“This reminds me of my grandfather’s stories. He was a lighthouse keeper up near Mobile. You’ve captured something real here. The loneliness, but also the purpose.”
The woman’s husband nodded. “The brushwork in the storm piece. Those whites against the deep grays. How did you achieve that texture?”
Emily found herself explaining her technique. Layering. Scraping back. Building the paint like the weather itself. The man listened intently, asking follow-up questions that showed real understanding.
More visitors arrived. A steady stream now. She answered questions about historical research, about the lighthouse’s architecture, and about her choice of colors. No one asked about Chicago. No one mentioned scandals or stolen legacies.
They saw the work. Just the work.
Yet, she couldn’t help glancing toward the door. The threat of Julian clung to her.
“Your new pieces are causing quite a stir.” Beth Ramsey appeared at her elbow, beaming. “I heard two collectors asking Grant about prices.”
Prices. She’d actually agreed to sell them. Another step toward being a real artist again.
Sally Morris bustled through the crowd, her voice carrying. “Of course, you need to see Emily’s paintings. She’s captured our lighthouse like no one else has. Even Winnie got emotional when she saw them.”
Suddenly, the crowd parted near the entrance.
There he was.
Julian Holloway stood in the doorway, his expression calculating as he scanned the gallery. His pressed suit and polished shoes looked out of place among the casual festival-goers.
Grant stepped closer to her side. “I’ve got this.”
She held up a hand. “No. I’m not hiding anymore.”
Julian’s gaze found her paintings, and his eyes flashed. He moved through the crowd with deliberate purpose, stopping in front of the lighthouse interior. The same painting that had moved Winnie to tears.
“Interesting technique. Very reminiscent of a certain other artist’s work.” His voice carried just loud enough for nearby visitors to hear.
Emily’s hands clenched, but she forced them to relax. The couple from Pensacola glanced between them, confusion flickering across their faces.
“Actually,” the woman said, “I was just thinking how unique the style is. My grandfather was a lighthouse keeper, and this captures something I’ve never seen in maritime art before.”
Julian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, well, some people are very good at... appropriation.”
“That’s enough.” Grant moved forward, but Emily caught his arm.
“Sir, are you an art critic?” A young man with a notebook stepped closer. A journalist or podcaster, probably, covering the festival.
Julian straightened his tie. “I have some expertise in identifying authentic work versus?—”
“Because I teach at SCAD—Savannah College of Art and Design.” The young man pointed at Emily’s storm painting. “What strikes me about these pieces is how honest they feel. The way the paint builds in layers and creates depth through texture rather than just color. It’s actually quite innovative.”
Heat crept up Julian’s neck. More people gathered, drawn by the discussion. Emily recognized the danger in their attention, but also something else. They were looking at her work, not at Julian.
“The historical research alone is impressive.” An older woman Emily recognized from the historical society stepped forward. “I’ve been documenting the lighthouse for forty years, and she’s captured details I’ve only seen in archival photographs.”
“Details can be copied,” Julian said, but his voice had lost some of its conviction.
“Not like this.” Grant’s mother appeared through the crowd, Margaret Stone in full librarian mode. “This level of architectural accuracy combined with emotional interpretation? That takes both skill and intuition.”
Sally Morris’s voice carried from near the courtyard painting. “Oh, Emily, someone’s asking about commissioning a painting of their family’s old fishing cottage. Should I send them over?”
The redirect was obvious but effective. The crowd’s attention shifted from Julian to the possibility of custom work. Emily caught Sally’s wink and felt a surge of gratitude.
“I’d be happy to discuss commissions after the festival.” She surprised herself with how normal she sounded.
