The pace of life out here was different. She had done the city life and the hassle that came with it. The rushing around and the stress. And it had been right for how long it lasted for.

But then she was shown how short life was. She started wondering if selling her soul to the devil on a daily basis and only living for the weekend was what she wanted out of life.

She didn't. It was time for a change. Time for her to stop chasing mirages and getting caught up in details.

Ready to slow down a gear or two. To be in the moment and enjoy creating in an ever inspiring, deeply humbling environment.

In her old life, she was always tired and found it hard to get out of bed. Her brain clouded in some sort of fog.

Now, she was an early riser. Full of energy and ideas. Would go for a long run first thing, have a shower, coffee after. Then she'd start with wedging clay, getting on the wheel and throwing pots till early afternoon. A quick lunch in her garden, then turning the pots over so they would dry evenly.

She would busy herself with admin for a few hours, before the pots were leather hard and ready to be trimmed. She'd put on handles where handles were needed. Then she'd leave them to dry. She'd clean the studio and cook dinner. Then immerse herself in nature on a walk, with her sketchbook, because inspiration was usually sparked on those walks. Afterwards she'd shower and go to bed at a time when in her before-life she'd only just come home from work.

The process was the same: when she had enough pots she filled her kiln and did a bisque firing. Once that was done she would wax the bottoms of the mug and then dip them in the requested glazes. Then fill the kiln again for a glaze firing. When it had cooled down, she would grind the bottoms of the mugs to ensure the surface was smooth and even.

Three weeks and five days after his last visit, she looked at the pile of mugs on her work surfaces and her kitchen table. She dialled his number only to immediately hear the pre-recorded message. She told him that his order was ready, asked him for a delivery address and a call back.

Maybe she threw in there that the mugs came out looking great. Potentially some other ramblings.

As soon as she hung up, she knew that he would probably tease her about it.

She had printed out a sign and made some business cards ready. Maybe he'd be willing to put these out in his shop as well. After a final count she started packing everything up.

She was still boxing things up in the late afternoon, when she heard a car pull into her driveway. As she stepped out of the studio, she saw a pickup. When he got out of the driver's side, her heart was in her throat again.

"Hello, darlin'."

Damn that smile.

Or rather: damn, that smile.

"Hi," she said, clearing her throat, "I left you a voicemail."

"I know," he grinned, "another geeky ramble."

She studied her shoes. They were, of course, dirty. "Sorry."

Sneakers appeared in her line of vision. "Don't be. It was adorable."

Adorable. Kids are adorable.

She chanced to look up at him to find him smiling.

God damn it. She needed to move before she face planted in front of him due to loss of muscle control.

She pushed her glasses back on top of the bridge of her nose. "I'm just packing it all up. I'm nearly done."

He followed her through the studio into the kitchen, whistling when he saw just how many boxes there were. "Good thing I brought the pick up."

"Do you want a drink till I'm finished? It's just two boxes left," she asked.

"I'm good, thanks. Can I carry the boxes to the truck?"

She nodded and went back inside, packing up the last two boxes.

A few minutes later she heard his voice behind her. "Need any help?"

"Could you hold the flaps down, please, so I can stick the packing tape on?"

He placed his hands where she showed him and she ripped off the required length.

"Not plastic?" he enquired.

"No," she placed the strip on the box, "it's paper, the glue gets activated by a bit of water. It's environmental friendly and super strong."

He watched as she finished smoothing out the strip.

"Okay, last one. Same procedure, please."

He moved his hands and she caught a waft of his scent. How could someone smell so good?

Her hands shook slightly as she stuck the strip down and suddenly his hands were on hers, engulfing them with warmth.

She looked up, only then realising how close they were once again.

"Am I making you nervous, darlin'?" His voice was quiet and rough.

She just couldn't look away from his captivating eyes.

"A little," she admitted in a whisper.

"In a good or in a bad way?"

Goodness. Again, with the being perfect.

"I haven't had bad experiences with men, if that's what you're asking," she said quietly.

Some tension that she didn't know was there before left his eyes and they turned soft. "Good."

His hands still held hers. He entwined their fingers, looking down at them. "A musician's and a potter's hands," he mused, but left the thought hanging in the air.

Her hands looked so small in his. But they fit together so well. It felt... right.

"You're a musician? I thought you were a coffee shop owner."

Their hands untangled and he very slowly moved his fingers up over her arms. "I'm both. Coffee shop owner by day, drummer by night."

His fingers traced the lines of her tattoo that curled up over her arms and disappeared under the sleeves of her t-shirt, a little bit of ink peeking out on her neck.

"Are you famous then, if you're living in LA?"

He shrugged. "A little."

She felt a bit silly. She should have googled him when he had given her his name. She had checked out his coffee shop online, but she didn't think to just google his name. That would have saved her an embarrassment.

"Why are you blushing?"

"Because I'm an ignorant fool," she admitted. "I apologise if I have offended you."

He chuckled and she could feel the air vibrate. His hands were now curled around the back of her head.

She found it very, very hard, not to close her eyes and to lose herself in his touch. This was divine.

"Fame doesn't define me. I'm just Shannon at the end of the day."

Her breath hitched when his fingers found their way in her hair.

"You're not 'just Shannon'," she breathed.

"No?"

"No," she insisted. "You've shown me that you're incredibly kind, mindful, genuine, observant and caring. And I've only met you three times now. Those are not attributes you find often in a place like LA."

It all came out quietly, but he heard it anyway.

"How about we change that then?" His voice sounded... throaty.

"Change what?"

"That we've only met three times. I would love to see you again. I would love to take you on a date. Show you my coffee shop and you can see your art in use."

She felt a bit dizzy due to his closeness, his touch, his scent and his words. And yet, her insecurities piped up.

"Are you sure?"

He leaned in, resting his forehead on hers. "Very."

Her heart tripped over several beats.

"I would love that," she whispered.

God, she could stay like this forever, getting totally lost in his nearness, in him.

"Perfect. Are you free on Thursday afternoon? I'll pick you up, drive you to the shop then have dinner somewhere? I'll drive you back again."

She nodded. "I can drive in though-"

He shook his head. "No. I don't want you to chicken out halfway there and stand me up."

"Do I strike you as the kind of girl that would do something like that?" she asked, a little indignantly.

He moved back a little so he could look into her eyes. "You strike me as the kind of girl that talks herself out of things, because you're scared of getting hurt."

It sounded earnest and sincere.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he had her spot on there. And he knew it. She closed her mouth again.

He smiled down at her rather smugly. "I'll pick you up on Thursday at 4.30pm."

Then he leaned in again and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. He lingered for a moment, before he stepped back and picked up a box.

"I stuck my sign in here, along with some business cards," she said, following him with the last box.

"Excellent. I'll put them out."

They placed them on the back of his truck. He leaned down to her and kissed her cheek, before he put his sunglasses on and opened the driver's door.

"Oh, wear something comfortable. We'll be riding on my bike."

He smiled, started the car and left.

She stood there, hand on her cheek, her skin still tingling where his lips had touched it on her forehead and cheek.

Oh, she was so done for.