Emily stood at her cottage door on Friday evening, contemplating the dozen excuses she could offer Winnie for skipping the Art Walk. Her hand hovered over the doorknob without turning it. But before she could retreat to her couch, a knock sounded.
“I know you’re in there.” Winnie’s voice carried gentle amusement.
She took a breath before opening the door. “I was just?—”
“Thinking of backing out?”
Winnie wore a coral cardigan and had traded her practical braid for a neat bun. Her small pearl earrings caught the porch light. She smiled patiently. “I understand the impulse. But hiding from the art community won’t help you understand why the lighthouse matters to this town’s cultural identity.”
The argument was clever. She couldn’t research the lighthouse’s history in isolation, not really.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a night at a gallery.” She gestured at her slacks and simple blouse.
“You look perfectly lovely. Besides, this is Starlight Shores, not Chicago. We value substance over style here.”
The gentle rebuke hit its mark. She nodded, pulled the door closed behind her, and joined Winnie on the path toward town.
They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes. The lighthouse beam swept overhead at regular intervals, and salt air drifted from the nearby beach. Her shoulders gradually relaxed despite her nerves.
“I should warn you. People will be curious about you. It’s natural in a small town.” Winnie glanced at her as they reached the outskirts of downtown.
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
“Let them see who you are now, not what the internet says you were.”Winnie patted her arm. “You’re hardly the first person here with a complicated past.”
She wanted to ask what Winnie meant, but they’d arrived at the beginning of the Art Walk, and the question dissolved as they joined the crowd. White booths lined both sides of the street, each one brimming with treasures crafted by local artisans. The air smelled of cedar shavings and fresh paint. She spotted intricate wood carvings of lighthouses and old sea captains displayed alongside vibrant watercolor paintings of seascapes and mermaids.
One booth in particular caught her eye. It was staffed by a petite woman arranging a collection of handmade dresses for little girls, each piece a tiny work of art with delicate smocking and ribbon details that must have taken hours to perfect.
She turned to Winnie.“This is amazing. You have quite a turnout and lots of local talent.”
“We do love our Art Walks.”
They slowly made their way down the street until they arrived at Stone’s Gallery. Light spilled from the large windows, and clusters of people already filled the space. She clenched her hands.
Winnie turned to her as they paused in the doorway. “Just breathe. You belong here as much as anyone.”
The words were kind but felt unearned. She followed Winnie inside anyway.
The gallery was more impressive than Emily had realized from her previous glimpse through the windows. Polished concrete floors reflected track lighting positioned to showcase the artwork without creating glare. The space maintained its warehouse bones while serving its artistic purpose beautifully.
Grant stood near the entrance, speaking with an older couple. He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. When he spotted Winnie and Emily, something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or wariness.
He excused himself from the couple and approached. “Winnie. Good to see you.”
“I’ve brought Emily to experience her first Art Walk. She’s been researching the lighthouse’s history and needs to understand how it’s shaped local artistic identity.”
Grant’s eyes shifted to Emily. She met his gaze directly, refusing to shrink despite her discomfort.
“Welcome to Stone’s Gallery. We’re featuring Gulf Coast landscape painters this month. Wine’s on the table near the back.”
“Thank you.” She managed to sound calmer than she felt.
Winnie immediately spotted someone across the room and excused herself, leaving Emily alone with Grant. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
“I’ll let you look around. Feel free to ask questions if you’re curious about any pieces.”
He moved away—or escaped—before she could respond. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then forced herself to approach the nearest wall of paintings.
