DAMIEN'S POV
Sunday the five days ended and ordinary life resumed, not badly. Just resumed. I had calls in the afternoon, James with the quarterly numbers I'd ignored Friday, a brief check-in with Julian about the Cape Town second phase. Elara went to the gallery for three hours in the morning and came back with the look she had when she'd accomplished what she'd gone for.
We reconvened at the apartment at two.
She made tea and sat at the counter and I sat beside her and we existed in the Sunday quiet that had become its own kind of weekly marker.
"How was the gallery?" I asked.
"Good. Grace called from Portland. She wants to expand the residency program, take it from two artists to four. She's found the funding."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her yes and to send me the details."
