X-POSTED TO NW Writers
The dimples near the end of her spine drew his eye. He noticed the scar nearby—a surgical incision, surely. She felt his eyes on her, and drew her robe up and over her shoulders. She glanced at him, hostile, frowning. His face flamed and he shuffled to the side so his easel hid him. He studied his hands, knotted with work and years, holding a piece of charcoal.