes suddenly brightening with an idea.

"Then... Uncle, can you add Teacher Crowe’s WeChat?"