I want to tell Jamie that I know so little about my life right now, but what I do know is that tonight, here, with him, is exactly where I want to be. I want Jamie to know that I need to paint him, to make him sit for hours in the apartment’s studio, which I haven’t used in much too long. To turn up the heat, strip him down, and capture the way he looks, like he sees straight to the heart of me. Just like he is now.

But first things first.

I lift my brush. I drench it with color. And with a shaky hand, I paint my new beginning.

—

“Bea,” Jamie says. Posture perfect. Hands clasped between his long legs. A portrait titled Patience.

“Hmm?”

“Grace is ready to go. The workshop’s over.”

“Just two more minutes,” I tell him, shifting on my feet. I’ve been standing since I started on the canvas. I never sit and paint. I move too much while I work.

“We’ll bring your canvas home,” he says gently. “But we need to leave.”

“Don’t worry!” Grace calls from the front of the shop. “Take your time!”

“I really am almost done,” I tell him, eyes not leaving my canvas. “I mean for now.”

Blowing out a slow breath, he glances my way. “I’m getting nervous.”

“For what?”

“For the big reveal. You show me yours, I show you mine.”

I smile, glancing between him and my easel. “Jamie. You have a Jeopardy! vocabulary. You bowl like a pro. You’re a baby whisperer, and you adopt senile cats. You’re a rock-star human. Allow me this one thing to be better at than you.”

He blinks at me. “One thing? Bea, you’re better than me at lots of things—not that this is a competition.”

I snort. “Okay.”

“Really!” he says. “You’re not just a talented artist. You’re seriously good at chess. You love the prickly creatures of the world. You’re genuine and creative. You give people permission to be themselves rather than what the world tells them they should be. Maybe that’s not summed up on a résumé or a test score the way my strengths are, but you have gifts, Bea, and gifts like yours matter.”

My paintbrush falters as his praise sinks in and colors every corner of me, peacock-blue proud. “You mean that?”

“Have I ever said something to you that I didn’t mean?”

“Uh. Well, I can’t read your mind, but I feel like misleading me would violate one of your many Capricorn moral codes, so I’m going with no.”