It was some time before Jamie lifted his head from his world of color and turpentine. The sunlight appeared brighter in the room, and a glance at the clock on the mantle showed the afternoon speeding away. He’d been at it for hours when it had seemed like minutes. Looking critically at his painting, he was pleased with what he’d accomplished. It would soon be finished and sent on its way. Excellent.
He cleaned his brushes and put the paints away, his eyes straying to Nico’s long form stretched out on the couch, relaxed in sleep, a closed book on his chest. The delicious aroma of something heating in the kitchen lured him in that direction. A thick lentil soup simmered in the Crock-Pot, obviously for dinner. Jamie opened the refrigerator and found a small plate of sliced fruit and cheeses
