Page 117 of Missed Sunrise
“—I can’t bear another three hours of her asking if I recognized the scenery from my run to Mordor,” Cody continued, though I regrettably missed whatever he’d said in the middle there, as suspended in my fantasy as I was.
The four of us—Bree, Vinh, Cody, and myself—had watched the first half ofFellowship of the Ringtwo nights ago and the second half last night. Vinh had video called me on both occasions and set me on a tripod so I could watch along, the three of them in the cottage living room and me in the guest room at the condo.
It helped me to feel connected, but at the same time, it was quite torturous, seeing them all there and not being able to interact beyond speaking.
Our conversation lapsed then, but the silence wasn’t so much awkward as just… unrushed.
“So, tell me, Dezi,” I said as I broke it, remembering my purpose. “How do you feel about modeling?”
Dead silence followed, the nature of it unclear.
Cody broke it this time several seconds later. “Umm…,” he hummed. “For you?”
Yes,my brain screamed. One day.
I gave it a moment’s thought and decided it might be best to see his expression when I explained further, to help gauge his true feeling on the matter. To that end, I pulled my phone from my ear and clicked the icon for a video call, only having to wait seconds before Cody accepted.
It took a great effort to not swallow my tongue or swoon off the balcony when his bare chest came into view, but still I had to reach back and grip the railing with my free hand.
When I’d come on the beach, mere days and somehow also an eternity ago, it was Cody’s chest I’d imagined painting. I tracked my gaze down his chest now, and I swore he’d changed since I’d last seen him in person. His biceps bulged and his chest seemed an impossibly broader canvas as he stepped out onto the deck of the houseboat.
“All right, there, LL?” he asked with a smirk, the uncertainty in his voice from earlier nowhere to be seen or heard.
“Quite, Dezi,” I said primly, straightening and meeting him in the eye for a moment before I betrayed my answer and my gaze drifted back down his chest. “Thank you for inquiring. I take it the exercising with your dad is going well?"
His smirk grew, but he ignored my question. “You want me to model for you?”
“Yes,” I answered aloud this time. “But that’s not what I meant. Not at this juncture, anyway.”
He raised his brows. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
I smiled and spoke plainly. “I want you to model for a figure drawing class at the Locc.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
A third bout of silence formed.
And dissipated.
“You want me to come to Gulf Shores?” Cody repeated.
“Yes,” I affirmed.
He nodded to himself just as a flare of sunlight cut across the screen, briefly obscuring his features. When it passed, he was smiling as he walked back into the boat. “Time and place. And tell me what I should wear.”
30
Cody
From September to February,I had visited vibrant ports on the coast of Mexico, the gorgeous beaches and islands of the Bahamas, and a few distinct levels of hell.
Hell in the form of having to continue sharing a small cabin with your boyfriend as your relationship withered.
In the form of being stuck at sea without reception when your best friend was going through something traumatic, and you couldn’t check in.
Then there had been the existential hell of knowing that when you did finally get off the ship, nothing would be as you left it.
When I climbed the wretched stairs—whose days were numbered—to 7th Street Coffee and opened the heavy door, I unwittingly stepped into another one of Dante’s fiery levels.
