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Every little glimpse of the impatient, powerful, harsh taskmistress beneath her calm and cool facade only intrigued him more. “Now?”
    “Why not?” She led the way to the side door through her modest kitchen to the garage. “You’re here now. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”
    He scanned everything quickly, taking note of the continued beige color scheme. The appliances were basic and functional but at least five to ten years old and well used. By her? Or had she not bothered to replace them when she bought the place? Did she cook? He couldn’t tell. No pots and pans hung from a rack or waited on the stove to indicate at least occasional usage. The only decoration was a glass bowl of fruit on the breakfast bar, and it, too, was functional.
    He burned to learn her secrets. What does she do? What does she like? What will break her calm control and drive her as mad with need as I am every time I look at her?
    In the garage, he began to see more personality. He’d wondered why her small gas-friendly car was parked in the driveway when she had a two-car garage. Now he knew why. It was filled with all her stained glass business.
    Box shelves of varying sizes were built alongside one wall, allowing large pieces of glass to lie propped inside so she could easily flip through and examine the colors in each sheet. In the center of the garage bay, she’d set up a high table with a shop light hanging above it. Wheeled carts loaded with supplies were all within easy reach. Smart, practical and tidy.
    “I usually have a couple of different projects going on the big table.” She held up a long rectangular piece of paper, a pattern, he realized. The rectangle was entirely divided into complex shapes. At a glance, he really couldn’t tell what the design was supposed to be. It all looked like random puzzle shapes to him that just happened to fit into a rectangle. “All year, I create a few like this to send to the local trade shows. They’re a nice size to hang in someone’s home, without being so expensive the average person can’t afford it. I do a mix of colors, usually. They tend to sell better than the all-clear glass. So it’s a good way to use up scraps from other projects too. Nothing ever really goes to waste.”
    “So how do you go from a piece of paper to…that?” He pointed at the wall where she’d hung several different projects for display.
    “I cut up the pattern. Then select the glass for each piece of the puzzle. Not just color is important in this stage—but also the pattern and design in the glass itself. Some of the carnival glass is very busy and uneven in thickness. It won’t fit in certain designs—but will absolutely make the piece sing if put in the right place. Like this.”
    He walked closer and studied the pieces of glass on the table. It was like a kaleidoscope puked out its contents onto the table. Random shapes of glass, mixed up colors. Pretty, but no defined pattern that he could see.
    “Each one of these is cut out by hand.” While he watched, she rearranged the shapes, lining them up to match the pattern. “Even after all these years, I still break glass unexpectedly, so I can’t rush it. The better each piece is cut, the less time I have to spend grinding down the edges, because it has to be perfect or even a fraction of an inch will cause it not to fit together.”
    Then he could see it. A sunrise, with rays of light shooting through the sky. She’d used at least three different colors of blue, including one with a swirl of white that made it look like clouds scuttling across the sky. Below, greens and bright colors made up a patchwork of green hills and fields of flowers. The focal point was the burning sun rising above the hills. The glass with a bright mix of yellow, orange, red and white, the surface uneven as if it’d been made by hand.
    “This pane is only 10x20 inches and takes sixty-three pieces of glass. Once each piece is cut and ground to the