“I do. The artist is talented but young. Still learning to trust personal observation over photographic reference.”
They stood in silence, both looking at the painting. She was vividly aware of his presence beside her and the way he unconsciously assessed the artwork’s composition and the gallery’s traffic flow simultaneously.
He turned to her. “Beth told me you gave her excellent technical advice about painting water reflections. She’s been struggling with that particular challenge.”
“She has good instincts. She just needs to trust them more.”
“That seems to be a common problem.” His tone suggested he wasn’t just talking about Beth.
Emily turned to face him directly. “Why did you really come over to talk to me? You’ve been avoiding me most of the evening.”
He looked startled by her directness, then rueful. “Fair observation. I’ve been wanting to apologize to you. Should have when I saw you painting on the beach. I wanted to apologize for my rudeness when I saw you at the farmer’s market. I made assumptions I shouldn’t have.”
“You mean you assumed I was a fraud who exploited my dying mentor? You wouldn’t be the first person to believe that.”
He winced. “I did read about the controversy. But watching you tonight and seeing how you engage with art and artists, I realize the situation must have been more complicated than the headlines suggested.”
“It was. But I don’t expect you to take my word for it. Most people prefer the dramatic version anyway.”
“I’m trying not to be most people.” His gaze was earnest.
She broke eye contact first, turning back to the storm painting. “Your gallery is impressive. You’ve created something special here.”
“Thank you. That means a lot coming from someone with your background.”
“My tarnished background, you mean.”
“Your professional background. Teaching art history at a prestigious university, curating for the museum, and showing in some well-known galleries. That doesn’t disappear because of a scandal.”
She blinked, surprised he’d researched her career beyond the controversy. “Most people only know about the accusations.”
“I’m not most people,” he repeated quietly.
Before she could respond, Winnie appeared, and the moment between Emily and Grant dissolved. He excused himself to greet new arrivals.
The Art Walk continued for another hour. Emily found herself drawn into multiple conversations about artistic technique, local history, and the lighthouse’s significance to the community’s identity.
Everything was fine until one woman came up to her and frowned. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
She smiled weakly. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe from back in Chicago?”
Her heart pounded, waiting for the recognition.
“Guess not.” The woman turned and walked over to another display.
She let out a long breath. She thought coming all the way to a small town in Florida would provide her with a safe space where no one would recognize her. But Grant had. At least Julian had no idea where she was. That was the most important thing. At least he didn’t know yet…
When the crowd finally thinned, they headed back to the lighthouse. The cool night air felt refreshing after the crowded space.
“You did well tonight. I watched you come alive during those conversations about art.” Winnie smiled at her as they walked under the glow of a streetlamp.
“It felt good to talk about painting again without feeling like a pariah. I’d forgotten what that was like.”
“You’re not a pariah here. You’re a researcher, an artist, and someone who understands how to really see things.”
She wanted to believe it. For the first time since the scandal broke, she’d spent an evening as a person rather than a cautionary tale. People had listened to her opinions, valued her expertise, and engaged with her ideas without hidden judgment lurking behind every word.
