My First Time in the Painter’s Atelier: Awakening in Montmartre
The atelier door creaked shut behind me. Light poured through the skylights, dust motes dancing like secrets. Paul’s broad back turned from his easel. My knees wobbled. Heart hammered against my ribs. Why had I come? That card burned in my bra yesterday. Now, here I was, knees jelly-soft. He spun around, eyes lighting up….