But by the time she’s registering his surprise, there are already new voices behind her. Anna and Karo appearing from the lobby, deep in conversation. Dan turns back to the panel he was working on, pulls a screwdriver from his pocket, and screws the door shut.

Sim and Sadie arrive last, Sadie trailing him slightly. Maeve can’t quite tell if they were together beforehand or just happened to cross the lobby at the same moment. Karo shoots Sadie a look and the girl reluctantly leaves Sim’s side and goes to work opening the buffet, pulling lids from the chafing dishes. There must be a cook somewhere. Part of the skeleton staff, Sadie filling in the gaps. It can’t be what she was promised as a doctoral candidate making the rounds at the Biennale.

But she’s watching, interested, as Karo takes Maeve by the hand.

“I can finally introduce you,” she says. “Sim Nielssen, our artist in residence for the year—”

Maeve freezes, unsure of what to do. It will seem odd, now, that she didn’t mention meeting him in the forest the night before.

Sim looks at her expectantly. Amused. In the light, she can see how blue his eyes are, that Nordic blue, clear and bright.

“And this is Maeve Martin, you remember I told you—”

“I remember.” Sim takes her hand in his, a formal shake, compensating for her paralysis. “I’ve heard so much about you, Maeve.” The trace of a smile still hovering at the corner of his mouth, and she has to break his gaze, look at Karo as she responds. Breath catching in her throat.

“Thanks, of course, yes.”

She turns away, relieved—only to find Dan quietly watching them from the corner.

There’s the pop of a cork, and then another—Justin cracking into the wine.

“Help me with these, mademoiselle?” Anna holds out a tray of wineglasses, and Maeve moves down the table at her side, setting them in place. When they’re done, she takes Maeve’s arm and they peruse the buffet selection: stuffed potatoes, grilled chicken, the usual something-with-beans.

They eat staggered down the length of one long table, Karo at the head, and Dan far away at the other end. He never says a word—but Maeve catches him looking over at her again and again. When she meets his eye, he breaks into a smile like he just can’t help himself.

Kind of a country boy. Hope Lake. She wonders if he’s getting his hopes up.

“Can I take that?” Sadie leans over Maeve’s shoulder, gesturing lightly at her plate.

“I see you get all the glamorous jobs,” Maeve says, but the joke falls flat. Sadie stands there, one sullen hand on her hip. “Never mind.” Maeve rises to her feet, plate in hand. “I’m still working on it.”