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Empty.

Mugs ditched on the counter with the prosecco bottle still standing tall.

For a moment, I simply stand there. Paint drying on my arms. Hair wild. Heart stupidly open as I realise the truth. They’re gone, and they didn’t even say goodbye.

My mind whirs into life, trying to rationalise.

Maybe Jack has business. Casino stuff to get on with. Maybe Bryce just slipped away for work, because Bryce always has work. The world could be ending and Bryce would still be checking whether the figures are aligned properly on his PowerPoint slides.

Maybe they didn’t want to disturb me. That could be it. Maybe they just nipped out for a while. Maybe they left together while I was still lost in the flow.

My thoughts keep racing as I check the time. Almost six. Shit.

They left together. Left me.

That thought is the one that catches.

The two of them. Leaving together. Laughing in a cab, maybe. Jack making some crude joke. Bryce rolling his eyes, but smiling anyway. That bright, reluctant smile I love far too much.

I steady myself against the counter.

No.

I refuse to spiral. Not yet. Not with the best paintings of my life upstairs, still wet and shining.

My phone is on the hall table, face down beside my keys. I snatch it up so fast, I almost drop it.

No messages.

Of course there are no messages. Why would there be messages? I’m not sure I even have Jack’s number, not without fishing out his purchase details from the charity event. And as for Bryce, we haven’t been social media buddies in years. We aren’t friends with a constant thread of conversation running.

The three of us aren’t rational. We’re a pile of chaos slammed together. Crazy lust that feels like salvation.

How insane. My years of longing for Bryce were cracked open by an Adonis who treats emotional catastrophe like a party trick, and shows off the results with a ta da. I know he doesn’t give a toss, not really.

Still.

Some kind of message would have been nice. A further indication of more fun to come.

I stare at the blank screen, then I laugh.

It comes out broken, but it’s still a laugh.

“Brilliant,” I tell my empty hallway. “Great job, Alice. Create the masterpiece of your life, and your audience fucks off before the viewing.”

Jack would laugh along with me.

Bryce would wince at first, then laugh because I’m laughing.

My chest aches for the pair of them.

I look back up the stairs, towards the studio. Towards the paintings. Towards the version of myself who was so in the flow I was oblivious to who stayed and who left.

The black lines bent, because I dared to hope. I dared to hope Jack and Bryce would still be down here, without question. Subconsciously, but true.

But even though they’re not, my black lines still bent for them. For me.

I climb the stairs slowly, one hand on the banister. My body is heavy with exhaustion, and hyped up with a weird concoction of happiness and grief.