Chapter 7 - The Canvas of Tomorrow
By early spring, the new house in Boulder had become a home filled with light, noise, and the vibrant colors of a real life.
Cassandra's art studio was located on the second floor of the estate—a massive, sunlit room with vaulted ceilings, skylights, and double glass doors that opened onto a wooden balcony overlooking the pine forest.
For the first time in three years, she was painting again.
I walked up the spiral staircase carrying two cups of fresh coffee. The afternoon sun was spilling across the room, casting warm geometric shadows across large canvases resting on easels.
In the corner of the studio, a small play area had been set up. Luke and Violet were sitting on a soft sheepskin rug, completely covered in washable finger paints. Luke had painted his forehead bright blue, while Violet had managed to transform her arms into a masterpiece of green and yellow stripes.
"Look, Daddy!" Violet squealed, jumping up and holding out her yellow hands. "I am a golden bird!"
"A very messy golden bird," I laughed, setting the coffee cups on a side table and kneeling down to catch her before she could press her wet hands against my clean shirt. "Did Mama say you could paint your elbows?"
"Art has no rules, Damon," Cassandra smiled from behind her canvas, her voice dripping with warm amusement.
She was wearing an old denim apron covered in dry oil paints, her hair tied up in a messy bun, holding a fine-tipped brush.
I looked at the canvas she was working on.
It was a large, breathtaking oil painting. It depicted a dark, turbulent sky over an airplane wing, but through the clouds, a brilliant beam of golden sunlight was breaking through, illuminating a small family holding hands on a snow-covered ground below.
I stood up, walking behind her, and gently rested my hands on her waist, pulling her back against my chest.
"It's incredible, Cassie," I whispered, resting my chin on her shoulder.
"I call it Row Twenty-Eight," she murmured, leaning her head back against my neck. "It's the moment the storm ended."
"The storm didn't end," I smiled, looking over at Luke, who was now attempting to paint the gray stuffed elephant's nose green. "It just relocated to your studio floor."
Cassandra laughed—a rich, beautiful sound that filled the room and erased every remaining ghost of our past.
"Damon," she said softly, turning in my arms to face me, her green eyes clear and filled with trust. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming back to the middle of the plane," she said, reaching up to gently touch my cheek. "For choosing us."
May you like
I looked down at her face, holding her close, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine.
"I didn't choose you, Cassie," I whispered, kissing her softly on the lips. "You saved me."
