“Programs?” Emily heard her own voice crack.
Winnie stood on Starfish Cottage’s front porch and held out a glossy booklet. “For the Springtide Festival. Grant makes beautiful booklets with artist biographies, photos of featured works, and a map of exhibition spaces. They’re collectors’ items. People keep them for years.”
Collectors’ items. Searchable, shareable, permanent records connecting Emily Shaw to Starlight Shores, Florida. Anyone looking for her would only need to search her name plus “art exhibition” to find her exact location.
Her heart did a double beat. Of course! She should have thought of this when she said yes to showing her work.
Julian could find her.
She’d been so focused on creating again, on healing, and on this small community that had welcomed her, that she’d somehow convinced herself she could stay invisible. That painting in Starlight Shores was different from painting in Chicago. That a small-town festival wouldn’t register on Julian’s radar.
But of course it would. He had money, resources, and unlimited spite. He probably had search alerts set up on her name. The moment those festival programs went online—and they would, because every event posted their materials digitally now—he’d know exactly where to find her.
“Emily? Are you all right?” Winnie stepped inside. “You’ve gone white.”
“I... How public are these programs?”
“Very. Grant posts them on the gallery website, the festival website, and social media. The tourism board shares them. Why?”
Because Julian would see them. Because he’d come here, to this place she’d started to think of as safe. He’d stand in front of her paintings and call her a fraud again, this time in front of everyone she’d begun to care about. He’d confront her in front of Grant, Winnie, Sally, Melissa, and the entire community that had slowly, carefully welcomed her.
She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t drag them into her scandal.
“I need to withdraw from the festival.” The words tumbled out. “I’m sorry, Winnie, but I can’t—I can’t do this.”
“Because of Julian Holloway.” It wasn’t a question. Winnie’s voice held the calm certainty of someone who’d lived long enough to recognize fear when she saw it.
“Then you know why I can’t put my name in a public festival program. He’ll find me. He’ll come here and destroy everything, and I won’t—I can’t—put Grant’s gallery at risk. Or your lighthouse. Or?—”
“Or face him again. That’s what you’re really afraid of.” Winnie’s tone was gentle but unflinching.
“Of course I’m afraid!” Her voice rose. “You didn’t see what he did in Chicago. The reporters, the accusations, the way everyone I trusted just... disappeared. My husband left me. My gallery dropped me. My teaching position ended. Even after being cleared, I couldn’t get any of it back because Julian had poisoned everything.”
“So your plan is to let him keep poisoning your life from a distance?”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.
“You came here to hide. Fine. Everyone needs that sometimes. But you’ve been catching your breath for a while now. At some point, you have to actually breathe out, rebuild your strength, and then stand up again.”
“I’m not strong enough.”
“Those paintings say otherwise. Those paintings say you’re exactly strong enough. You created something true despite everything Julian Holloway tried to take from you. Your voice is right there on that canvas. Everything he tried to take is still yours.”
The cottage suddenly felt too small, and the walls pressed in. “What if I show my work and he comes here, and it happens again? What if he convinces everyone that I’m a fraud? What if?—”
“What if you spend the rest of your life running?” Winnie moved to the doorway of the studio. “This is extraordinary work, Emily. It deserves to be seen. You deserve to be seen. And yes, Julian might find out. He might come here. But you know what? He’ll find a community that actually knows you this time. People who’ve watched you heal, seen you create, and witnessed your character firsthand.”
“Winnie, please?—”
“Grant. This is about Grant too, isn’t it? You’re not just afraid of Julian destroying your reputation again. You’re afraid of what Julian might do to someone you’re starting to care about.”
Her face heated. Was she that obvious?
“That young man has his own scars. That ex-girlfriend of his did her own damage when she betrayed him. He opened that gallery knowing it might fail. Supports artists who might never sell. That man chooses risk every single day.” She tapped her phone screen. “Now it’s your turn to choose.”
“I need time to think?—”
“You’ve had months to think. Thinking time is over.” Winnie’s voice held steel beneath the kindness. “Sometimes we need to be pushed off the cliff to remember we can fly.”
