“A bubble of glass.” Engrossed, Shannon studied the twists and columns, the bowls and tapers Maggie had setting helter-skelter on shelves. “And you make whatever you want with it.”

“You make what you feel. You have to do a second gather, roll and chill it to form what we call a skin. You do a lot of the work sitting down in your chair, getting up countless times to go back to the furnace. You have to keep the pontil or the pipe moving, using gravity, fighting it.” Maggie tilted her head. “You want to try it?”

Too enthralled to be surprised by the invitation, Shannon grinned. “You bet I do.”

“Something simple,” Maggie muttered as she began to set things up. “A ball, flat on the bottom. Like a paperweight.”

In moments Shannon found her hands encased in heavy gloves with a pontil in her hand. Following instructions, she dipped the tip into the melt, turned it.

“Don’t be so greedy,” Maggie snapped. “Takes time.”

And effort, Shannon discovered. It wasn’t work for a weakling. Sweat trickled down her back and went unnoticed when she saw the bubble begin to form on the end of the pipe.

“I did it!”

“No, you haven’t.” But Maggie guided her hands, showing her how to make the second gather, to roll it over the marble. She explained each step, neither of them fully aware they were working in tandem and enjoying it.

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” Giddy as a child, Shannon beamed at the glass ball. “Look at those swirls of color in it.”

“No use making something ugly. You’ll use this to flatten the base. Careful now, that’s good. You’ve got smart hands.” She shifted the pipe, showing Shannon how to attach the other end to a pontil. “Now strike it sharp, there.”

Shannon blinked when the ball detached from the pipe, holding now to the pontil.

“Back in the furnace first,” Maggie instructed, impatient now. “To heat the lip. That’s it, not too much. Into the oven it goes. To anneal. Now take that file, strike it again.”

When the ball landed on a thick pad of asbestos, Maggie closed the oven in a businesslike manner and set the timer.

“That was wonderful!”

“You did well enough.” Maggie bent down to a small refrigerator and took out two cold drinks. “You’re not ham-handed or stupid.”

“Thanks,” Shannon said dryly. She took a long drink. “I think the hands-on lesson overbalanced the bargain.”

Maggie smiled. “Then you owe me, don’t you?”

“Apparently.” Casually Shannon brushed through the sketches littering a workbench. “These are excellent. I saw some of your sketches and paintings in New York.”

“I’m not a painter. Rogan isn’t one to let any bit of business pass by, so he takes what he likes from them, has them mounted.”

“I won’t argue that your glasswork is superior to your drawing.”

Maggie swallowed the soft drink before she choked. “Won’t you?”

“No. But Rogan has an excellent eye, and I’m sure he culls out your best.”