Instead, all he could manage was, “Olivia. Wow.”
Gleason said, “I work with photographers and editors serving regional magazines and papers. Santa Barbara to San Jose. Everybody’s looking for something that speaks to the season. Not happy. But, you know . . .”
“Beautiful,” Dillon said. “Despite everything.”
“There you go.” Gleason made another minute adjustment to the print’s angle. “Okay if I share this around?”
Olivia did not respond.
Gleason lifted his gaze. Studied the silent woman on the counter’s other side. “Had to be something pretty awful, bringing you back here now. Despite all the reasons to stay away.”
Olivia did not move, much less speak.
He tapped the print a third time. “The young lady who left here with dreams too big for Miramar to hold, she’s come back an artist, sure enough.”
Dillon saw a single tear escape and trickle down her cheek. It came as close as anything in his own hard season to breaking his heart.
Gleason said, “I’m not sure I believed the legend of the phoenix before now.”
They remained like that, held by the momentary amber. Despite everything.
Olivia sniffed, then said, “Can I please have one more on the raw cotton stock?”
“Thought you’d say that.” Gleason lifted the print from the counter. “Come back and help me frame this while I run off the print. And an additional one for me, okay?”
“If you want.”
“Lady, this is going in my front window.” To Dillon, “Step around the counter, will you? Mind the shop. Come on, darling. Let’s get to work.”
