Half following Rory's latest gripes, their mother's comments about neighborhood goings-on, the volunteer work she'd do this week. On those mornings, Thomas found himself quiet, concentrating on eating as much as he could without drawing his mother's nagging to eat more. Other mornings were just for being a family. His dad had always joked and called them 'Monday staff meetings', but over time they'd essentially become the day that the more significant store issues and strategies were discussed.

They couldn't argue with it, though his mother pressed her lips together, saying nothing to support or reject it as she finished making a new pot of breakfast coffee during the Monday morning discussion. The commissions would be enough to replace the roof on his mother's house, make sure the store had a comfortable winter with a heating upgrade. He told them he'd agreed to prepare about a dozen paintings for the gallery. He hadn't spoken of his time with Marcus, pushing away his hurt that his family studiously avoided the topic as well. Full circle, back to longing and yearning, with too many hours to fill in the dead of night. Kate sometimes came and grazed just outside while he ripped and hammered through the long hours of the night, stripped down to jeans and sweating.Įvery drop of moisture rolling over his skin reminded him of the touch of Marcus' hands, the slide of his body over his. He'd worked on it after store hours, getting it renovated the way he needed it. The shed was in the middle of the pasture, previously a feeding area and rain shelter for the herd they'd had years ago.

He'd converted the building into his studio when he'd returned from the Berkshires three months ago. He pivoted on his heel to look at the thirteenth, which was placed in the opposite corner of the work shed. Thomas stood back, surveying the twelve paintings critically, but he knew they were what he wanted them to be, every one of them.

Rough canvas joey hill