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“Are you doing the tree?”

“No, I’m waiting for it, full dress.” Cleo gestured. “I’m looking at the view of the bay, the lighthouse from here.

“I’m doing the tree,” Sonya decided. “A between-seasons thing.”

As they set up, Clover went with Elvis and “Spring Fever.”

On a laugh, Sonya set her canvas. “I guess we’ve caught it.”

They chatted off and on as they painted, and Sonya found herself enjoying it all. The air, the scents, the call of birds. And experimenting with color and shape that had nothing to do with work.

Though the tree with its few brave blooms and fat, waiting buds stood as the focus, she had the turret rising behind it, the rounded shape, the golden stones, the tall windows.

And the shadow that came and went behind the glass in the library.

An hour in, Cleo stepped back from her own to wander over to Sonya’s.

“Sonya, you know that’s good.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Good. You’ve caught the light, and the delicacy of the blossoms. The scatter of them gives impact to the witchy shape of the tree. The way you’ve used the turret, it’s good perspective, and impactful again with the contrast. Then there’s the hint of shape in the window. Just a touch of spooky.”

“It was there. I feel like it’s Clover this time.”

When her phone played “Say My Name,” Sonya looked up again. “Looks like I’m right about that. I like her there, and in the painting.”

“We’re hanging it.”

“Let’s see how it finishes up.” She glanced around, then walked to Cleo’s canvas. “You know this is wonderful. Dreamy, almost fanciful, but real. Rocky coastline, the perfect blue of the bay sliding out to sea, and the boats—at dock or gliding. The bits of the village, there’s a sturdiness to that, the weathered brick of the Poole building.

“And the lighthouse guarding it all. Sabbatical, my ass. Where will you put it?”

“If it turns out the way I hope, I think I’ll talk to Kevin at Bay Arts. We’ll see. Right now, I’m painting for me, so that’s the sabbatical.”

They went back to it, painting through the afternoon to Clover’s musical interludes.

“We’re going to do this more often.” Cleo wiped most of the cerulean blue off her hand. “But that’s it for me today. I need to step away from it. Bring it out again tomorrow.”

“I’m done. I got what I wanted. If I keep playing with it, I’ll end up with something else.”

“It’s really good, Son. You painted something you love, and it shows.”

As they started to pack up, they heard the truck coming. So did Clover, as she hit it with Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back in Town.”

As it had when she’d seen the manor again, her heart clutched when Trey’s truck rounded the bend.

This is love, she thought, and it feels amazing. Terrifying, overwhelming, and amazing.

She ran to the truck the minute Trey parked. Yoda and Mookie leaped out first to greet her like a long-lost lover.

“I missed you, too. Missed you! I know you were good boys. You’re such good boys. And you.” She threw her arms around Trey. “Hello.”

Because she couldn’t help it, she put that clutching heart into the kiss. And it opened like the buds on the tree when he answered in kind.

“Come on, boys, what about me? Give those two a minute and come see Cleo.”

“Welcome home,” Trey murmured, and drawing back, laid a hand on her cheek. “I missed your face.”