“Speaking as the resident luurve expert,” Winona said, “I concur. You should fight for love.”

“Oh god.” Suzanne shook her head. Were none of them listening to her? “He doesn’t love me.” He loved Bethany.

“Babe…” Winona squeezed Suzanne’s thigh. “Just because he can’t or won’t say the words doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

Suzanne looked into Winona’s earnest eyes. She wanted to believe that so much. But even if it was true, if Grady was determined not to act on his feelings because he was still clinging to his love for Bethany or he was just too broken, then wasn’t it all just moot?

She’d never met a more stubborn man.

“Maybe he just needs some time and space to realize what he’s turning his back on?” Winona suggested.

“Winona’s right,” her father said. “Maybe you should stick around, give him some time to miss you, then turn up on his doorstep and tell him you love him. Going back to New York is like admitting defeat when you haven’t even pulled out your big guns yet.”

The advice made good sense, but they didn’t know Joshua Grady’s resolve like she did. “He’s ex-military, Dad. He can outgun me any day. And the only ammunition I really had is gone. Probably on a bonfire as we speak.”

“You mean the paintings?” Winona clarified.

The thought of them being destroyed was an ache in her chest. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Well…that’s perfect.” She put down her wineglass and sat forward, glancing sideways at Suzanne, a grin on her face. “Paint more.”

“What?”

“If that’s your ammunition, if that’s what it takes to make him take notice, then paint more.”

Suzanne stared at her friend. “What? No.” She couldn’t go down that road again. Could she?

“Yes. And put them up in public somewhere. Knowing how private Grady is, he’ll hate that. Make him come and get them. Make him come to you.”

“Annie’s,” Suzanne said without even thinking. “I threatened to do that once.”

Winona snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s perfect. She wants paintings for the diner. And you’re looking for somewhere to hang yours.”

Suzanne looked at all three of them. “I couldn’t.” She couldn’t do that to him again—could she?

“Why not?” her mother asked, also sitting forward now.

“It might work,” her father agreed.

“It might not,” Suzanne said.

What if he didn’t even care enough to come and take a look? Although Winona was right. He did hate being the subject of public speculation so it might just work. And damn if the idea wasn’t starting to grow on her.

It would be easy enough. She could paint Joshua Grady drunk, blindfolded, and with one hand tied behind her back. She knew every plane, dip, and freckle on his body.