Sunrise Sketches
The first sketch was an accident. I’d come to the dog park for solitude, my charcoal moving across the page in quick, furtive strokes. A golden blur crashed into my bench before I noticed the man attached to the other end of the leash.
Jude. His name arrived on the breeze, carried by the delighted shrieks of children as his golden retriever bounded toward them. Sunny, he called her, and the name fit—she was sunlight made flesh, all wagging tail and lolling tongue. But it was Jude who held my pencil captive.
He moved like a man unacquainted with shadows. Broad shoulders, sun-bleached hair, a laugh that cut through the morning mist like a warm knife. I watched him through my lashes, pretending to sketch the oak tree behind him while capturing the precise curve of his smile as he knelt to ruffle Sunny’s ears.
Weeks bled into months. Every Saturday, I returned to that same bench with fresh paper and a pounding heart. My sketchbook filled with studies of Jude: the flex of his forearm as he threw Sunny’s ball, the way his head tilted back when he laughed, the tender concentration in his eyes as he listened to clients’ progress reports.
He never noticed me. Not truly. We exchanged polite nods, the occasional comment about the weather, but his attention always drifted back to Sunny or the other dog owners. I was just part of the scenery—a quiet woman with a sketchpad, forever orbiting the edges of his bright world.
Today the air hummed with the promise of summer. Sunlight dappled through the trees as I turned to a fresh page, my pencil hovering. Jude was demonstrating a stretch to Mrs. Henderson, his palms flat against the grass, his body forming a perfect plank. Muscle memory guided my hand across the paper, tracing the strong lines of his back, the way his t-shirt strained across his shoulders.
A shadow fell across my sketchpad. I startled, flipping the cover closed with fumbling fingers. My pulse raced as I looked up into the curious eyes of a border collie. Its owner offered an apologetic wave before jogging after their dog.
When I dared to glance back at Jude, he was watching me. Not with recognition, but with a polite, distant curiosity. Heat flooded my cheeks. I dropped my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden bench beneath me. When I risked another peek, he’d already turned away, clapping enthusiastically as Sunny retrieved her ball.
The rejection was a familiar ache, dull and heavy in my chest. I gathered my things, tucking my sketchbook beneath my arm. As I stood to leave, a gust of wind snatched a loose page from my grasp. It fluttered across the grass like a wounded bird, landing at Jude’s feet.
My breath caught. That page held my boldest sketch yet—a close study of Jude’s hands, one gripping Sunny’s leash, the other gesturing mid-conversation. I’d rendered every detail: the calluses on his palms, the fine blonde hairs on his knuckles, the way his thumb absently stroked the leather.
Jude bent and retrieved the paper. My pulse roared in my ears as he studied it, his brow furrowing. This was it—the moment my secret admiration crashed into reality. I braced myself for confusion, for awkward questions, for the end of my quiet Saturday rituals.
But when he looked up, his expression wasn’t puzzled or offended. His eyes found mine across the distance, open and kind, and for the first time since I’d started sketching him, I felt truly seen.
I turned away before that look could unravel me completely. My sketchbook felt like a confession against my ribs as I hurried toward the park exit, the path blurring through unshed tears. I’d almost reached the gate when a flash of golden fur darted across my peripheral vision.
Sunny bounded toward me, something clutched in her joyful jaws. My stomach dropped as I recognized the leather cover, the familiar bulge of pages filled with months of secret devotion.
“No, girl,” I whispered, lunging for the sketchbook. “Drop it.”
But Sunny interpreted my movement as an invitation to play. She spun away with a delighted woof, tail wagging furiously as she dodged my grasping hands. The sketchbook flapped like a wounded bird as she raced back toward Jude, leaving me frozen in horrified anticipation.
Jude crouched to greet her, his laughter warm and easy. “What’d you find, troublemaker?” His fingers closed around the sketchbook, prying it gently from her teeth. He wiped grass and saliva from the cover with the hem of his shirt, his movements casual, unhurried.
My breath hitched as he flipped it open.
I wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the dappled shadows beneath the oak trees. But my feet remained rooted to the path as Jude’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to focused absorption. His thumb traced the edge of a page, pausing on a sketch of himself mid-laugh, head thrown back, sunlight catching the gold in his hair.
He looked up, his eyes finding mine across the distance. The sketchbook dangled from his fingers as he straightened, his eyes steady and searching. I felt stripped bare, all my secret yearning laid out in lead and charcoal.
He moved toward me, each step deliberate, the playful ease replaced by something quieter, more intense. When he stopped an arm’s length away, the air between us hummed with questions.
“You’ve been watching me,” he said softly, holding up the sketchbook. The pages fluttered in the breeze, revealing glimpses of my obsession—studies of his hands, his smile, the way his body moved through space.
My throat tightened. “I… yes.” The admission was soft, a scrape of sound against the rustle of leaves.
Jude’s thumb brushed the edge of a sketch depicting him and Sunny in perfect sync, mid-frisbee catch. “These are incredible. You captured… everything.”
The wonder in his voice loosened something in my chest. I risked a glance at his face, bracing for judgment, but found only fascination. “I didn’t mean for you to see them.”
“I’m glad I did.” He took another step closer, his shadow merging with mine on the sun-dappled path. “You see things nobody else does.”
My breath caught at his proximity, at the warmth radiating from his skin. “Like what?”
“Like how I bite my lip when I’m concentrating,” he murmured, tapping a sketch of himself adjusting Sunny’s harness. “Or the way my left eyebrow quirks when Mrs. Henderson makes puns about her hip replacement.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “She does love her hip humor.”
“She really does,” Jude agreed, his mouth curving into the exact smile I’d sketched a dozen times. He flipped to a page near the back, revealing a close-up study of his eyes—the unusual mix of gold and green in his irises. “You even got the fleck of hazel in my right eye.”
“You’re very observant,” I said, my voice steadier now.
“So are you.” He closed the sketchbook, his fingers on the cover. “Why did you keep this a secret?”
The question hung between us, simple but immense. I hesitated, searching for an answer that wouldn’t lay me completely bare. “I didn’t think someone like you would notice someone like me.”
Jude tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over my face with unnerving focus. “Someone like me?”
“Golden,” I whispered. “Sunshine made human.”
He blinked, surprise flickering across his features. “Is that how you see me?”
“It’s how you are.” I gestured toward Sunny, who sat patiently at his feet, tail swishing in the grass. “You light up every room you enter. You make people feel… seen.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You make me feel seen too. More than anyone ever has.” He held out the sketchbook, his expression softening. “Keep drawing me, Liora. Please.”
My fingers brushed his as I took the sketchbook, the contact sending sparks up my arm. “You know my name?”
“Of course I do.” His smile widened, revealing the dimple in his left cheek I’d sketched but never named. “I’ve been watching you too.”
“Watching me?” The sketchbook felt suddenly heavy in my hands, a secret laid bare. “But you never… I thought I was invisible to you.”
Jude’s laugh was low and warm, stirring the hair at my temple. “Invisible? The quiet artist in the corner, capturing everything with those piercing eyes? You’ve intrigued me since the moment I saw you.”
My pulse stuttered. “You saw me.”
“Every Saturday,” he confirmed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I used to invent reasons to walk past your bench, hoping to catch a glimpse of what you were drawing.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I may have thrown Sunny’s ball deliberately off-course a few times, just to see you look up.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “The great retriever sabotage of 2023?”
“Guilty as charged,” Jude said, his grin widening. “But you were always so focused, your pencil flying across the page. I never wanted to interrupt.” He leaned closer, his shoulder almost brushing mine. “Until today, when fate—or Sunny—intervened.”