Something was happening. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what, but that red flare was burning in my heart, and his dark eyes didn’t leave me.

“One thousand, please, one thousand,” the auctioneer said. “Thank you, sir, very nice, can I have fifteen hundred?”

“I wish I could bid on it, sweetheart. It’s so pretty,” Mom said.

“That’s okay, Mom,” I said. But it was a nice thought. Maybe the first time she’d sincerely praised my work without telling me how impractical it was.

“Two thousand, two thousand to the gentleman in the blue shirt. Do I hear three, three thousand, three, thank you, going to four now . . .”

People—strangers, even—were bidding on my painting. Bidding quite a lot. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That was Noah’s painting. Noah’s.

“This is so cool!” Juliet had come over to Mom and me. “Can you believe it, Sadie?”

“Ten thousand dollars, thank you, sir, can I have eleven, eleven thousand for a Sadie Frost original oil, thank you, ma’am, do I hear twelve?”

Holy crap. That was double my most expensive couch painting.

Something was happening, all right.

Noah left the stage and came walking through the crowd, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Fifteen thousand, fifteen, thank you, sir, can I get seventeen, seventeen thousand . . .”

He was here, right in front of me. “You’re giving away my painting,” I whispered.

He nodded. “I wanted you to see how beautiful it is. That guy in New York doesn’t know anything.”

“But it’s yours.” My lips trembled a little.

“So you’ll make me another.” He slipped behind me and whispered in my ear. “Look at this, Sadie. Look at that painting and how many people want it. It’s beautiful. It makes people happy. You do that, Special.”

“It’s for a good cause,” I murmured, hypnotized by the auction.

“Eh,” Juliet said. “Dinner with Lin-Manuel went for less than that.”

“Gosh, this is exciting,” Mom said. “Oh, the Stanleys just bid twenty grand, Sadie! Honey! I’m so proud of you!”

I started to cry.

“Maybe we should subtly drift away, Mom,” Juliet said.

“Why? Do you . . . Oh, okay. Not too far, though. You okay, hon?” she asked me.

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

“Going once for twenty-two thousand . . . going twice . . . last chance to bid on this magnificent Sadie Frost original . . . sold to the man in the blue shirt!”

The crowd burst into applause.

Noah turned me around and kept his hands on my shoulders. His big, warm, manly hands. “Sadie, I’ve looked at that painting every day since you gave it to me. It’s part of me.”

“Then why’d you put it up for sale?”

“Because I wanted to show what you do. How beautiful your paintings are. I’m not the only one who sees it.”