Finally, she checked to make sure the date for the Oscars hadn’t changed. It was still scheduled for February 27 at five o’clock, and the nominees were to be revealed mid-January, which was less than a month away.

After twisting around to make sure that she was still alone, she typed the title of her film into the search engine and began to read the reviews. Some she’d seen before; others were new. But she took the time to look at every one, because she was working up the nerve to Google her own name.

Seth had finished his painting of Tia. It’d come together faster than anything he’d done in recent years—at least since Shiloh died—and he really liked it. He thought it was some of his best work.

As he stood back, he wondered if she’d recognize herself. He covered it, just in case, but doubted that was necessary. To other people, even to her, it would simply look like a modern depiction of a nude woman. No one besides him would be able to recognize the things that were unique to her. That was the beauty of expressing himself the way he did: there was still plenty of ambiguity.

He had little doubt this painting would fetch a high price if he was put it up for sale, but he had no plans to do so. He was going to keep it as a reminder of the Christmas he’d been dreading but was actually beginning to enjoy.

He went over to the bar to clean his hands and brushes. He really needed to work on the sculpture for San Francisco—this morning he’d yet again had to put off the lawyer who’d hired him—but he was done for the day. Not only was he getting hungry, he was eager to see what Tia was doing. She’d been so quiet.

She didn’t look up when he walked into the living room. She probably couldn’t hear him. She had ear buds in and seemed to be concentrating on her computer.

Because the entry into the living room was behind her, he could see that she was reading about Oscar predictions for the year and wondered how it was making her feel.

“Do you think you’ll make the list?” he asked.

Startled, she closed her laptop and removed her ear buds. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come in. Are you all done for the day?”

“I think so.”

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

He almost said yes but didn’t want her to ask to see it, so he said, “Not yet.”

“How long does it normally take you to create a painting?”

He shrugged. “Depends. If it comes together easily, it might only take a few days.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I can fight with it for months.”