Chapter 2 Gabe #3
Gabe found himself relaxing into it. His painting looked like a child’s attempt compared to Jane’s masterpiece beside it.
His sky was uneven, the colors muddy in places where he’d mixed them wrong.
But there was something peaceful about the process.
Focusing on brushstrokes and color choices.
Trying to capture the light he could see with his eyes and translate it onto canvas.
The nightmare from earlier was fading from his mind. The tension in his shoulders was easing. His leg still throbbed, but somehow it didn’t matter as much.
Jane’s company was easy, undemanding. She didn’t ask about his scars or his past. Didn’t pry into why he was up so early or why he flinched at sudden sounds. Just shared her space and her art supplies, and her quiet presence.
An hour passed in comfortable near-silence. Just occasional instruction from Jane, offered gently. “Try more orange there.” Or, “Let that dry before adding the pink.” And, “Don’t be afraid to layer it. That’s how you get depth.”
Both paintings were taking shape. The sun had fully risen now, and morning had properly begun. Other people were starting to appear on the boardwalk. There were joggers, dog walkers, and early risers heading out for the day.
The magic moment of solitude was passing.
They both seemed to realize it at the same time, setting down their brushes and stepping back to look at their work.
Gabe looked at his painting and had to laugh. “It’s terrible.”
The sky was lopsided, the ocean looked more like a blob than water, and the whole thing was amateurish in the extreme.
Jane smiled at him. “It’s your first sunrise. It’s perfect.”
They packed up the supplies together, Jane efficiently cleaning brushes while Gabe tried to help without getting in the way. She carried both canvases, making him feel ungentlemanly because his crutches made him useless for anything requiring two hands.
The walk back to the inn was not awkward. They fell into easy conversation about nothing important, like the weather, the Christmas decorations going up all over town, and Trinity’s excitement about the Winter Ball.
“Trinity speaks about you and the inn nonstop,” Gabe admitted. “You’ve had such an impact on my daughter. Thank you for letting her help you with the ball.”
Jane’s face softened immediately at Trinity’s name. “She’s a special kid. You’re doing an amazing job with her.”
The compliment hit Gabe harder than it should have. His throat went tight with emotion he couldn’t quite name.
“Trying to,” he managed. “Not always succeeding, and as much as I wish I could deny it, my mother is the one to thank for how well Trinity’s turned out.”
His voice carried the guilt he couldn’t quite hide. All those deployments. All those missed moments. All the ways he’d failed to be the father Trinity deserved.
Jane stopped walking. Actually stopped and turned to look at him directly, her expression serious.
“You’re here now for Christmas. Trinity knows you love her. That’s everything.” Jane’s voice held a thread of admiration, and her eyes flashed with a moment of pain. “We need to collect every one of those special moments and keep them with us. We never know what tomorrow has in store for us.”
Something shifted between them in that moment. Understanding that went deeper than words. The recognition that they were both carrying their own guilt and grief, both trying to be better than they thought they were.
The moment passed, and they continued walking. The inn was coming into view. The beautiful historic building had somehow become a refuge for so many people seeking healing.
When they reached the entrance, Jane turned to him. She was still carrying his terrible painting along with her beautiful one.
“Keep it,” she said, handing him the canvas.
Gabe started to protest. “Oh no… maybe paint over it?”
“The first time you make a pancake, it usually always burns,” Jane said with a smile. “But you eat it anyway.”
She held out the painting until he took it, balancing it awkwardly against his side while managing the crutches.
“Thank you,” Gabe said, meaning more than just the painting. Meaning the peaceful morning, the quiet companionship, the moment of respite from his own thoughts.
Jane nodded, understanding in her eyes. “See you at breakfast?”
“Yeah. See you at breakfast.” Gabe nodded.
Jane disappeared into the inn, leaving Gabe standing there watching her go, holding his terrible painting of a sunrise.
He looked at it and sighed. The uneven strokes, the muddy colors, the amateurish attempt at capturing something beautiful. It was awful.
But it was also something else. Something that felt like a new beginning. Like hope emerging from darkness. Like maybe healing didn’t have to look perfect. It just had to be honest.
Gabe stood there holding this imperfect painting that represented possibility. The possibility of moving forward. Of opening up. Of daring to try something new.
The painting was terrible. But it was also precious. It was a new beginning.
Gabe tucked the painting carefully under his arm and made his way inside, already looking forward to breakfast.
Already looking forward to seeing Jane again.