Epilogue
Six months later
The gallery glowed with strings of lights hung from the ceiling. The front window facing the street was decorated with daffodils and crocuses. Penny’s staff passed around trays of snacks to the people gathered.
Martin smoothed the lapels of his new suit jacket as he came down the stairs from the apartment. Carol Anne stood at the bottom, grinning at him.
“You’ll wrinkle them if you keep doing that,” she said.
“I will not.”
“Mom! Come on.” Penny appeared and tugged at her mother’s hand. “It’s about to start.”
Martin followed slowly after them, still trying to get the lie of the suit just right. Oliver helped him pick it out, and Seb’s eyes had flashed with approval when he’d seen Martin slip the jacket on earlier, but nerves made it impossible for Martin to settle into it completely comfortably.
The gallery space was packed, full of people from town, and some who had come from farther away. Seb’s family—Oliver, their sisters, their mother, and even their father—talked on one side of the room. Mrs. Green held court on the other side with a small crowd of her usual entourage.
After their investigation, the fire department ruled the cause of the bookshop fire to be accidental. They never officially confirmed the coffee maker started it all, but Mrs. Green said she still felt guilty about the fate of the bookstore and Seb’s apartment. She had been nothing but accommodating when Seb had approached her about renting a storefront, along with the apartment upstairs.
“Looking very smart today, Dr. Lindsey,” Kenneth purred. Martin promised Seb he would try to like the agent, but he wasn’t sure Kenneth was working equally as hard to be on his best behavior.
“Thank you.”
“And our Seb is quite the hit. I never thought this little town had much appreciation for fine art, but it appears I might be wrong, just this once.”
Martin spotted Brian and Jess as they came through the gallery door. Brian waved. Martin could kiss his brother and his excellent timing as he excused himself and stepped away from Kenneth.
He was nearly across the room when a tangle of green eyes and curly hair collided with him.
“I did it!” Cassidy wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Did what?” he asked.
“I got in! Art school! My letters came today. Two of them! Can you believe it?”
Martin’s eyes widened until his expression matched Cassidy’s. He was about to shout his congratulations when a glass clinked, distracting them both. They turned to follow the sound.
Seb stood by the front window on a small raised platform put there for the occasion. His bowtie was back, as was his sly grin. His eyes flicked over the tops of everyone’s heads, and he winked at Martin before his attention returned to the people around him.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. We are so pleased that you’ve all come out to our first official exhibit, and the grand opening of the Phoenix Gallery!”
The crowd applauded. Someone whistled, and Martin turned just in time to see Brian lowering his fingers from his lips while Jess swatted at his shoulder with a smile.
“This first exhibit is very important to us. It’s called Ashes to Ashes and follows the theme of rebirth, return, and rediscovering that which was lost. On that note, I would very much like to thank those of you gathered today who have lent works to this exhibit.”
The donations had been a surprise. After the crowdfunding campaign closed, the updates were Kenneth’s idea. People wanted to know what happened to their money, he said, so they sent out periodic notices, letting donors know about the progress renovating the Phoenix and getting it ready for its first opening. It shouldn’t have been surprising when some of the people who offered up Seb’s pieces that they owned as incentives to the campaign offered to lend others for the exhibit. Yet Seb had been speechless when Kenneth had called to tell him.
“As you look around, you’ll find some carved pieces,” Seb continued. “You’ll also find works of poetry. If you ask Martin, he can tell you that he literally wrote the book on Werner Bergmann, whose poems are featured here today. Martin won’t tell you a lot more than that, though, because he’s not much of a talker.” He smiled across the room again, and Cassidy sighed softly next to Martin.
“You guys are so adorable,” she whispered. He flushed and stared down at his shoes.
“As some of you might know,” Seb said. “I started my work in carved poetry. I would take old books and carve them into new words. My agent said the exhibits where I showed those early pieces were lacking because we only displayed the work, but never read them. I said that wasn’t the point, but in keeping with the theme of this beautiful new space and rediscovering the things we’ve lost, I wanted to share something with you today. It’s called One of Them Is Love, and it’s by Werner Bergmann and Sebastian Stevenson.”
Martin’s head shot up. Over the last few months, he had helped Seb collect Bergmann’s translated works. Seb had been tight-lipped about what he planned to do with the poems, but now he held a single piece of paper. The page itself had once been a plain sheet of white printer paper, but it was now punctuated by periodic black marks where words had been cut from whatever was printed on one side. The pattern reminded Martin of spiderwebs and lace, and his breath caught as he fumbled for Cassidy’s hand.
“What is it?” she hissed, but Martin could only stare ahead as Seb lifted the page and cleared his throat.
“Three women standing at the crossroads.
