By nine o’clock, Suzanne had given up hope of Grady walking through the diner door. She’d gone through all the emotions, from nervous, to relieved, to really freaking pissed. And now she was just sad that he hadn’t even cared enough to come and see her first-ever exhibition. Burl was still optimistic, but Suzanne wasn’t. Grady was an early to bed, early to rise kinda guy.

Even on New Year’s Eve.

So she put her disappointment and her what the hell next planning aside to think about another time. She was wearing a dress and heels and the diner was packed—standing room only—and everybody wanted to talk to her. They loved her work. And not just the Grady paintings, although she did get a lot of questions about her choice of subject. They loved the landscapes, too, and so many people had asked her if she took commissions. Suzanne knew she could set up in Credence as an artist tomorrow and not starve.

Sure, she wouldn’t be able to charge anywhere near the prices she could charge for her forgeries, but she could work on both, and the more she chatted and mingled with the locals, the more convinced she was to make the move Grady had talked her out of.

And he could just deal with it.

“What do you say about Ray and me here, posing for a portrait?” Bob Downey said as he and Ray sidled up to Suzanne. He put his arm around Ray’s shoulder, and they both adopted blank, distant expressions worthy of Mt. Rushmore.

“Very distinguished,” Suzanne said with a laugh.

“Suzy!”

Suzanne startled as a deep, familiar voice cut through the chatter of the diner. Grady? Her pulse spiked.

“Suzy!”

She turned in the direction his voice seemed to be coming from, although she couldn’t see him through the bodies. But suddenly, as if by magic, the crowd parted, and he was striding toward her in jeans and that elf sweater he’d sworn he’d never wear in public. Not even for a blow job. His long legs ate up the space between them, his gaze intense, his face as implacable as ever. She had no idea if he was angry or not, but even in that ridiculous elf sweater, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He was carrying a large canvas in his hands. The portrait?

“Grady?”

Her pulse was hammering at her temples as her eyes darted all around at the spectators agog with the unfolding drama. For a guy who hated gossip and being the center of attention, he was attracting an awful lot. Was he going to yell at her in front of everyone? These people who already knew how much she loved him because it was in every single damn painting of him on Annie’s walls.

And why did he have the portrait?