Page 27 of Since the Day We Left

The memory struck with unexpected force. For a moment, she was back there—the boy, the beach, his tear-streaked face, the way he held the shell to his ear.

A voice yanked her back.

“You okay?” Miles asked.

“Just admiring the detail.” She managed a smile, though it felt brittle.

She couldn’t bring herself to explain—to tell them what the tin had meant, what it had once held, and how it had made her feel. Instead, she watched as Arthur handled it with a tenderness that made her heart ache. It belonged to him now, and she was okay with that.

“Going to read a few chapters of that mystery novel before I turn in,” Arthur said, setting the tin back on the shelf.

“Need anything?” Miles asked.

Arthur clasped his son’s shoulder as he passed. “I’ve still got a few good years in me, you know. But don’t keep her up too late—you both look like you need some sleep.”

After Arthur disappeared down the hallway, they continued sorting through paintings. Wendi caught herself watching Miles—how his lips pressed together when he focused, the faint crease between his brows and the careful, almost reverent way he held each canvas. Her eyes wandered to the scar on his forearm that ran from the crook of his elbow to his wrist.

Without thinking, her fingers moved, reaching out and tracing the scar.

Miles went still. “House fire. I was ten.”

She quickly withdrew her hand. “That must’ve been awful. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just one of those things.” He reached for another canvas, the topic clearly closed.

She took the hint. “So how’d you end up in Atlanta?”

“Born and raised. Never left.” Miles paused, glancing at her, then back to the canvas in his hands. “And you? How’d a small-town girl end up running PR in Manhattan?”

Wendi smiled. The answer felt simple and complicated. “Pure stubbornness. Growing up, all I wanted was out of this town. Funny how life turns out.”

“Sounds like the shop brought you back to what you love.”

“That was the plan.” She leaned back against the couch. “Here’s my Hallmark movie pitch: Small-town girl comes home, opens dream business, finds herself again.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Finding myself? Some days, yeah. The business? Not so much. If the auction flops, that’s it. I’m done for.”

“Then what?”

“My old boss called on Sunday with a job offer. Better hours, more money. Everything I should want ...” Her shoulders slumped.

“But?”

“Leaving feels like giving up.” The honesty surprised her. “But staying might be worse. At least financially.”

Miles seemed to study her. “Starting over takes guts. Seem’s like you’ve already done the hard part. That’s got to count for something.”

She tilted her head at his observation, free of judgment or advice. He made it sound so simple.

And just like that, James was in her head. She could almost hear him now, the way he’d leaned across their kitchen island years back when she’d mentioned wanting to leave her job at Pinnacle and open an art store in New York:“Wendi, you’re not thinking this through logically. You need more strategy. There are risks, and I’m not sure you’re accounting for them all. Let me explain how a business plan works ...”

The lectures always came sugarcoated in concern, but beneath that was something condescending, as if he were the only one capable of truly seeing the “right” way to handle things.

“Anything I can do?” Miles asked. “Want help setting up for auction?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

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