He turned to a new page and began to draw her hands — both of them flat on the table, the cup between them, the faint shimmer that had integrated itself into her skin since the break, the slight rounding of the abdomen visible even from above.
She watched him draw her.
"Does it still surprise you," she said. "Loving something through drawing it."
He thought about that.
"It's never surprised me," he said. "It's always felt like the most natural — the most direct — way to love something. When you draw something you look at it completely. You can't draw something without looking at it completely." He continued the line he was on. "Most love is partial. Drawing forces the whole thing."
She looked at her hands in the sketch beginning to form on the page.
"Most love is partial," she repeat
