He was studying the brushwork—distinctly Emily’s, nothing like the Franklin Holloway pieces he’d researched—when he noticed the envelope. His name was written across it in Emily’s careful handwriting.
Inside, a single sheet of paper:
I heard what the artists said. Grant, I can’t let my past destroy what you’ve built. I’m leaving town. Take down my paintings. I’m sorry. Please don’t try to find me. - Emily
The paper crumpled in his fist. She was running. Again. Letting Julian win without even fighting.
Grant grabbed his keys. No way she was leaving. Not without talking to him first.
Chapter25
Emily folded another shirt and placed it in her suitcase. The familiar motion brought no comfort. How many times had she packed like this? Running from Chicago and the whispers and stares. Running from herself.
Her hands shook as she reached for her paint-stained jeans. The ones she’d worn that first morning on the beach when she’d finally found the courage to paint again. Just weeks ago, though it felt like a lifetime.
A knock at the door made her freeze.
“Emily? It’s Winnie.”
Of course it was. Winnie seemed to have a radar for when her tenants needed her most. Emily considered not answering, but that felt cowardly. More cowardly than running, somehow.
She opened the door. Winnie stood there with no tea tray, no muffins, no pretense of a casual visit. Just those sharp green eyes that saw too much.
“Going somewhere?”
Emily let her in. “I have to. Julian won’t stop. He’ll destroy Grant’s gallery, turn the whole town against me?—”
“The whole town? Or just the frightened parts of it?”
“Does it matter? Grant already lost half his artists because of me.”
“Because of their own fear. There’s a difference.”
Emily perched on the couch’s edge, ready to bolt even in her own space. Winnie settled beside her.
“You know that my ancestors were sometimes very secretive, right?”
She nodded. There was always more to Winnie’s stories.
“The town council didn’t know the truth but wanted my grandfather removed as lighthouse keeper. Said he was bringing shame to Starlight Shores, making them all look like criminals.” Winnie smiled. “My grandmother told them if they removed Henry, they’d have to find another keeper willing to work for the pittance they paid. In a storm. In the dark. While they sat safe in their warm houses.”
“What happened?”
Winnie took Emily’s hand. “Nothing. Because when push came to shove, they needed the lighthouse more than they needed their righteousness. The point is, they backed down.”
“This is different. I might actually have?—”
“What? Learned from your mentor? Used techniques he taught you? Since when is that theft? Every artist builds on what came before. Every lighthouse keeper learned from the one who held the post before them.”
A rapid knock interrupted them. Emily opened the door to find Melissa, camera bag slung over her shoulder.
“Good, you’re still here.” Melissa pushed past her. “I thought you might rabbit.”
“I’m not rabbiting. I’m making a strategic retreat.”
“Well, that man at Harbor Brew was a jerk. Don’t let him get to you.” Melissa nodded toward the open suitcase. “You should stay. Stand up to the bully.”
Another knock. Sally Morris entered without waiting for permission, followed by Clint.
