Jasmine
Davin’s phone rang just as I was easing back into position under the lights. He glanced at the screen and sighed—I chuckled softly, already having a good guess of who it was.
“I need to take this,” he said, already moving toward the window. “Give me five minutes.”
I nodded. “Take your time.”
He disappeared into the hallway that led toward the living quarters, and a moment later, I heard his voice soften.
“Hi, Grandma…”
The studio settled into the usual quiet it fell into whenever I was left alone. Charcoal dust hung faintly in the lamplight as the city hushed beyond the tall windows.
I told myself I wasn’t going to look at the door, but I lasted about ninety seconds.
It wasn’t planned, not exactly. It was more of a spontaneous decision, one made before their brain even come
