Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caleb
Sleep had been impossible after yesterday’s conversation with Mason. I’d been at the gallery since seven, even though we weren’t open. Though Mason and I had cleared the air somewhat, the distance between us remained. A chasm I didn’t know how to bridge.
Eight days. That was all I had left to give Fontaine an answer. The deadline loomed over everything, a countdown clock ticking in my mind.
I straightened a painting that didn’t need straightening and shifted a small bronze sculpture two inches to the left, then back again. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my heart lurched when I saw the name. Mary Anne.
“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Caleb! I’m back early. Joe caught a stomach bug, so we cut the trip short.” Her voice sounded cheerful despite the unfortunate end to her vacation. “Any chance you’re at the gallery today? We can talk.”
My pulse quickened. “Yes, I’m here now. When would you like to meet?”
“This afternoon? Around three? I need to unpack and catch up on some things first.”
“That’s perfect,” I said, already mentally rehearsing what I would say.
After hanging up, I paced the gallery, trying to channel my nervous energy into productivity. I dusted shelves that were already clean, adjusted lighting that was perfectly positioned, and drafted talking points on a notepad, only to cross them all out and start again.
The hours crawled by. At 2:45, I made a fresh pot of coffee, setting out Mary Anne’s favorite mug—the one with Monet’s water lilies. Small gestures mattered.
When the door opened with a whoosh at precisely three o’clock, I nearly jumped. Mary Anne entered, tanned and relaxed in linen pants and a flowing tunic, looking every bit like someone who’d been enjoying Mexican beaches rather than running a business.
“Caleb,” she said, embracing me briefly. “The Beaumont exhibition looks wonderful. You’ve done great work.”
“Thank you. How was Mexico?” I asked and poured her coffee.
“Relaxing. The kind of place that makes you wonder why you work so hard.” She smiled, sinking into the chair behind the desk—her desk, though I’d been using it these past weeks. “Those beaches make retirement look awfully tempting.”
My heart skipped. An opening.
“Actually,” I said carefully, “I’d heard rumors about that. That you might be considering retirement.”
Mary Anne sipped her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “Rumors certainly travel fast in Seacliff Cove.”
“Are they true?” I tried to sound casual, though I slipped my hands into my pockets to hide their tremors.
“Possibly,” she said vaguely. “Maybe someday. Thirty years is a long time to run a gallery, and there’s so much of the world to see.” She gestured to the exhibition. “But enough about me. You’ve done remarkable work here. The numbers are up.”
We walked through the gallery together, discussing the exhibition, sales figures, and upcoming artists. All the while, my mind raced ahead to what I needed to say, how much I needed to reveal.
Near the back of the gallery, beside a striking abstract, I stopped. “Mary Anne, I need to ask you something important.”
She turned, her expression curious.
“I’ve received a job offer,” I began. “A promotion at the Louvre.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Caleb, that’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“The thing is,” I continued, “I need to give them an answer in eight days. And I don’t want to go back to Paris.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Ah. So, the retirement rumors suddenly matter quite a bit more to you.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’d like to stay on as the director of the gallery, no matter what happens. Do you think there’s some way we could work that out?”
The words hung in the air between us. Mary Anne frowned. “If I retire and sell the place, I’d have no control over whether the new owner would want to keep you on.”
“Could you put in a good word for me?” I asked.
“I have ideas for the gallery—maintaining a commitment to local artists, but also building stronger connections with the Bay Area scene, bringing in artists from San Francisco and Berkeley who might not otherwise exhibit in a small coastal town. Our partnership with the bookstore has already sold three Todd Matthews watercolors.”
Mary Anne studied me, her gaze sharp despite her relaxed demeanor. “This is quite a pivot from the Louvre. What’s really keeping you in Seacliff Cove?”
I hesitated, then decided on honesty. “Mason.”
“Ah.” Her expression softened. “I suspected as much. The way you two look at each other when you think the other isn’t watching… Well, let’s just say it reminds me of Joe and me, thirty-five years ago.”
