The gallery was long and narrow, the white walls filled with large oil paintings illuminated with spot lighting. It was cool inside, the first breeze of air-conditioning since she’d gotten to town. She paused in front of a painting of a poppy field, the orange-red so vibrant she wanted to reach out and touch it. It was how she felt when she saw a beautiful stone.

“It’s special, isn’t it?” a man said, walking up to her. “She’s a local artist. I’d be happy to answer any questions.”

He looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had sandy blond hair and a strong jaw and navy blue eyes, and looked like he should be riding a horse on the cover of a romance novel instead of standing there in the gallery.

“Thanks,” she said, turning back to the painting. She waited for him to move on but he kept standing beside her. She didn’t care how good-looking he was, or how much he knew about the art. She was in no mood for small talk. “Um, there’s no chance I’m buying anything in here. Just so you know—I don’t want you to waste your time talking to me.”

“Always happy to talk,” he said.

“Okay, then . . . I don’t want to waste my time.”

He laughed and pulled a business card out of his pocket. “In case you have some time to waste one day.”

When she was back outside, she glanced at it briefly before tossing it in the trash.

Celeste typically looked forward to their weekly dinners at the Barroses’ house. She adored Jack’s cousin Manny and his wife, Lidia. Lidia was a fantastic cook, and there were few spots more scenic than the century-old house on the bay. They ate on the deck, the table just a few feet away from the front door. The setting sun painted the sky in pastel colors that, over decades, had inspired countless works of art. But tonight, she couldn’t enjoy it. She was uncomfortable thinking about Gemma being all alone back at the house. It felt rude to go out to Lidia and Manny’s and leave her there, but when Jack suggested Celeste bring her, she refused.

“Why not?” Jack said.

“It’s a boundaries thing,” Celeste said. “I have no problem offering her one of our guest rooms, but dinner at Lidia and Manny’s . . . that’s too close for comfort.”

“I’m sure they’d love to meet your niece.”

“Not tonight, Jack,” she said, and the tension in her voice told him not to push.