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Later yet, when the clock struck three, she muttered in her sleep. But she didn’t stir, and she didn’t rise.
Chapter Twenty-four
Bonus points came in the morning when Sonya walked into the kitchen to the scent of coffee and Cleo. A Cleo dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, sneakers. She had her burnt-honey curls scooped back in a bouncy tail, and her day-at-home makeup on.
“You are up early. This is not usual.”
“I honestly can’t wait to start on the studio.” Her quick hip wiggle proved it. “Got your coffee covered. I’m having a Toaster Strudel. Want one?”
With a head shake, Sonya took out the second half of yesterday’s bagel before she let Yoda out the mudroom door.
“I find that sad. I put out fresh water and food for our boy.”
“We both appreciate it.”
Cleo propped on a stool while Sonya toasted her bagel. “Listen, if you want, when you take a break, come up and see how I’ve set things up. You’ve got a good, efficient eye.”
“I will. Basic routine for me? I’m trying to work out three days a week—I shoot for morning, mostly. Which is not this morning. Work until Yoda lets me know he has to go out, or I realize I need to get up and out. Walk around. Work. Toss something together for dinner, or if Trey’s coming over, he’ll bring takeout. I try to get into the village one day a week. Flower shop, maybe the bookstore, grocery.”
“Groceries are on me now.”
“And I’m happy to give that to you.”
“I know your rhythms, Son, and you know mine. We’ll find thenew ones here. If I’m going out—I really want to explore the village, see that lighthouse, find some outdoor painting spots—I’ll text you if it’s during work hours. Let you know.”
“Same goes.”
“And we’re good. No, I’ve got him.” At Yoda’s let-me-in bark, Cleo rose. “There’s that boy, there’s that very good boy. Breakfast is ready.”
Yeah, Sonya thought, they’d find the new rhythm.
She worked straight through until noon, making progress on the Doyle job, designing three options for Anna’s needs. After she let a very anxious Yoda out the front door, she walked back for a Coke. Before she could grab a jacket and join him, he was barking at the mudroom door.
“Okay, we’ll walk later. But since it’s break time, let’s go see Cleo.”
Apparently, her very brilliant dog already recognized the name, as he raced for the stairs.
Before she reached the studio, she heard Cleo’s “Did you come to see me? Did you come to see Cleo? Yes, you did!”
“We both did. Oh, Cleo!”
Paints—acrylics, oils, watercolors—lined the shelves, along with brushes, palette knives, all the artist tools carefully organized.
Spare sketchbooks, drawing pencils, colored pencils, charcoals, pastels joined them. And canvases stacked, varying sizes, beside Cleo’s old, paint-smeared artist case.
She had a blank canvas on the easel, an old table she must have unearthed from somewhere beside it. She’d set a palette there with a single brush crossed over it.
On her desk sat her computer monitor, an open pencil case, a large sketchbook, some of her crystals, and a small glass dragon in deep orange.
“What do you think?”
“Still taking it in.”
Sonya wandered. A pretty dish centered on the sofa table along with a pair of squat white candles in dark blue holders. A suncatcher sparkled with light in the south-facing window, cream-colored pillows plumped on the sofa with the mermaid lamp standing beside it.
“I saw this chest when I found that little table. It looks like it cameoff a pirate ship. Nothing in it, but it’s got weight. Maybe your big, strong man can haul it in for me.”
“I’m sure. Just like I’m sure you don’t need my help here. It’s all you.”
