A small selection of paints remained at the foot of the easel; not precisely where she’d left them, but close enough. They’d been carelessly jumbled by whoever had nudged them out of the way. She lifted the dust sheet and exposed her painting to the harsh, unfiltered white light of the room.
And then she smiled.
It needed less work than she’d thought. In her mind, she’d imagined that any attempt to complete the piece would take hours, but she understood on first glance that she wouldn’t need to invest anywhere near that amount of time. Walking between the sink and the corner where the easel stood, she quickly mixed the paints, then dabbed the end of her brush into the rich, chocolate brown that she’d created.
The bristles skirted the canvas with practiced ease. It had been so long – too
