“It looks like I sneezed paint onto a canvas.”
“It looks like freedom.” She goes back to her work. “Which is the point.”
We paint and draw in comfortable silence for a while. The wine helps. I’m not drunk—just warm. Relaxed. The kind of tipsy where everything feels slightly more possible and slightly less terrifying.
It’s dangerous, this feeling. This safety. Because I know it’s temporary. I know Marcus is still out there. I know Monday I’ll be back at City Hall, trapped in his office, wearing Dahlia’s ring and feeling the serpent spine warn me every time he gets too close.
But for now—for these two hours—I’m choosing this. This warmth. This laughter. This afternoon where the worst thing that can happen is that I paint badly.
I’m choosing joy while I still can.
Around us, other people are working. The older woman is very focused. The couple giggles quietly. The serious art student is, predictably, taking this way too seriously.
And the hot guy is just... there. Posing. Professional. Probably thinking about what he’s having for dinner later.
“Alright everyone!” Margot claps, shattering the moment. “Let’s take a short break. Ten minutes. Our model needs to rest.”
Hot guy grabs his robe. Ties it closed. Immediately the energy in the room shifts. People standing. Stretching. Chatting.
And he walks straight toward us.
Specifically toward Alex.
Oh no.
“Hey,” he says, that confident smile. Voice smooth. Practiced. “That’s really good work.”
He’s looking at Alex’s canvas. At her actually talented, genuinely impressive figure drawing.
“Thanks.” Alex smiles back. Warm but not flirty. Just friendly.
He leans in slightly. “You’ve done this before.”
“Art history minor in college.”
“It shows.” He’s definitely flirting. That energy. That lean. “I’m David, by the way.”
There’s a pause.
A significant pause.
Alex’s face changes. That smile freezing slightly.
“David?” she repeats.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t notice. Keeps going. “I model for a few different studios around the city. Haven’t seen you before though. I’d remember.”
Smooth. Very smooth.
I watch this play out. Watch Alex’s expression shift from friendly to calculating to something like resigned amusement.
“David,” she says again. Testing the name. Tasting how it sounds.
So. Many. Davids.
“That’s... a nice name,” she says carefully.
“Thanks. My parents thought so.” He grins. Oblivious. “So you come here often? Or was this your first time?”
