The bell above the door chimed as I stepped into Hendrick’s. The smell of turpentine and fresh canvas hit me immediately. I’d been coming here since I was seventeen, back when art was the only thing that really made sense to me. I grabbed a basket and headed for the paint wall, running my fingers over the tubes of cadmium red while the radio played quietly in the background.
I didn't hear him come in. I just noticed him there, watching me.
"Still buying the cheap brushes, I see."
Derek's voice sounded different now. Flatter. Like whatever used to matter between us had gone stale.
I didn't turn around right away. I finished reading the label on a tube of paint, set it in my basket, then looked at him.
He was leaning against the shelf across from me, arms crossed, wearing that half-smil
