Sundays were the only days she took off.

Sadie had transferred several pieces to her back room in prep for the show that was happening in a few weeks, so Hattie had more room to create.

Axl hadn’t been there since the day she got her show.

He knocked twice before he went in.

The first thing he saw was scuttling across the floor.

Two balls of fluff with black faces, curled tails, one with black-tipped brown fur on her body, the other had a creamier coat, both had white chests.

His mom’s Pekingese.

Making up for lost time, and lost opportunities to spoil pets, Mom didn’t get one puppy, she got two. A sister and brother.

His mom had named them Molly and Wellington, or Welly.

Hattie called them Floof One (Molly) and Floof Two (Welly).

They jumped around his boots, so obviously he had no choice but to pick them both up and give them a squeeze.

He got puppy breath in his face and puppy saliva on his jaw as he walked in, wondering why his mother’s dogs were in Hattie’s studio and wondering where Hattie was in her studio.

But moving in, he circumvented a big crate, which probably meant Sadie was taking more pieces away.

And that was when he saw it.

He stopped dead with two puppies squirming in his hands.

And he took it in.

Life-size, a man made of steel. Some small sheets and triangles, but mostly ribbons and straws of it forming a body, head, face and hair.

The eyes, though, looked to be smooth aquamarines.

The figure was in a deep squat, one knee bent, his other almost, but not quite, on the ground.

His arms, though, were straight up.

And suspended precariously on rebar you could see running through the ribbons of steel that made up his body, his fingers were wrapped around the waist of a woman made of concrete.

And she was soaring.

Over his right shoulder, one leg front, one leg behind, her back, neck and head arched, arms out to her sides.

Him.

And Hattie.

“Your mom had a client meeting tonight,” her voice came from behind him.

He turned.

She stood there leaning against the crate in her work clothes, cutoff jean shorts and a tank, ratty old red Keds that were serious cool, her hair in a big bunch on the top of her head, curls dropping down the sides and around her neck.

No makeup.

Total pretty.

Her gaze went to the puppies in his hands, then to his eyes.

And she kept talking.

“She didn’t trust these little guys alone in her new condo with her new furniture as Welly is being stubborn about house training and she’s a pushover about not putting them in their crates because Molly hates the crate. So I told her they could come to the studio. I need to drop them off on the way home.”

His voice was gruff when he stated, “I told her the breed was stubborn.”