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“Better now. Get comfortable. This will take a while.”
And he was right. It took a while as he delved back into his craft and Alexa could only watch as he sketched her for hours.
Chapter 4
Her body came to life, but not the way he wanted it to. Edmund crumpled the paper and restarted, lost in the vision he had in mind but unable to capture it in ink no matter how he tried. The body lines were too smooth, not showing off the muscles that moved in power and grace when she fought. The face was impersonal, not detailing her darker irises or the fullness of her bottom lip….
“Are you done?”
“Not yet, my love.” Belatedly, it registered who he was talking to and had him backtracking. “Not yet, Alexa. It needs…time.”
“I don’t have time.”
There was that defiance, which he should have put down in ink from the moment he met her. But the figure forming on the paper in front of him was bland, and frustration was starting its descent. He pushed it back and stood.
“Just another hour or two, if you can spare it tonight.”
He waited for her answer. When the struggle on her face cleared, he waited for her nod before approaching her, impatience ringing in the limited time he had. He rearranged her pose, added a few more smudges, and ignored the way she avoided looking into his eyes. He went back to his sketch, adjusting the changes and filling in her eyes, but it felt…empty.
“If you could—”
“No, I can’t spare another hour,” she cut in, stomping over. She was in front of the sketch before he could protest, nudging him out of the way until his line of vision was filled with bare, smooth shoulders. She clutched the rest of the cloth tighter over her body, gaze never straying from the paper. “It’s too bold. Too angry.”
“Angry?”
“Either you are trying to capture my angry state from our run-in with those vampires or you’re just angry that you’re not getting it right, but either way, you’re not taking it at the moment. I was very relaxed earlier.”
“No, you were not.”
“Fine. Maybe not very. Excuse me if I’m not used to being the one scrutinized for art purposes.” She gave him a look, then picked up a charcoal piece. “May I?”
Her words flabbergasted him, but curiosity swirled and had him nodding. It deepened when he watched her add a few more strokes, fingers competently moving over the paper. He winced when she used the side of a fist to erase some parts, then bit back his tongue when her hand blurred until he couldn’t see anymore.
“Alexa, perhaps we should…stop.”
The last word couldn’t form fast enough as she stopped drawing and stepped back, tilting her head this way and that. So did he, absorbing the changes in his sketch. The bolder, aggressive lines were softened, in turn making her appear more relaxed. Her body was poised between movement and stillness, a melancholic figure waiting for instructions. From him.
“It’s not the best, but it’s better,” she said confidently. “If you want to capture me in my aggressive state, then it needs to be another piece where Iamin my aggressive state. If you want me relaxed, then you have to be, too.”
“You’re an artist,” he blurted out, thunderstruck.
Humor laced her tone, then a ripple of resignation. “I was.”
He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sketch, but he forced himself to look at her. “You are very talented.”
“I was. That’s not me anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I have a son, multiple jobs, and responsibilities. Art was a hobby. Sometimes you have to give up hobbies for more important stuff…and now I need to get back before my brother misses doing his homework. He’s watching over the kid.”
The next onslaught of information had him reeling, but perhaps it was his fault for not asking.
“How old?”
Surprise shone in her features. “Seven.”
“Are you ever returning to art when he’s older?”
