Page 26 of Since the Day We Left

“That’s Ada for you. You’re officially a local now.”

“She’s something, that’s for sure.” He paused as his pulse ticked up—nothing dramatic, but enough that he felt it.

Just ask.

Miles let out a steady breath, hoping to keep his voice even. “Want to come by tonight? Help pick out some paintings for the auction?”

9

Wendi

Wendieasedhercarbehind Miles’s truck and cut the engine. A cottage stood outlined against the darkening sky. She slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out. Shell wind chimes clinked on a porch where a rocking chair sat beside an old cooler. Waves crashed steadily beyond the house.

She followed the sandy path to the porch, barely reaching the welcome mat before Miles pulled open the door.

“Fair warning—this place isn’t exactly HGTV material.”

“Join the club. My place looks like a tornado went through it.”

She walked inside—and froze. Paintings crowded the space, leaning against walls, stacked on tables, propped on chairs. Landscapes, seascapes, and still lifes in watercolor, acrylic, and oil. Between them—pill organizers, sticky-note reminders, and a whiteboard calendar with appointments color-coded.

Arthur stood at an easel by the window. When he saw them, he beamed. “There she is!”

“Hey, Arthur.” Wendi stepped closer.

“Ah, ah—no peeking.” He shot her a wink. “Big reveal on Wednesday.”

“The one you mentioned earlier?”

He dipped his brush in water. “That’s the one.”

“We should start sorting these if we want to finish tonight,” Miles said, motioning toward the stacks.

“Take whatever speaks to you,” Arthur said. “Miles knows my best work.”

They settled on the floor beside the first stack. Wendi lifted each canvas with care, taking in Arthur’s brushwork. Again and again, the cove appeared—dawn, dusk, summer, winter—the same shore, yet captured differently each time.

Their fingers grazed as they reached for the same one. A small spark zipped through her. Wendi glanced up quickly, surprised by how close they were sitting now, knees almost touching.

She cleared her throat. “This one belongs in the auction.”

They continued in silence, separating the pieces into piles. Sifting through them, Wendi noticed Miles setting aside certain ones with strange color choices. No comment. No explanation. Just a quiet decision. She told herself it wasn’t her business to ask.

Finally, they moved to a collection of still lifes.

Then she sawit.

Her breath caught. A small painting of a metal tin with its lid open. Inside, lay a piece of sea glass, a sand dollar, and a shark tooth.

No way.

Her hand hovered over the canvas. “Arthur, what’s the story with this one?”

Arthur looked up. “Found it a couple years back, near the cove. Neat tin. Decided to paint it.” He stood, moving to a nearby shelf. “Still have it somewhere ...”

He rummaged around briefly before producing it, dented but unmistakable. He cradled it for a moment, almost like a treasure, before opening it. Inside, the contents were exactly as she remembered.

But no spiral shell.

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