We left the estate the next morning with the almost-moment from the studio still hanging between us, unspoken and unfinished, both of us slipping back into a careful, charged politeness that fooled absolutely no one, least of all Eleanor, who kissed my cheek at the door and murmured, "Don't let him overthink it, dear, he's very good at that," loud enough for Noah to hear.
Back in the city, the ordinary rhythm of our lives resumed– my collection moving steadily toward its first small production run, Noah's slow dismantling of Lancaster Corp continuing in its quiet, relentless way. We didn't talk about the studio. We didn't have to. It sat between us in every small gesture instead- the way his hand found the small of my back a beat longer than necessary, the way I'd started leaving my sketc