My face warmed. “It’s complicated. We have history.”
“The best relationships usually do.” She studied the painting. “Tell me more about your vision for the gallery.”
For the next hour, we talked about business—my ideas for exhibitions, community engagement, and financial projections.
Mary Anne asked pointed questions about my commitment to the community she’d nurtured for decades.
The conversation felt both personal and professional, a negotiation and a confession.
“This gallery has been my life’s work,” she said finally, gazing around at the space. “It’s more than walls and paintings to me. It’s like a child I’ve raised. I’d need to find the right buyer.”
“I understand,” I said, my voice gentle, commiserating.
“And this isn’t just about business for you either, is it? It’s about your heart.”
I looked down at my hands. “Yes. Eleven years ago, I chose my career over love. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
Mary Anne nodded slowly. “Joe was a travel writer when I met him. He wanted me to see the world with him. I chose to stay and build this gallery instead.” She smiled wistfully.
“It took him five years to come back to me, to decide that loving me in one place was better than traveling the world without me.”
The story hit me with unexpected force. Years of separation, just like Mason and me. Except in our case, I had been the one to leave, and it had taken me eleven years to return.
Mary Anne leveled her gaze at me. “What would you say to buying the gallery yourself?”
I nearly choked on my tongue. “Buying it? Me?”
“Yes, you.” She smiled. “I’ve watched how you’ve transformed this place in a short period of time. The way you’ve connected with artists and customers, your eye for display, how you’ve increased our sales. The gallery would thrive with you at the helm.”
“I’m…I’m stunned.” My mind raced with possibilities. Owning the Coastal Light Gallery would mean putting down roots in Seacliff Cove. It would mean staying with Mason, having a real chance to rebuild what we’d once had. “I hadn’t even considered ownership.”
Mary Anne nodded knowingly. “Sometimes the best opportunities are ones we never planned for. I’d feel comfortable—relieved, actually—knowing the gallery was in your hands rather than a stranger’s.”
My initial excitement quickly collided with reality. “The thing is, I’m not sure I could qualify for a business loan. My credit is decent, but…” I trailed off, the practical obstacles mounting in my mind.
“Financing concerns can be worked out.” She waved her hand dismissively. “There might be ways to structure the deal that would work for both of us.”
I rubbed my temple, thinking of the email sitting in my inbox. “The timing is complicated. I’ve got that job offer from the Louvre. They need my answer soon.”
“I understand. Tell you what—give me two days to run some numbers and consider what I’m willing to ask for. Two days to talk to Joe, my accountant, my attorney. We’ll see if we can figure out if we can make this work before you commit to Paris.” Mary Anne’s eyes held mine, serious yet hopeful.
“Two days,” I agreed, even as anxiety churned in my stomach about potentially missing my deadline with the Louvre. But the thought of my own gallery, of building a life here with Mason—it was worth the wait. “I can give you that.”
“You’ll have your answer on Thursday.”
Two days. That would leave me just five days before Fontaine’s deadline. If she said yes, I’d have little time to speak to the bank and determine my chance of receiving a business loan. If she said no, I’d have no clear path to staying in Seacliff Cove.
“Thank you for considering it,” I said and tried to mask my anxiety.
After Mary Anne left, I locked the gallery and walked to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The late afternoon sun cast golden light across the water, the beauty of it at odds with the turmoil inside me.
I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Mason’s name. I wanted to tell him about this development, to share this potential path forward. But what if it fell through? What if Mary Anne asked for more than I could afford? I couldn’t bear to raise his hopes, only to crush them again.
I pocketed my phone without sending a message. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on me as I watched the sun begin its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reminded me of a watercolor hanging in the events room at Tides & Tales.
Two more days of limbo. Two more days of Mason’s guarded distance. Two more days until I would know if I had a future in Seacliff Cove.
I’d never wanted anything more in my life.