“I don’t…” I started to decline automatically, but something made me hesitate. “I mean, I’ve got an assignment already and another in Costa Rica waiting in the wings, so I appreciate the offer, but…”
Samuel nodded, unbothered. “Beautiful thing about Copper County,” he said, rewrapping the painting carefully, “is that it’ll still be here. Door’s open, if and when you’re ready.”
From his bed, the Admiral gave a halfheartedyip, and I startled.
“The Admiral agrees,” Samuel said with a wink.
I thanked him and left, the wrapped painting tucked securely under my arm, but the drive back to my house was filled with thoughts of Elizabeth and Jean, of hidden love and hidden art, and of a community that had quietly accepted what the larger world would not.
By the time I got home, I was practically buzzing with excitement to share everything I’d learned with Brewer. I burst through the door, calling his name.
“Kitchen!” he called back.
I rounded the corner to find him kneeling on the floor, hands coated in sawdust like giant powdered donuts, frowning fiercely as he checked the level on one of the cabinet bases he’d built.
I grinned automatically.
But then Brewer glanced up, and his whole face lit, like just the sight of me made himglad, and that made my stomach tremble.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his tools and standing. “How’d it go with Samuel?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The way Brewer looked at me—like I was remarkable, like my presence was important—felt dangerous.
“Good,” I managed to say. “Very good.” I set the painting down on the workbench Brewer had set up and jammed my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t reach for him. That was boyfriend behavior, not… whatever it was we had right now. “Guess who accidentally bought the house once owned by E. Winters, well-known artist and former resident of Copper County?”
Brewer’s grin widened. “No kidding?”
“Honest truth. And the woman in all the paintings? Herpartner, Jean.” His excitement amped my own exponentially, and suddenly, I couldn’t stop the flow of words, yanking my hands out of my pockets and gesturing excitedly. “They lived here together fordecades. Samuel said they couldn’t be open about their relationship in the larger world, but here in Copper County, people accepted them.”
“Wow.” Brewer’s eyes never left my face. He leaned against the cabinet he’d been working on and wiped his hands on a rag distractedly, seeming content to watch me bounce around the kitchen like a kid hopped up on sugar.
“Samuel thinks Elizabeth hid the paintings after Jean died in the early nineties. She probably never imagined there’d be a time when their story could be told openly.” I paused, suddenly feeling emotional. “It’s sad, you know? That she felt she had to hide her best work. The paintings that probably meant the most to her.”
Brewer pushed off from the counter and moved closer, lifting a hand to push my hair off my forehead.
I froze.
“You had some sawdust,” he murmured.
My heart hammered wildly.Brewerwas covered in sawdust. I hadn’t touched a single thing since entering the kitchen. There was no way…
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Sawdust,” I whispered. “Thanks.”
“You know,” he said without moving away. “I think it’s pretty lucky that those paintings were found by a man who wants to make sure everyone has a voice and likes to make things fair and right.”
Something warm and sweet unfurled in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His deep voice held utter conviction. “You’ll make sure their story gets told, Delaney.”
I sucked in a breath and looked away. Brewer’s faith in me meant something. Way more than it should for a friend… sort of. Even one with benefits.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling some kind of way. I stuck my hands back in my pockets before I did something incredibly stupid, like grab Brewer’s beautiful face, kiss the ever-living shit out of him, and tell him to mate me like one of the Krakenpeople. “So… dinner tonight?”
“Okay.”
“Or not,” I added. “I mean, you’re notrequiredto eat dinner with me every night just because you’re staying?—”
“Delaney,” Brewer called from mere inches away.
