“I know,” I said, not able to stop myself from smiling now as I stared at it. It didn’t seem like Cary was going to have a problem paying for college—or much else—for a while. “Listen, you should absolutely do whatever you want. But I know my mom would love to have the chance to make an offer for her museum. She’s been looking for this for so long.”

Cary sank down on the bed next to me, looking a great deal paler than he’d been just a few moments before. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. We both looked at the painting in silence, and in that moment, it stopped being something hung on a bedroom wall. If you squinted, you could see it in a gallery, on the wall of a museum, a small white plaque next to it, as people grouped around and looked at it with their heads tilted to the side.

Cary shook his head. “Holy shit.”

I burst out laughing. Because what else could you say? I smiled at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

I’d been worried that I’d been too long—that maybe the driver would have left, or called my dad and told him that I’d disappeared. But the town car was still waiting, hazards on, wipers going against the snow. I let myself in before he had to get out in the cold, and just as I closed the door, I saw Cary also hurrying out of the building, carrying a helmet, looking like a man on a mission. I hoped it was to his job and not a late-night art appraiser—I wanted my mom to have a chance to at least bid—but he had the right to do whatever he wanted.

“Sorry,” I said, putting on my seat belt. Then I tucked the folded note that Cary had written for Kat carefully into my clutch.

“Not a problem,” the driver said, giving me a smile.

“I’m Stevie, by the way.” It felt like our interaction had been going on far too long to continue without introductions. I was also regretting that town cars didn’t have the drivers’ names displayed like taxis did.

“Leo,” he said with a nod. “Ready to head to Connecticut? You warm enough back there?”

“Just fine,” I said, settling back in my seat. “Thank you.”

The car pulled out, and I looked out the window at the falling snow, at the people bundled up against it, at the way it seemed to be making New York even more magical. I was still trying to sort through what had just happened. You somehow expect decades-long mysteries to be solved painstakingly over time, not discovered by random accident because a cute boy has a crush on your best friend. And yet…