I'd sketched him a few times already during our stay, but always while he was awake. This quiet moment felt almost like trespassing, but I couldn't stop.
Cord stirred, his breathing changing. I thought about closing the sketchbook, pretending I'd been doing something else, but something kept my hand moving.
His eyes opened, focusing first on the ceiling, then sweeping the room until they found me.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep. He didn't move to cover himself or sit up, just lay there watching me watch him. "What time is it?"
"Just after eight." I made a few more quick strokes, trying to capture the light on his collarbone. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than I have in months." He stretched his good arm overhead, muscles flexing. "No dreams, no waking up in a cold sweat. Just... sleep." His gaze dropped to the sketchbook. "What are you working on?"
"Just a study." I turned the book toward him, heat creeping up my neck. Quick lines capturing the way his body rested againstthe sheets, the relaxed curve of his fingers, the soft vulnerability of his mouth in sleep.
Cord propped himself up on his good elbow, sheet pooling at his waist. "You made me look... peaceful."
"You were peaceful." I tucked hair behind my ear. "Does that bother you?"
He tilted his head, considering. "No. It's just weird seeing myself through someone else's eyes. Most people only see what I can do on a field."
"I've never seen you play." I closed the sketchbook, set it aside. "Maybe that helps."
"Maybe." He sat up, wincing as he adjusted to accommodate his shoulder.
I stood and moved to the kitchenette, needing something to do with my hands. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the cabin with that rich smell. "Hungry?"
"Starving, actually." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on sweatpants one-handed with practiced ease. "Haven't had much appetite for weeks. Feels good to want food again."
I busied myself with eggs and the last of Vincent's bread, hyperaware of Cord moving behind me. The soft pad of his bare feet on the wooden floor. The rustle of fabric as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. The quiet hum of some melody I didn't recognize.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Sam's name. I glanced at the preview without picking it up.Just finished walkthrough with inspector. He said foundation might need work. Will explain on report.
"Everything cool?" Cord's voice was closer than expected. He leaned against the doorframe.
"Just Sam." I turned back to the eggs, which were starting to firm up. "Acting as my proxy while I'm out of town."
"For the gallery?"
"Yeah." I slid the eggs onto two plates, adding toast to each. "He's been messaging more than usual. I'm sure it's fine. He just likes to keep me in the loop." I carried the plates to the table. "Vince and The Master have been cool about letting me make extra calls home while I've been arranging things with the mortgage company and the artists."
"All that and your full-time job." Cord took his plate. "And then you get to babysit a mess like me."
I followed him to the small table by the window, dropping a kiss on his temple. "I've had worse projects."
He grinned, cutting into his eggs.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Just forks on plates and some mockingbird outside. Through the window, I could see clouds building on the horizon. The kind that promised an afternoon thunderstorm.
"Tell me about the gallery," Cord said, pushing his empty plate aside.
I leaned back, cupping my coffee between my palms. "Small. Just a converted storefront on Highland Avenue in Marfa. This beautiful old adobe from the 1930s with high ceilings and original hardwood floors." My enthusiasm built. "There's a courtyard in back where I want to host small events, maybe some live music on weekend evenings."
"Sounds perfect."
"Planning to feature mostly regional artists. People who capture the essence of West Texas but maybe don't have the connections to show in the bigger galleries in town. Mix of photography, paintings, sculpture." I took a sip of coffee, realizing how long it'd been since I'd talked about this with anyone outside family. "I want it to be a place where tourists can discover local talent, but also where locals actually want to hang out."
"And your own work? Will you show that too?"
The question caught me off guard. "Some, maybe. In the beginning at least, to fill the walls while I build relationships with other artists." I traced the rim of my mug. "Honestly, I'm more excited about curating other people's work than showing my own."
