My little place, on the other hand, looked less like a residence and more like an artist’s studio. Clutter was everywhere—the best kind. Canvases leaned against the walls, brushes crowded mason jars, easels claimed every spare corner. Four of the five large Paradise Key commissions stood, finished, the bold blues and sunlit whites catching the morning light like waves breaking on the shore. One more to go.
I stopped in the doorway and just stared, pride swelling in my chest. They weren’t just good; they were my best work yet.
I hooked my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and restarted the rom-com audiobook I’d been listening to. A ridiculous meet-cute had me giggling as I tied on my apron. Twisting my hair into a knot, I laid out my brushes, each motion grounding me. Mixing paint, scraping the knife, blending until I found the perfect shade of ocean blue.
After weeks of painting to block out the fear, this was different. This was bliss. Freedom. Even the air felt lighter in here, carrying only the tang of turpentine and linseed instead of panic. And the ten grand I’d earn for the lot? That was another kind of freedom entirely—and a hell of a reason to get cracking on the last one.
I worked the palette knife over the board until the blue was exactly right—bright but layered, like sunlight hitting deep water. Satisfied, I loaded my brush and swept the first coat across the blank canvas. The narrator in my audiobook was bumbling through a disastrous blind date, and I laughed out loud as I laid down another stroke.
There was an easiness now—laughter came without guilt.
I was halfway through the base layer on the canvas when my phone buzzed against the counter.
I set the brush carefully across the jar rim, wiped my hands on my apron, and glanced at the screen, answering on speaker. “Hey, Faith. What’s up?”
Her voice was brisk, excitement vibrating under the words. “Baby’s coming—”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What? I thought she had at least a month left!”
“Yeah, well, I guess the baby didn’t agree. Corinne and Trouble are already on the road to Key West. Spence is driving, and Grandpa’s along too. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands. Coulter, Reef and Kai are all offshore but they’ll be down as soon as they can.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed heavy. Faith’s calm was like salve on my raw panic.
“Do you want to ride down with me? I can swing by in twenty.”
I looked around, half-confused. “Yes—absolutely. Just give me a minute to put things away and change.”
“Good. I’ll be there soon.” Faith paused, then added, dry as ever, “Don’t worry. I’ve got the Charger. We’ll make it in record time.”
That tugged a laugh out of me, tension easing. “Should I be scared?”
“Nah,” she said. “Only if you hate flying.”
Faith’s Charger purred like a beast when she pulled up out front. She leaned across the passenger seat, one hand on the wheel, the other pushing her sunglasses higher. “Hop in.”
I slid inside, tugging my seatbelt across. The engine rumbled as she gunned it out of the driveway, gravel spitting behind us.
I gripped the door handle as she peeled onto US-1, the speedometer climbing fast. “Remind me again why I agreed to ride with you?”
“Because I’m trained in tactical driving,” she smirked. “And I won’t get a ticket.”
I laughed, nerves easing a touch as the Charger settled into its growl. Still, I kept one hand braced on the door handle.
“So, how early is this baby?”
“Just a few weeks,” Faith said, eyes steady on the road.
“So that’s not bad? I mean, like, dangerous?” The words tumbled out fast, my worry showing.
Faith shot me a sideways glance, lips curving in a sweet bless your heart smile. “Nah. Due dates are loose estimates. Babies don’t have calendars.”
“True. I guess I don’t know much about them yet.” At twenty-five, none of my close friends had kids, so this was uncharted territory.
“I only know what I picked up from cousins and friends,” Faith said.
“Do you want kids?” I asked her.
“Maybe. I didn’t think I did. But now?” She grinned. “It’s a maybe.”
