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The hope in his voice makes me pause. I set the bottle back on the shelf and take the hat and marker he passes through.
When I get out of the car, I drag my feet up the driveway and hit the entry code for the house.
Lights are on in the living room. I’m heading for the bathroom when I see the door to her studio is ajar.
Inside, Nova’s painting at her easel. Soft music streams from a Bluetooth speaker in one corner.
Her hair is blonde, streaked blonder from the sun, and twisted into a messy knot on her head. There’s none of the pink left, and I try to remember when that happened.
Her gray cotton dress reaches her knees. Bare legs and feet are tanned from a summer outside.
Nova’s focused on her easel, but she’s swaying too.
I imagine her eyes lifting to mine, grabbing me in that way she has.
Me crossing to her.
Turning her in my arms, carrying her to the wall, and pinning her there.
Her legs go around my waist. She reaches for my belt, unfastening it and my pants. We get them off, and I press between her legs, sliding in all the way. Her back arches as she moans softly.
Neither of us says a word.
For a moment, it’s everything.
For a moment, it’s enough.
As if feeling my attention, her eyes lift from the easel. “Hi.”
I blink from the doorway. “Surprised you’re up.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She stretches her arms overhead, revealing spots of paint on her arms and neck.
Around us are canvases everywhere, mostly images of dancers.
“You don’t do basketball anymore,” I notice.
“That makes two of us.” My body stiffens, and her eyes widen at the same time. “Sorry. I just mean that it’s September and we have no idea what you’re doing next year. Where you’re playing or—”
“I’ll figure it out.” My voice is rougher than I intend, but it feels as disconnected from me as every other part of my body.
“How was the tournament?”
“We raised a lot of money.” I feel empty. “How was barre class?” I ask, pushing to remember her schedule.
“Good. I made friends who invited us to a party this weekend. Want to go?” she asks.
A party.
I just spent all day acting around other people. But she wants to—I can tell.
“Yeah, sure.”
She looks as though she wants to say more but doesn’t.
“The limo drove through one of the gardens,” I go on finally.
Her face screws up. “The daisies?”
