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“My dad said something similar. I’m starting to think Whitmore Holdings is encouraging delusion.”

Jerry laughed as he opened the classroom door for me. “Speaking of things you’re avoiding, have you submitted your paintings to that gallery yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You should. You’re too good to keep finding reasons not to let people see your work.”

I smiled. That was the thing about Jerry. Beneath the arrogance and relentless flirting, he had always taken my work seriously.

Before I could respond, our professor walked into the classroom. Professor Bennett placed her folders on the desk and looked around the room.

“Good morning. Since graduation is close enough that half of you have mentally abandoned me already, I’m going to attempt to keep your attention for the next hour.”

A few people laughed.

Professor Bennett turned toward the board and wrote one word across it.

OWNERSHIP.

“Today, I want to talk about what happens after an artist puts something into the world. Who gets to decide what it means? Does the artist maintain ownership over the interpretation, or does that ownership transfer to the audience?”

Several hands went up. Mine included. The discussion lasted most of the class. Jerry and I disagreed twice, although I suspected the second time he argued with me simply because he enjoyed doing it. By the time Professor Bennett moved on, my mind drifted to the business card tucked inside my purse.

Richard Kincaid.

I hadn’t called him. I had thought about it several times since the art showing. More than I wanted to admit. Every time I considered picking up the phone, I talked myself out of it. Maybe handing out his business card was something he did all the time. Calling him because I had turned one conversation into something more inside my head felt embarrassing.

A whisper behind me pulled my attention away from the lecture. Someone near the windows turned toward the classroom door. Then another person looked. Jerry followed their attention. His face immediately changed.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

I glanced at him. “What are you looking at?”

Instead of answering, Jerry nodded toward the door. I followed his gaze.

Richard stood on the other side of the glass.

For a second, I thought I had imagined him. Then his eyes found mine and he smiled. There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Jerry looked from Richard to me.

“Wait a minute. Is he here for you?”

“I don’t know.”

Jerry gave me an incredulous look. “Samantha, he’s staring directly at you while holding flowers. I’m willing to take a chance on this one.”

Professor Bennett eventually noticed that half the class had stopped paying attention and followed everyone’s gaze toward the door. She looked at Richard, then at the rest of us.

“Whatever is happening in the hallway can wait until class ends. Some of you are still depending on me to pass you.”

Jerry leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“You could have mentioned that you know Richard.”

“We spoke for a few minutes at the art showing.”

Jerry looked at me again. “That’s it?”