Page 48 of Memories of the Lost

With tiny strokes to create texture, she filled in details on the sizable wings, then looked for the oil sticks she’d been using so often lately. When she found them, she layered white, dove gray, and a very smeary bit of cerulean for depth. The color was excellent, sending a flutter of approval through her body. She stood back, tilting her head sideways.Better.

When she looked up, Liam was propped on one elbow, watching her.

“You were asleep. Is it okay?”

“Can I see?”

“Yeah.”

He flung the covers away and reached for his boxers on the floor, tugging them over his nakedness. She watched him move, admiring the curve of his buttocks, the shifting length of his quads. It was comforting that he was not a social media brand of perfect, that he had slight love handles, and his belly could easily go from slightly soft to chubby.

She liked every single detail of his body. His hair, straw-colored and messy in the morning light, the glittery sheen of new beard, his beautifully cut jaw. It felt impossible that she had never seen him in her life before the gallery, and he’d taken up so much space in her mind so quickly. Up close, he smelled slightly of sweat and sex. She touched his back, the place where the wings would sprout.

“Whoa. I love the wings, but that’s not what I was expecting.”

“It doesn’t mean I think you’re angelic.”

“I get that. More like—” He shook his head. “Fallen.”

A quickening brightened the space of her imagination, and there was the heart of it. The sketches were no longer a portrait of Liam, but the start of a new painting. “Yes!” She used a thumb to smear the edge of a wing. “I’m going to paint this, I’m afraid. Will you sign a model release?”

“You mean for your show?”

“Probably. Is that okay?”

He reached for her, one hand on her lower back, their thighs touching. “I might have to ask my business manager if it’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He nodded. “If it was just me, I’d say go ahead, but there are probably things related to images of me that will require some hoops. It might be too much trouble.”

“I’m crushed!” she cried honestly. “Are you a commodity or something? Iknewyou were a model.”

“It’s not like that, not a model,” he said. “I have an app, and it’s connected to my name and likeness, and these workshops are a big moneymaker. Not just for me, but for the people running the company.”

Her sense of him shook itself, rearranged. She thought of him dressed in fine business casual, imagined him before a podium, talking with humor and depth. “Are you famous?”

He hesitated. “Maybe. A little.”

Light skated over his brow and tumbled down his nose, the shapes so compelling that her fingers itched again. “Can you find out? I mean, if you don’t mind.” She glanced toward the drawing. “I just have this sense that it might be really powerful.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I will definitely try.”

For a moment, she sat there, touching him, wondering if the only thing she’d wanted was to paint him. It happened sometimes.

But no. A thrum of yearning ran up and down her legs, pooled in her belly. She leaned in to kiss him. “Do you need to get somewhere?”

“Not that soon,” he murmured, and she lost herself entirely—again—in his body.

One more time.

After Liam left, Tillie reluctantly set the drawings aside, set up her phone to play a folk-song list, and tried to immerse herself in the work at hand. Whatever else was going on in her life, she had a show coming up and needed to be ready.

The one good thing about all the upheaval was the sense that something was stirring, something that would be a good addition. As Jon had pointed out, the painting of the dark raven had a lot of power, even if that wasn’t where she’d begun.

If she’d learned anything about art, it was that the head knew very little. Paintings came from ... somewhere else, and her best work always emerged when she let go of control and gave herself up to theprocess. She sketched the cat and the girl in her dream, the porch and the girls, the giant cat and the woods in a loose way, her way, however they showed themselves to her. There was definitely something there.

Jon would be arriving midmorning, so she took a break to wash charcoal and sex and strange dreams from her body. Stomach growling, she looked for something to eat, but the same thing happened that had been happening every time she looked recently—the cupboards were empty. She made do with another coffee and told herself they could get lunch somewhere on the road. But really, she ought to order groceries. She opened the app and started making a list of things to order when she was actually going to be there long enough for them to be delivered.