Chapter Twenty
“WHY IS IT SO brIGHT TODAY?” I MOAN, SHIELDING MY EYES.
“As soon as a table with an umbrella opens up, we’re moving over,” Dawn says, glancing around and fanning herself with her straw hat. It’s noon, and we’re sitting on the edge of the bay at Queen Conch. I stab the ice in my drink with my straw.
“You’re being weird,” she says.
“I’m always weird.”
“Not like this.” She sets her hat down. “Talk.”
I focus on my conch salad, pretending to rearrange it in the bowl. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Dawn snorts. “Okay, well I guess I hallucinated you last night at The Narrows.”
My throat tightens. “Dawn.”
“No,” she says, leaning in, elbows on the table. “Listen. I love you. But you cannot stand there on the dance floor staring at Jack like you were watching Lazy Daisy burn down and then sit here and act like everything is normal.”
I freeze, my fork hovering in midair.
Dawn continues, determined. “I mean, Noah had you on the dance floor. But Jack had your attention. And every single person in that room knew it. Including Noah”
My pulse races. “I wasn’t…”
“You were,” she says gently. “And you know what else I saw? Jack watching you right back and trying to convince himself not to wade through the crowd.”
My breath catches. “He wasn’t.”
“He was,” Dawn says. “It was the kind of look that makes you want to cover your eyes because you’re intruding on something private.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I look down at my lap, avoiding Dawn’s eyes.
“And then,” Dawn continues, sipping her water and leaning back, “Noah put his hand on your back, and I swear I felt Jack’s heart crack from across the lawn.”
I wince. “Stop.”
“What?” she says. “Someone has to tell the truth. You didn’t look torn. You looked…gutted.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”
“I know,” she says softly. “But that’s exactly what’s happening.”
“I think I’m still very much in love with Jack.”
“I know.”
A long, quiet beat hangs between us. Silverware clatters at another table. Someone laughs somewhere behind me.
I push my sunglasses higher on my nose. “The art show is this weekend. What I need to do is just focus on wrapping up my final piece today.”
“Oh okay, we’re changing the subject. I guess I’ll go with it. For now.” Dawn sticks her tongue out at me. “Because I am dying to see it all come together. And to explore Graham Vale’s house, of course.”
“Of course,” I smile. “I need to have everything over to the gallery tomorrow morning for framing.”
“It’s going to be great, Luce. I’m so proud of you,” Dawn says, reaching over and squeezing my hand.
“Thanks Dawn.” I feel good about this collection, maybe the best I’ve ever felt about my work. It came from somewhere real. It’s not just about the island. It’s about everything that’s unfolded on it. Maybe it’s Lazy Daisy. Maybe Gran’s somehow nudging me gently toward the truth.
LATER THAT NIGHT THE HOUSE IS QUIET EXCEPT FOR THE LOW roll of the waves outside and the soft scrape of my palette knife against canvas. I’m tapping my foot in concentration, wearing an old, oversized linen button-down covered in paint smudges.
This is the last piece. I’ve struggled with it the most, but it finally unfolded today.
Maybe it was lunch with Dawn and being honest about my feelings for Jack.
But I finally found the line. The palette is all soft golds and coral pinks, layered with streaks of that moody violet I keep reaching for. There’s a heartbeat to it now.
I’m so deep in it I almost don’t hear the knock. Three light taps then a pause.
I wipe my hands on a towel and pad down the stairs. When I open the door, Jack is standing there, hair damp from a shower. I can smell his shampoo. He’s wearing a soft green T-shirt and holding a small, wrapped bundle in a dish towel.
“Hey,” he says, an apology flashing across his face. “Sorry it’s late.”
I smile, pure happiness soaring through me at his unexpected presence. “Everything okay?”
He lifts his hands slightly. “My mom was cleaning out one of the kitchen cabinets and found this tucked behind the canisters. She thought it must’ve been your grandmother’s. There’s a little tag on the bottom that says ‘Margaret.’”
He holds it out, and I take it carefully, unwrapping the towel to find a small ceramic sugar jar. Pale pink with a tiny floral handle. I recognize it immediately.
“Wow, I haven’t seen this in years,” I say quietly. “She used to stick handwritten notes in it. Like fortune cookies, but sassier.”
Jack tilts his head with a little laugh. “Sassy how?”
I smile, remembering. “One of them said ‘The prettiest shells are often empty inside.’”
He laughs. “That’s not always true.”
“She had some hot takes.” My cheeks heat as I smile down at the jar.
Jack smirks. “And she was rarely wrong.”
I look back up at him. It’s just us again. No parties. No other people.
“Well…thanks. For bringing it back.”
He shrugs, brushing it off. “Happy to.”
He doesn’t move to leave.
I rest the jar on the entry table. “I was just finishing my last piece for the show.”
His eyes light up. “Cutting it close, aren’t you?”
“Very,” I smirk. “Helen wants everything at the gallery by nine tomorrow morning so she can get them framed in time before hanging them at Graham’s.”
“Need any help?”
I wave vaguely in the direction of the Jolly. “It should just take a couple trips.”
Jack nods. “That’s one way to do it.”
A beat stretches out, charged, and before I can stop myself, the question slips out.
“So…who was that girl at the party last night?”
Jack’s head jerks up, a look of confusion on his face. “Who?”
“The girl with you,” I say, aiming for breezy and failing. “Tall. Green dress. Looked like she stepped out of a Bond movie.”
He blinks then lets out a breath that sounds almost like disbelief. “Oh. No.” He shifts his weight, something softening in his expression. “Thomas knows her somehow. I just met her.”
“Right,” I say lightly, though my pulse is pounding. “She just didn’t look familiar.”
Jack studies me and says, very quietly, “Did it bother you?”
My throat tightens instantly. “I just…no. I was just curious.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Then, “Because I hated seeing someone else beside you.”
The world tilts. I feel it. In my ribs. In my breath. Everywhere. Before I can think better of it, the admission tumbles out of me in a whisper I barely recognize as my own.
“I hated it, too.”
Jack inhales sharply. That’s all it takes to shift the air between us, suddenly thick, close, and electric. He steps in slightly, not touching me, but near enough that I feel his body heat.
His voice drops. “You’re the only one I want beside me, Luce.”
It hits me like a wave and suddenly I’m breathless. I want him so much that it feels dangerous. My knees feel unreliable. My brain is a scrambled mess of what if and not yet and oh God, is this real.
I take a small step back to steady myself.
“Jack…” My voice fails me for a second. I swallow. “That…means a lot. More than I know what to do with right now.”
He freezes, brows pulling together.
I shake my head quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just,” I exhale shakily. “My head’s still a mess with this show. Let me catch up to myself before I say something I’m not ready to say.”
Jack nods, slow and understanding. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He gives me the gentlest smile, and it almost has me biting back my words and pulling him into me. But then clears his throat.
“Well.” He gestures toward his house. “I should let you finish up.”
“Oh,” I say, startled by how disappointed I suddenly feel. “Right. Yes. I should…get back to it.”
“Good night, Luce,” he says.
“Night, Jack,” I manage.