After grabbing her coat, she forced herself to step into the cold, dark night. The fact that she’d cleaned up should reflect well on her. That was one of the details he’d probably be assessing—one of the few indicators he had to judge by—so she’d been determined to check those boxes.

She could get out of bed; she could get dressed.

In her mind, that was half the battle. Maybe it was even more than half. It’d been so difficult to put on makeup when scars covered so much of her face. What was the point? Makeup could only improve her appearance by so much.

But now that her cheek was once again covered and she’d managed the Herculean effort it had required to get ready, she planned to do all she could to pull off the rest of the evening and salvage the next month. According to Maxi, Seth Turner was no small name in the art world. She’d received a text from her former producer gushing about how fortunate she was to get to know him.

She believed Maxi was trying to spin their winding up together on his property in a positive way so she wouldn’t be mad at him. But that text had reassured her that Mr. Turner had much better things to do than watch over someone he didn’t even know.

One night. This night. That was all it would take to overcome this new obstacle.

She hoped.

When she reached the main house, she didn’t know whether to knock or let herself in. She had a key, and they both expected that she’d come and go often while taking care of Kiki, but they had yet to set up a schedule so that their paths would never cross.

So to maintain a polite facade and add support to his stated plan, she knocked.

Almost immediately, his voice came through the speaker by the doorbell. “Come on in.”

She didn’t need her key; the door was unlocked.

As soon as she stepped inside, she encountered the sculpture in the middle of the entry. She’d seen it before, of course, but she was so eager to procrastinate encountering her host that she took a longer look at it than she ever had before.

She had to admit that it was special in the same way the painting across from the couch in the guesthouse was special. That painting was probably Seth’s, too, she realized. Now that she looked carefully at this piece—a man taking flight because of something he was thinking, presumably a dream or a goal—she recognized the similarities, even though they were different mediums.

His work evoked so much emotion. It was almost the personification of emotion. What he could do with a few clean lines and a smooth, spare shape, with very little detail, was impressive.