I’m not sure how I feel about her seeing them. I painted them when I was a kid, when I was just starting to learn. Not that I’m anywhere near a master now, but I’m much better. But, no matter how many mistakes I made, my grandfather praised me for each piece. Of course, he gave suggestions for improvement, but he insisted they all be hung on the wall to be admired. If Grandpa Ben could love them, then so could I.

“Yep. I started painting when I was around eleven, so they’re not my best. But they’re not too shabby either.”

She’s silent for a moment as she walks around the room, peering at each of them individually. I try not to follow behind her like a praise-seeking ghost.

“Mmhmm. I think it’s this one.” With a little wave, Holly points to one of the smaller canvases.

The winter break during my junior year, my parents let me spend half the time here with my grandpa. The image on the canvas is as close to a copy as I was able to make of the view from my window one early morning. In a vivid contrast, I painted a fat crimson cardinal sitting on a snowy branch, icicles dripping from the underside of the wood.

“You think that one is what?” My stomach clenches, and my nerves are raw as I wait for her answer.

Sharing my artwork isn’t something I often do. Annabelle was a mistake; annoyance was in her eyes when I laid out a few of my sketches for her input. My parents show polite interest but don’t tend to ask questions or encourage the pursuit. At least my tattoo artists gave positive feedback, but I was also paying them to apply my artwork to my body, so it wasn’t like they were unbiased. Grandpa Ben was the only one who met my passion with his own.

I brace for the politeness or disinterest or possibly even the insult that will be injected into Holly’s next words.

“I think it’s my favorite … nope.” She glances around the room, shakes her head, and then hits me with her breath-stealing grin. “I know it is.” With a light touch, she brushes her index finger down the sweep of the bird’s back. “This is just so sweet. And gorgeous. And realistic. Did you actually see this bird?”

I nod. “He was sitting right outside my window one morning. I took a picture before he flew away and even had time for a quick watercolor rendering before he left. Then, I got to work and painted that. You really like it?”

“I more than like it. I like, like it. I have a crush on this painting. It’s not just the bird. It’s winter. You captured the beauty of winter.” She goes to touch it again but then pulls her hand back.

For a moment, I can’t speak. Somehow, this lovely woman perfectly interpreted the feeling I had been attempting to convey when making that piece. I want to gather her in my arms and brush kisses over her sweet lips as I thank her for understanding my work. Instead, I step beside her and slip the painting from the wall.