Aria’s POV
The key turned in the lock before I even knocked. Dominic opened the door wearing an old black T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower. He smiled and stepped aside to let me in.
I kicked off my boots by the door, dropped my bag, and headed straight for the bathroom. The day’s paint had dried in thin streaks across my knuckles and up my left wrist, cadmium yellow, bright and accusing. I ran cold water over my hands, watched the color thin and swirl down the drain, then paused. A faint smear still clung to the inside of my wrist. I dried my hands without scrubbing it off.
When I came out he was already pulling foil containers from the microwave. Chicken curry and rice. He slid one across the counter without asking if I wanted to eat. I was famished. We stood there
