Page 43 of Since the Day We Left

The door swung open and Emma walked in with a basket. “Delivery!” She set it down and revealed fresh-baked scones. “Thought your class might need these.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Wendi hugged her. “How’s Barking Orders?”

“Busy, but in a good way. Had to hire two more people.” Emma swept her gaze over the room. “This place is looking incredible.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you all.” Wendi squeezed Emma’s hand.

Max barked as Arthur’s students filed in—mostly seniors, plus some younger folks sent by their doctors to help with stress and anxiety. They greeted Arthur like an old friend, settling at their easels with comfortable familiarity.

Mrs. Winters made her grand entrance last. “Arthur Dalton! You better have saved my spot.” She breezed past him to the easel by the window. “Light’s best over here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of giving it away,” Arthur said, their back-and-forth making everyone chuckle.

As Arthur started his demonstration, Wendi checked the register and opened her ledger. The numbers told a completely different story than it had a year ago. The local paper’s feature on Miles saving Max and then Arthur’s painting from the fire had unexpectedly put Hadley Cove on the map for art enthusiasts from neighboring towns. Every class now had a full waiting list, and the gallery section showcasing local artists—Arthur’s work included—could barely keep up. The Painted Shell had become a Coastal Georgia must-visit art destination.

Her phone lit up with a text from her old boss.

Laurel:The new hire didn’t work out. Still have a desk with your name on it. Just say when.

Wendi looked up at her bustling shop—Arthur gesturing enthusiastically while explaining brush techniques, students leaning in, Miles organizing supplies and chatting with Mrs. Winters.

This was home.

Wendi:Thanks, but I’m right where I belong.

The fire had changed everything—not just the building, but her. In those first chaotic weeks, the community center had become their makeshift studio. Miles had stayed up all night paintingThePainted Shell Pop-Upsign, complete with a spiral shell. When he hung it up, Wendi had felt it—that unmistakable shift. She was truly falling in love with him.

Through insurance headaches and endless permits, they found ways to make the hard days lighter. She still smiled thinking about their impromptu trip to Tybee Island—Miles daring her to a sandcastle competition and Max “remodeling” their creations by digging holes through the center. They’d ended the day with ice cream at sunset.

And then there was the disaster of a cooking date at Wendi’s cottage. He’d been so sure she’d love making homemade pasta—something about the hands-on creativity of it seemed right up her alley. Wendi, thinking he was excited about it, had gone along with the plan, smiling through the flour dust and sticky dough. It only took fifteen minutes for them to realize they both hated it. They had stared at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. Abandoning the mess, they grabbed sandwiches and took them to the cove instead. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they talked until the stars came out.

Rebuilding the shop became its own kind of love story. Choosing fixtures, picking paint colors, tweaking the layout—every decision, every compromise, brought them closer. When she panicked over costs, Miles reminded her of the growing class waitlist. When he worried about overstepping, she found small ways to show him—this wasn’t just her dream anymore. It was theirs.

Two years ago, she hadn’t just come back to this town—she had come back to herself. And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough. She set down her phone, the decision feeling right in a way it never had before the fire. Her eyes caught Miles’s across the room. He grinned and made his way over to her.

“Think we could close early? Something’s happening in town.”

Wendi frowned, checking her calendar. “Nothing’s scheduled?”

Emma, helping a student find the perfect red, suddenly became fascinated with a display of paintbrushes.

“Max needs his dinner,” Arthur announced, far too casually for someone who never missed a lesson. “Wendi, why don’t you take over?”

Max’s ears twitched at his name, his tail thumping once. If dogs could smirk, Wendi was certain hers just had. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

Arthur exchanged a glance with Miles and Emma before shrugging. “Nothing. Just thought we could use a break.”

After locking up a couple hours later, Miles waited with keys in hand.

Wendi swatted his arm. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“You’ll see.”

“Miles ...”

“Trust me?” He pressed a blindfold into her palm.

“Always. But can you at least give me a hint?”

---