Page 107

Kell

I wake with Laura’s hand over mine. I don’t move. Her palm rests against the back of my hand, warm and loose with sleep, our fingers still tangled together over her stomach. Her back is against my chest, the comforter twisted around our legs, and some of her hair is caught between my arm and the pillow. I could move it but I don’t want to disturb anything.

Everything I said to her last night comes back without effort. I liked taking care of you. I like hearing you come home. Someone I want to tell.

The words don’t belong only to last night. They’re here with me now, with her hand over mine and morning light coming through the bedroom windows.

Laura shifts against me. Her fingers tighten around mine before she’s fully awake, a brief sleepy squeeze. Then her breathing changes and the muscles along her back stiffen against my chest.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning.”

She stays where she is for another few seconds before rolling onto her back and pushing hair away from her face. “What time is it?”

I reach for my phone and touch the screen until the voice tells me. Laura groans. “That’s offensive.”

“You usually get up earlier.”

“I’m aware.”

She sits up, taking the sheet with her, and checks her phone. Her thumb stops on the screen. She reads whatever is there, waits, then reads it again.

“What happened?”

“One of the department managers has a staffing mess.”

“Do you have to go?”

Laura presses her lips together. “No.”

I wait. That wasn’t the answer I expected.

She looks at the message again. “They can handle it without me. At least they should be able to handle it without me.”

Then she swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“But I should probably go.”

She’s already reaching for her clothes before she finishes saying it. I sit up. “What about the workshop?”

Laura pauses with one foot on the floor. Monday night, after Meredith bought the painting, we spent part of dinner talking about what happens if I keep making canvases too large for the condo. Laura found a vacant workshop a few blocks off Main Street, an old repair shop with high windows, concrete floors, and a utility sink. She called the owner while I listened, and we arranged to see it this morning. I’ve been thinking about the place since she showed me the photographs.

“We can reschedule,” she says.

I picture the long room again, the empty floor, somewhere I wouldn’t have to move canvases before we could eat dinner. “I don’t want to reschedule.”

Laura stops with her bra in one hand. “Okay.”

“I can go without you.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “Yes. You can.”

She says it like she already believes I can do it alone.

Laura pulls on her underwear. “The owner said he’d have the lease there if you liked the place.”

“I cannot read enough of it.”