“Pretty cool, right? I never tire of it. The land I bought off Ted will be pretty spectacular too.” He came to stand beside her. “I could never live in a big city again.”
“London was awesome, and there are really nice places to see there. Buildings, too. They have amazing history, but this place….” Her words fell away. “There’s something magical about these mountains.”
“They become part of your soul.”
“They do.” Maggs investigated the room while Fin went to the kitchen and made the coffee. She studied the artwork he’d hung on the walls. Found the oil painting he’d bought from her, then the sculpture she’d delivered the day he’d found Simon Linbar’s body and his family had arrived.
Next came two watercolors, and the view was the exact replica of what she saw through the cabin window. The second was of the main street of Ryker Falls.
“Where did you get these paintings, Fin? I don’t remember selling them to you or seeing anything like these before. The artist is unfamiliar to me,” she said, leaning in to check the name in the bottom right-hand corner. Everything in her froze as she read the small gold writing.
“Here.” She didn’t move to take the mug he handed her.
“You painted these?” Shock had her staring at him. The look on his face told her he didn’t want to discuss the paintings.
“I did.”
“Wow. They’re really good. I mean, really good. I can paint, and I’m not bad at it, but these are really, really good, Fin.”
“You said ‘really’ four times just then. Here, have a donut.” He thrust a plate at her, clearly uncomfortable.
“How come you never told me you could paint?” She took one and bit into the soft dough.
“You never asked.”
“Okay, that’s true, but then you know I like art, and clearly you know your stuff. These are—”
“You going to say really again?”
The words fell away as she turned back to the paintings. With her coffee in one hand and a donut in the other, she studied them. Maggs knew art; it was her thing. She understood it and what made a great piece. These were really good.
“Got anything else?”
“Some,” he grunted.
“Want me to sell them?”
“No.”
Maggs lowered her cup and dusted the sugar off her hands.
“I could sell them, Fin.”
“I do it because I enjoy it. I don’t do them to sell.”
“Where did you study?”
He’d lowered his cup too. His hands were now jammed into the pockets of his pants.
“Nowhere. It’s just something I’ve always enjoyed.” His shrug told her to let it go. “I don’t talk about it.”
Maggs wasn’t passionate about a whole lot of things, but art was one of them. Rarely, if ever, did she let anything to do with that go.
“Are you one of those people who just decided to paint one day, so you did?”
“I am.”
“When did you start?”
