It was a casual purchase at the time, but it is now out of production.

Kellan wasn't entirely sure if his senses were playing tricks on him, but he noticed a change in Allison's voice—a subtle lightness—as if the idea of perfume genuinely pleased her.

The yard basked in the soft glow of sunlight, casting an even warmth over everything. Two cats zigzagged around his legs, brushing against them and meowing for attention. The faint scent of plum emanating from Allison calmed Kellan's restlessness.

Distracted, he accidentally pushed too hard, making a hole in the clay.

"Careful," he said. "Don't force it. Let the clay guide you. Gently shape it until it comes together on its own, then you can give it that final push."

Allison snapped her fingers, guiding his hand with a subtle touch, placing his fingers where they needed to be. "If you want it to have life, don't treat it like dead weight. Relax," she said softly. "And stop curling your fingers like that."

Their fingertips brushed, and Kellan felt a subtle jolt, like a spark of electricity. He wanted to pull back, but that would be too obvious. Her voice lingered, soft but commanding, as if only she could restrain him. He noticed her pale but warm skin, calloused on his fingers.

From my vantage point, I could see his face, totally focused on the clay. His bangs were slightly askew, but his hands moved with precision. The calluses on his fingertips, especially his ring and index fingers, reminded her of her own—though his had been earned through years of handling firearms.

"You can support it a little more underneath," he added.

Kellan mentally shook himself, realizing how ridiculous his thoughts had been. Allison? Like her? It was impossible. He had been raised on gunpowder and violence; she seemed so indifferent, so unconcerned with the world. And if she knew how to use firearms, Colton probably wouldn't be standing. I was thinking too much.

As the clay began to take shape under his fingers, Kellan smiled—a genuine smile. It was an unusual expression for him, and the softness in his eyes surprised him.

Unbeknownst to them, Colton entered the courtyard, hand in hand with Melany. The sight stopped them: a man and a woman sitting together, molding clay, seemingly at peace.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Colton asked, frowning. He squinted, struggling to believe the woman before him was Allison. She wasn't supposed to be here, let alone making pottery with Kellan—of all people, he was famous for his impatience with women and unpredictable temper since his injury.

"Yes, I'm sure," Melany replied, doubt in her voice and wide eyes. As they drew closer, there was no mistaking it: Allison and Kellan.

A flash of jealousy crossed Melany's face, but she quickly recovered and smiled politely. "What a small world, Allison! I didn't expect you to be so fast. I heard it can take weeks to track down Emanuel, maybe longer given his eccentricity. And not to mention his sky-high prices…" She trailed off. "Oh, right, silly me! You just got a nice windfall—four million, right? I guess this kind of expense must seem like chump change to you."

Allison didn't acknowledge her.

Realizing her attempt at creating tension was failing, and seeing Allison and Kellan remain unfazed, Melany forced a conversation. "You must be Mr. Lloyd? I wasn't expecting to find you here." Colton, roused from his distraction, quickly masked his surprise. He broke his focus on Allison, forcing a smile as he approached Kellan. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Lloyd. It's a bit of a shock to meet you here."

Their courtesy felt practiced, almost too similar. Kellan didn't look up, keeping his attention on Allison.

"Is this okay with you?"

"Yes, you've mastered the technique," she replied.

"This piece is good, no doubt, but it's still a little embarrassing," Kellan said, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's so embarrassing about it?" Allison asked, genuinely curious. From her point of view, this was better than the last. What was there to blame him for?

"Art should strive for perfection, but when a crack appears, it's hard to ignore. Perfection is rare, and even harder to maintain. Yet there are people who insist on creating unnecessary disruptions." Kellan's tone turned cold.

If Colton and Melany had more wit, they would recognize the subtle hint: they were unwelcome. Anyone with common sense would leave. Melany struggled to remain calm, and after a while, Colton reluctantly lowered his hand, his face tense with frustration. He wasn't used to being treated like this, but he wasn't clueless; he knew Kellan had no interest in his company.

"Colton," Melany whispered, tugging lightly on his sleeve.

Aware of the commercial interests, Colton swallowed his pride. He smiled thinly. "You are absolutely right, sir. Your views on art are truly revealing." His compliment barely concealed his irritation.

Melany, seeing his effort, resumed her bright demeanor. "Mr. Lloyd, your craftsmanship is something else," she said, smiling charmingly. "I've rarely seen such perfectly formed pottery. Even looking at the shape, I can tell it's of the highest quality. I may not know how to make pottery, but I appreciate it. That's why we traveled here to learn from Mr. Welsh, the master potter. Meeting you is an unexpected treat." With a delicate gesture, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Mr. Lloyd, would you mind if we sat here and watched for a while?"