“Me?” I snorted. “Uh, no. That’s definitely your role in this… thispartnership, Mr. Promises-Kept.”
Brewer’s blue eyes opened, warm and amused. “Then why am I seriously considering taking you upstairs and making us both very, very late for that appointment?”
Heat pooled in my stomach at his words. “Tempting,” I admitted. “But I really want to know what he thinks of the paintings. Maybe later we could…” My heart pounded, too fast and off-kilter. “Talk and stuff.”
Brewer sighed dramatically, then pressed one more quick kiss to my lips before stepping back. “Yeah. Art first, debauchery later.”
“Deal.”
Dr. Richard Chen arrived precisely on time, his enthusiasm evident from the moment he laid eyes on the paintings spread out in the living room.
“Elizabeth Winters,” he confirmed immediately, his eyes lighting up behind wire-rimmed glasses. “This is extraordinary.”
I looked at Brewer, who’d followed me to the living room, and we shared a smile. Though I had zero reason to doubt Samuel, the validation was kind of a thrill.
Dr. Chen carefully examined the first painting without touching it. “Elizabeth Winters was quite prolific in her urban era, but I’ve always been a fan of her later work. The so-called ‘Lake Period.’ As far as I know, there are only about a dozen pieces from that time. She seemed to have become somewhat less productive.”
Remembering what Samuel had told me, I offered, “Or perhaps she simply gave the paintings away.”
Dr. Chen seemed startled. “I hadn’t considered… possibly, yes. Either way, this is a significant discovery you’ve made, Mr. Monroe. I can’t wait to tell my colleagues about it.”
“And Mr. Barnum.” I caught Brewer’s arm and dragged him forward. “It was his discovery, too.”
Brewer shook his head. “Not really.”
“I assure you,” I told him, “I wouldn’t have broken down walls without you.”
“You might, though,” Brewer said under his breath as Dr. Chen went back to his examination. “Next time you decided to move an outlet.”
I was surprised to find myself laughing at his teasing. But with Brewer, I didn’t feel judged for what I wasn’t good at but liked for what I was.
“What do you think we should do with them?” I asked later, when Dr. Chen finished.
“Well,” Dr. Chen said, “these paintings should be cleaned and properly preserved, certainly. I’d be happy to connect you with a conservation specialist. After that… I suppose you’ll have to decide what you want to do next.”
I nodded.
“For insurance purposes, I’d conservatively appraise this collection at between $800,000 and $950,000. The museum-quality pieces alone—” He gestured to some of the larger canvases. “—might each command $60,000 to $75,000 at auction. But I must emphasize the historical and cultural significance of the complete collection far exceeds its monetary value. These works document not only an artist’s private vision but, from everything you’ve told me, a hidden chapter of LGBTQ+ history. As a complete narrative collection, they could potentially fetch well over a million dollars if sold to the right institution or collector.”
Beside me, Brewer’s jaw dropped, and I knew mine did the same.
After Dr. Chen left, promising to email a formal appraisal, Brewer and I stood in the living room, staring at the paintings.
“A million dollars.” I grinned up at him. “Guess you can get a fancy camper now, huh? What would you do with half a million?”
Something flickered across Brewer’s face—discomfort, maybe, or surprise—and his smile tightened at the corners. “I wouldn’t. I like a pretty simple life, Delaney. No need to split your imaginary money with me.”
I frowned, confused by his reaction. “That’s not?—”
“I think the paintings should go to a museum,” Brewer interrupted, taking a small step back. “I mean, if you wanted my input, I think that’s where they belong. People should see them.”
“Actually…” I smiled. “That’s a great idea. I want everyone to be able to see them, too.”
But the easy mood from earlier had suddenly evaporated.
“The Copper County Historical Society would be a good option. Or a bigger museum in the city.” Brewer rubbed the back of his neck, still looking uncomfortable. Then, as if catching himself, he relaxed his shoulders and moved back toward me. “But there’s no rush to decide. There’s, uh… time.” He slipped his arm around my waist, though the gesture felt slightly forced.
His sudden awkwardness sent an unexpected pang through me, especially after his strange reaction to the money talk.
