Page 32 of Since the Day We Left

She shook her head. “Nothing really. Just ... Laurel texted again. I have to decide by Friday.”

“About the New York job?”

She nodded, digging her toes into the sand. “Yeah. I went over everything with her before you picked me up. Financially, it’s the smart choice. The right answer.”

“And if you turn it down?”

“More than likely, I’ll be watching my dream die in slow motion.” She gave a small, sad laugh. “Some choice, huh?”

She braced for a well-meaning platitude, the kind she could nod along to and forget. Instead, Miles reached for her hand and her breath hitched as a certain lightness rolled through her, unexpected but not unwelcome. Her heartbeat stuttered, then accelerated as his fingers threaded through hers like they belonged there. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this—a simple touch, a quiet reassurance that someone saw her, that someone understood.

“Whatever happens with the shop, you’ll figure it out.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

Did he just say ...

“We’ll... as in us?” The words slipped out. Her pulse jumped.

No taking it back now.

What if she’d read this all wrong?

His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles. “Yeah. Us.”

She let out a slow breath, trying to ground herself in the moment. “I like the sound of ‘us.’”

“Me too.”

“Total vibe killer,” she said with a sheepish smile. “But before I forget—can you make it to the shop around four tomorrow to help set up?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” His tone made the practical request feel like anything but a vibe killer.

Hand in hand, they turned back toward Arthur. Max trotted between them, occasionally bumping their legs as he pranced along. But as they drew closer, Wendi noticed a change in Arthur’s posture. What had started as a peaceful scene—a man absorbed in his painting, relaxed in the sun—was now something else entirely.

Arthur went rigid, his brushstrokes turning erratic, jerky. The tranquil blues of sky and sea had vanished beneath frenzied streaks of orange-red, clawing across the canvas.

“Dad?” Miles stepped closer. “How’s the painting coming along?”

Arthur didn’t look up, just kept adding more red-orange, his breathing quick and shallow.

Wendi moved beside Miles, eyes shifting between the painting and Arthur.

Flames?

Arthur muttered something. His brush jabbed at the canvas with frantic urgency. Wendi barely caught the words. Fragments surfaced: “Smoke everywhere. Too late.”

A tightness coiled in Wendi’s chest.

Poor Arthur.

Miles kneeled beside him. “Dad, we’re at the beach. You’re painting the cove, remember?”

Arthur’s hand trembled, the brush shaking in his grip as his eyes flicked to Wendi. “Elaine? When’d you get here?”

12

Miles

“Dad,that’snotMom.That’s Wendi, remember? From the painting class?”

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