59. Chapter 58
T he drive was nearly silent, save for the faint classical music he'd always loved to play in the car. But she had no intention of initiating conversation- if he was changing, if he truly wanted her back, let him do the heavy lifting.
The gallery was in a converted warehouse, bright lights illuminating the carefully spaced canvases.
Within minutes, a representative greeted Troy warmly-"Mr. Bradshaw, so pleased you could join us"-and cast a curious glance at Jenna.
She quickly stepped out from under Troy's arm, which had instinctively tried to settle around her shoulders.
He let it drop, frustration flickering over his features. "Elise Martens is here, if you'd like an introduction," he said after a moment, schooling his expression.
Jenna's eyebrows rose. "You know her personally?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly. But I made a point of sponsoring tonight's opening just so I could arrange a meeting for you. I know you've admired her for years."
Jenna swallowed. Old feelings of tenderness warred with her pride. Then, biting her lip, she nodded. "Okay."
Troy motioned to a staff member, who whisked them to a side area cordoned off by velvet ropes. "Ms. Martens, meet Jenna," Troy said softly, resting a polite hand on the small of Jenna's back. She didn't push it away. "She's been a fan of your work for a long time. "
Elise Martens was a petite woman with short grey hair and sharp eyes. She offered Jenna a gracious smile. "I'm always happy to meet someone with a real appreciation for impressionism. Is there a piece you liked in particular?"
Jenna flushed, realizing she'd been glancing repeatedly at a canvas featuring an ethereal garden landscape awash in pale blues and pinks. "That one," she confessed, nodding at the painting. "Your brushstrokes, the way you capture light... it's beautiful."
Ms. Martens chuckled lightly. "I experimented with a new layering technique to get that airy effect."
They fell into an animated conversation about colour theory and technique. Jenna found herself laughing and forgetting, for a precious moment, all the tension outside this bubble of artistic wonder. Troy stood by silently, hands clasped in front of him as though he didn't want to break the spell.
When Elise was called away, she promised to send Jenna a signed pamphlet detailing her upcoming exhibitions. "I hope to see you at more shows," she said, giving Troy an approving nod. To Jenna-"And keep painting or sketching-art lives best when we share it."
After she left, Jenna turned to Troy, breathless with excitement. "I can't believe I just talked to Elise Martens," she murmured, eyes shining.
He smiled softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
They spent the rest of the evening moving from painting to painting.
The gallery had arranged a light buffet for their elite patrons.
Troy trailed Jenna, watching her as she examined the paintings with bright eyes.
She caught him distractedly staring at her lips when she turned to ask him his opinion on the painting she was admiring.
For a moment, the old warmth enveloped them, the spark that had once been so strong igniting in her chest. Then she remembered everything else-his distance, Lila, the humiliating dinner.
The spark dimmed. She stepped away, turning her gaze to the paintings lining the wall.
"Thank you," she said, formal and quiet. "But I think I'm ready to go."
He drove her home, the art catalogue in her lap feeling like a precious treasure.
At her door, she mumbled a quick "Goodnight" and closed it firmly, ignoring the disappointed slump of his shoulders.
Even so, when she leaned against the doorframe on the inside, she felt a pang of conflict: he had finally done something thoughtful, yet it was overshadowed by years of heartbreak.
She told herself not to read more into it than necessary. She told herself it was only an isolated gesture.
But in bed that night, she lay awake, the memory of Troy's proud expression and gentle voice replaying in her head.
A package arrived the next afternoon. Instinctively, Jenna knew exactly what it was.
The exact piece she had been gazing at in the gallery, carefully wrapped in plastic and leaning against her doorstep.
Jenna stared at it, emotions swirling. She wouldn't accept it.
She didn't want to let him buy forgiveness like a shiny, expensive gift.
The new text message arrived just as Jenna was clearing dishes from the table. She glanced down at the note which came with the painting and felt her heart tighten.
I thought you'd like the painting.
-T.
A sudden, inexplicable anger surged inside her. Why was he doing this? Why buy something so lavish when they were barely speaking? It felt like emotional blackmail. She typed her response as she swore through gritted teeth.
I don't want it. It'll get ruined in my cluttered house .
With a trembling hand, she pressed send and then, on impulse, switched off her phone entirely.
No more pushy, guilt-laden texts for the night.
The painting Troy had delivered leaned conspicuously against her living room wall, still half-shrouded in protective plastic wrap.
A swirl of conflicting thoughts buzzed in her mind-gratitude, frustration, longing.
For several moments, she paced the room, hating the tension thrumming in her veins.
Then she halted in front of the painting, eyes trailing over its partial reveal- the bare suggestion of a warm, star-splashed sky, luminous brushstrokes swirling across the top corner.
Why can't he respect my boundaries? she wondered, even though a small voice whispered Troy was at least trying to understand her passion for art.
Finally, she heaved a sigh and snatched up the painting. If Troy wanted it back, he could have it-no more grand gestures or endless toying with her feelings. Sliding her feet into a pair of flats, she left her house and took the short walk next door, heart thundering in her chest.
