“What’re you making, there?” he murmurs against my mouth. We look down at the misshapen pile of clay on my pottery wheel. “Abstract art,” I say confidently, making Atlas snort. “It will speak to everyone differently.” “Mm,” he hums, a teasing tilt to his mouth as he looks at me. “And what does it say to you?” “It says let us leave the pottery to Atlas, who is a professional.” I get a laugh, a full smile, and a kiss from that joke,
