Jasmine
Neither of us mentioned the diner during the first twenty minutes of the session, even though it sat in the room with us anyway, unspoken and impossible to ignore.
Davin worked with more care than usual, his attention lingering as he adjusted the angle of my shoulder with a touch that carried more weight than the correction strictly required. I held still beneath it, aware of my own pulse in a way I usually wasn’t during these sessions, aware of exactly how much closer he was standing than the pose called for.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said eventually, stepping back to study the sketch rather than me.
“So have you,” I retorted.
“I’ve been thinking about Tuesday.”
“So have I.” I let out a slow breath, some of the careful composure I’d been holding onto all week finally starting