Troy answered on the second knock, hair tousled as though he'd been running his hand through it repeatedly. On seeing Jenna clutching the painting, his weary eyes lit with a flicker of hope. She swallowed thickly-why did he still look so heartbreakingly familiar, so maddeningly comforting?
"I can't accept something this expensive," she blurted, forcing the words out before her resolve vanished. She shoved the painting forward, careful not to jostle it. "It's worth more than a year's salary for me. I... I just can't."
He opened his mouth to protest, one hand gesturing helplessly. "But-Jenna-look, it doesn't have to mean-"
She took an abrupt step backward, ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest. "No, Troy. Thank you, but no."
Without waiting for him to argue further, she turned on her heel and walked back to her own door. Each step felt like tearing off a bandage. He'll get the message, she told herself. He has to.
Inside again, she leaned against the door, waiting for him to knock or call out her name.
But the hallway stayed silent. After a few moments, she exhaled shakily, dragging herself into the kitchen.
If she just kept busy-kept her mind off that unspoken possibility-maybe she could outrun her own anxiety.
She was halfway through rinsing the kettle when the doorbell rang.
Heart pounding, she set the kettle aside and hurried to open the door.
No Troy. No footsteps retreating. Only the painting, settled against the jamb, its plastic covering glistening under the porch light.
A small white slip of paper was taped to its edge in Troy's neat handwriting:
If you don't want it, I'm walking away.
-T.
A strange ache clutched at her. She wanted to be angry-wanted to insist a painting couldn't repair years of disappointment and betrayal. Yet the quiet vulnerability of that note tugged at her deeper than she cared to admit.
"Fine," she muttered to the empty porch, arms crossing tightly over her chest. "But you better not blame me if it ends up scratched. "
Still, leaving it outside to suffer water damage in the damp night air was unbearable. She bent down, slid her arms around the frame, and hefted the painting indoors yet again. I guess he's not taking it back, she thought, pushing the door closed with her hip.
At last, she peeled away the plastic, letting the painting breathe in the soft lamplight.
Pale gold and sunlit greens dominated the scene, reminiscent of a hidden garden at twilight.
In the foreground, clusters of wildflowers bordered a narrow path leading to a gently arching gate.
The perspective drew the eye inward, as if stepping onto that path would reveal hidden wonders.
Silvery brushstrokes hinted at fireflies or stars starting to awaken overhead.
A solitary figure lingered at the edge of the garden's entrance-more silhouette than person, caught in that half-breath before crossing a threshold. Something about it evoked the moment between heartbreak and hope, suspended in time.
Jenna traced a fingertip lightly across the protective varnish, a swirl of emotion rising in her chest. The piece resonated with her in ways she didn't want to admit. It felt personal-like it had been painted for someone hovering between worlds. Is that how Troy sees me?
She leaned the painting against the living room wall, right where a wedge of light from the window pooled.
Despite everything, she recognized the thoughtfulness behind the gesture.
But the note's finality- If you don't want it, I'm walking away -sent a chill through her. Did he mean away from everything?
Her heartbeat spiked. Before she could talk herself out of it, Jenna grabbed her phone and turned it on, waiting with bated breath as missed notifications rolled in.
No direct text from Troy, but she knew what she needed to do.
With trembling fingers, she tapped his number and raised the phone to her ear.
He picked up on the second ring. "Jenna?"
She almost lost her nerve. "Troy." There was a beat of silence before words spilled out in a rush. "So that's it? You'd walk away that easily if I don't take your gift? You say you care, but at the first sign of-"
"Jenna, stop," he interrupted, voice calm but urgent. "I meant I'd walk away from the painting... not you. Never you."
"Oh." Her cheeks burned hot, mortification flooding her veins. "You... oh. That's... sorry. I-I misunderstood."
"It's okay." A long, weighted pause. "Do you, uh, want me to come by and-?"
"No!" Her voice squeaked. "No, it's fine. I'm good. Just-" She exhaled shakily. "I'll see you around. Good night, Troy."
She hung up before she could embarrass herself further.
Pressing the phone to her forehead, she groaned.
How can I face him after this? The logic of her misunderstanding rattled around in her head, sending a fresh wave of humiliation coursing through her.
She'd assumed the worst, jumping to a conclusion that he was done with everything.
She sank onto the couch, hugging a throw pillow to her chest, her face still hot from imagining Troy's amused exasperation.
The hush of the house weighed heavily, and for once, her thoughts circled back to that silhouette in the painting: Should she stand still or dare to step forward again?
For the next few minutes, she simply watched the painting as though it might speak.
When her phone buzzed for the first time since she'd turned it off, the screen revealed a cluster of messages, none from Troy.
She set it aside, choosing silence over more complicated distractions .
At last, she got up and padded over to the painting. There, hidden at its lower edge, she discovered Troy's tiny inscription-
" For J. Crossing a threshold is never easy, but sometimes there's wonder on the other side ."
Jenna inhaled a shaky breath, hugging her own arms. She knew in her gut that no matter how she tried to push him away, Troy wasn't giving up so easily.
With the painting propped safely indoors, she couldn't help but wonder if that solitary figure might someday take a step forward-or if it would remain frozen on the brink of change forever.