ELARA'S POV
The days between Christmas and New Year had a quality I'd come to love.
The gallery closed until the second of January. Damien's work minimal, the Cross Industries machine running on its own momentum through the week. Nothing required from either of us beyond what we chose to give.
We moved through the days slowly.
Wednesday the farmers market was there, smaller still than the December one, just four stalls, but the bread woman was there and the cheese and we went anyway because it was what Wednesdays were.
Damien bought coffee from the cart and handed me one before I asked.
The bread woman looked at us with the recognition of two years.
"Usual?" she said to him.
"And the rosemary," he said.
She put both in a bag and he paid and we walked on.
"She knows your order," I
