That could be enough for her. I could be enough.
And this place, it could be enough forus.
Chapter Nine
Neera
Craquelure:the small cracks and delicate lines covering the surface of old oil paintings. These defects are the result of the paint and surface's shrinking and movement over time.
Owen steppedinto the kitchen from the back deck, several grocery bags hanging from the crook of his elbow and a box clutched to his chest. "Babe," he called. "How's it going over there?"
"Not bad. Neera hasn't killed me yet," Cole replied, not looking up from his screen. "How was the water?"
"Good conditions. Swordfish for supper tonight," Owen stated, not looking up from his bags. "Brooke and JJ Harniczek too."
"I imagine we're only eating one of those things," Cole chirped.
"We'll see," Owen replied.
I admired their easy exchange of affection. They kept their own priorities and they did it without abandoning themselves or each other. I wanted that. I wanted the man in my life to know I valued his presence and I wanted to express that without setting aside everything else inmylife to do it.
Cole shifted his gaze away from the screen, settling it onto me. "What else?"
I eyed the list he'd scrawled on the side margin of the town's weekly newspaper. "You have a few items here relative to the board of directors signing off on several initiatives, but we've addressed most of the pressing matters. I believe we're finished."
"Except for my Valley Forge," he replied.
"That was in the winter," Owen yelled. "You aren't camped out in Pennsylvania and no one has captured your capitol and you're not allowed to make any more American Revolution references, babe."
With a laugh, I said, "You mean Monarch."
Cole bobbed his head. "I fear the Battle of Monmouth is ahead of me."
"I don't understand your meaning," I said.
"He is saying it will end with a stalemate," Owen called over his shoulder from his position in front of the refrigerator.
Cole shrugged. "Something like that. I can see how the product will meet with mixed reactions."
"That's your view of all your projects before you release them," I replied. "You never believe they'll succeed. If I'm not mistaken, you have a history of assigning derogatory nicknames to your projects because you doubt them to such a great degree. There was—hmm." I tapped a fingertip to my lips as I thought. "There was the Shit on a Stick project. Then, the Deformed Snail Monster project. I believe there was a time when I saw something titled Worthless Splooge Sock. Does that sound right?"
On the other side of the room, Owen slapped his palm against the countertop as he doubled over in laughter. "Worthless Splooge Sock," he wheezed. "Cole. I love you."
"You certainly do," Cole replied with a smirk. To me, he said, "Yes, you're right. I struggle to see how my work will be received when I'm in the development and early testing phases. You're correct, but that doesn't change my relationship with this project. I need more time. I need you to create the cover necessary to justify more time without anyone kicking up a shitstorm about me getting slow and directionless now that I'm his full-time splooge sock."
"Oh my god," Owen panted. "I can't believe you said that out loud, Cole."
"What? Neera's family," Cole argued. "No secrets between us at this table." He shot me a pointed glance. "If Neera wanted secrets, she wouldn't have brought the artist man here and forced us to watch while he made heart eyes at her last night."
"I am not familiar with these heart eyes you speak of." I toggled to my email with the intention of drafting a message to the other vice presidents and the board of directors regarding Cole's request for more time. That was certain to be more pleasant than this conversation.
"You know, that emoji with hearts for eyes," Cole said.
"I know theemoji," I drawled. "It's the specific instance of Mr. Guillmand viewing me in such a light I'm disputing."
"I disagree with the majority of this conversation, but on the topic of Gus and heart eyes, there is no argument," Owen stated.
Cole pointed across the kitchen, toward Owen. "See? My husband is always right."
