Rain lashed the studio windows that night. Inside, charcoal scratched over canvas, and the sharp smell of oil paint clung to my hands.
Thunder rolled over the building. A few weeks earlier, that sound would have taken me back to the bakery awning and the duffel bag at my feet. Now I kept drawing.
Someone began pounding on the door. The sound nearly disappeared beneath the thunder, then came again, faster and harder.
I set down the charcoal, wiped my hands on a rag, and opened the door.
Julian stood on the small porch, soaked through. Mud streaked his thousand-dollar suit, and rainwater ran from his hair into his eyes. His shoulders sagged inside the ruined jacket.
“Chloe.” His voice cracked. He took one unsteady step and dropped to his knees on the wet concrete. Tears ran down his fac
