“To Annie’s. She’s got quite the collection of you now. At least two on every wall. You’re clothed in all of them, so a nude might raise an eyebrow or two, but—”

“Wait.” Grady frowned. “What do you mean she’s got quite the collection of me?”

“Didn’t you know? Suzanne’s been painting up a storm. They’re not all of you; there’s some landscapes as well.”

Grady’s brain felt like it had been switched to slow mo. Suzanne was still in town? “Why?” he asked, his head in a spin.

“Annie wanted art for her walls, and they thought they could turn the diner into a gallery of sorts for a fund-raiser tonight for the old folks’ home. They’re going to auction off the landscapes. Reckon most of the town will be there. Annie’s even got one of those sparkly confetti canon thingies for midnight.”

“No.” Grady shook his head. “I mean, why did she stay?” And why hadn’t his uncle said so earlier?

Burl shrugged. “I don’t think she was ready to leave yet.” He looked at his nephew pointedly. “You should come tonight. Cora and I will be there.”

“Ah…nope.” Go to Annie’s, where his face was on every wall? Where everyone would be staring at him in stereo? And talking about why? Only his worst nightmare.

He may be in love with Suzanne, but he wasn’t going to put that on display in front of the whole damn town. Not when he wasn’t sure she loved him back. Burl might think she did, but the portrait against the balustrades—the one that meant so much to her and she’d left behind—said otherwise.

“Well…” Burl walked down to the next step. “If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

Grady nodded. “Night, Burl.”

His uncle made a detour around the tree at the bottom of the steps and was in his pickup and gone in less than a minute, leaving Grady alone with dozens of clashing thoughts and his portrait staring back at him.

…

Grady managed to distract himself for a few hours with office work before heading to his bedroom to take a shower. Flicking the light on, it spotlighted the portrait he’d placed on his bed earlier. Despite himself, he wandered over to it, gazing down at it again. Reading the note for what felt like the hundredth time.

I hope one day you see what I see when I look at it.

What did she see that he didn’t? What?

And then, suddenly, as if a portal had opened to another world—he saw it. Maybe it was the way the light was shining directly down, or maybe he was looking at it through a different lens now than when he’d first laid eyes on the portrait.

But he saw it. All of it.