“Ordering flat ink,” he said as he rose. “Going down to the studio?” “Please.” “No problem. Hand over the box,” he said. “You’re not going down those steps with that.” “Why is it okay for you to?” He tucked the press beneath one arm. “Free hand for the railing.” “You win,” she said as he unlocked the basement door. “I’ve been thinking. Call your friend. I like your repainting idea. The more color, the better.” Troy grinned. “We can accommodate.” He followed her into the basement, set the box on her workbench, and unpacked the press before leaving the studio. He closed the door on his way out. After waiting until his footsteps thudded up the stairs, she fumbled for one of the needles she kept in her workbench drawers for injecting ink when an application called for it.
