Page 18 of Since the Day We Left

“We’d need to sort through them first,” Miles said.

Wendi nodded. “Of course. No pressure.”

She rang up Arthur’s selections—two brushes, a tube of cobalt blue, a small watercolor pad—while Arthur leaned over, letting Max lick his hand.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Wendi said, giving Arthur his change. “We’ve got an open class today at three. Super casual, with a few others. You’d be more than welcome.” Her eyes flickered to Miles. “Both of you.”

Me too?

For a moment, their eyes locked and his pulse quickened.

Miles cleared his throat. “We’ll see how the day goes.”

Arthur tucked his purchases into the canvas bag Wendi had provided and turned to Miles. “I’d like to come, son,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a new sense of purpose. “Been too long since I painted with other people.”

As their gazes met, Miles felt his chest tighten. In his dad’s eyes, he glimpsed a spark that had been missing for months. Maybe today wasn’t about finding new brushes. Maybe it was about finding the right moment—the one that could help his dad feel like himself again, even if only for a little while.

Miles held the door open, the bell jingling behind them as they left. Through the window, he caught Wendi watching them. He stared—just a beat too long—before turning away.

“Nice lady,” Arthur commented, shooting a wayward look at Miles as they walked back up Main Street. “Knows her stuff.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Pretty too.” Arthur nudged him. “Maybe too pretty for this town.”

Miles smirked, keeping his eyes ahead. “So, you think the class is a good idea?”

7

Wendi

Where’severyoneat?

Wendi had lined up the brushes, adjusting each until the bristles pointed in the same direction. Four spots, ready. Water cups filled to the rim. Palettes set with fresh paint. Everything in place ... except the people.

She checked the clock: 2:53 p.m.

Class starts at three.

Max snored softly in his window bed, paws twitching at whatever he was chasing in his dreams. Outside, clouds moved in over the water.

Wendi rolled her shoulders, pressing her fingers into the tight muscle near her neck. Across the room, Wednesday’s auction blared from the calendar in thick, red ink. It’d be her last chance to save The Painted Shell. And beneath it, Laurel’s offer in blue:

Fewer hours

More money

Benefits

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