Page 123 of Sunrise & Serenity

The men drift in and out of the kitchen as the afternoon passes, sometimes sitting for a few minutes, sometimes just glancing over our shoulders. At one stage, Holden places a cup of coffee in front of me, his hand skimming my back. The brief contact sends awareness flickering through me.

River picks up a picture and snorts. “Oh man. Chance is gonna hate this one.”

“Ooh, what is it?” Taryn leans over the table.

He flips the photo over. Teenage Chance is soaked from head to toe, standing beside a broken water trough while Holden and Quinn are bent over in laughter in the background. Even Holden chuckles at that one.

Harrison joins us later, and once we explain what we’re doing, he dives in enthusiastically. He provides far more context for the older photos than Taryn has been able to offer.

Not long after that, a sepia photo with faded edges catches my eye. A young, dark-haired woman stands in front of a building I don’t recognize, cradling a swaddled baby. She’s beautiful, but the sadness in her eyes tugs at my heart.

By now, I’ve become familiar with the faces of generations of McBrides who’ve lived at Wild Ember, but I don’t recognize her. I turn the photo over, noting the cursive label. Ellie and son. “Huh,” I murmur.

Taryn glances up. “What?”

I hold up the picture. “Do you know who this is?”

She takes the photo from me and studies it before turning it over to read the back. She shakes her head. “Dad, who’s Ellie?”

Harrison takes the picture next, frowning down at it. “I don’t know any Ellies. Could’ve belonged to one of the old ranch hands, I suppose.”

He hands it back to me, and I inspect it again. “Why would it have been packed away with the family photos?”

Before he can respond, the back door creaks, and Holden and Sterling wander in.

Taryn takes the image and waves it over her head. “Either of you know of an Ellie who used to live here?”

Sterling takes it from her, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen her before.”

Holden, who’s looking over his brother’s shoulder, shrugs. “No idea.”

I take the photo back from Sterling, studying the woman one last time before adding it to the pile we’re keeping. I don’t know who Ellie was, but something about her sad eyes makes me reluctant to pack her away again.

I’m in the middle of sorting the remaining photos back into their boxes when my phone buzzes.

Absentmindedly, I pull it from my pocket. The second I see the email notification on the lock screen, I freeze, my breath stalling.

Milan Contemporary Arts Residency Program.

For a second, my brain can’t process the words. Then I tap the screen with a shaky hand, my pulse suddenly hammering in my throat.

Thank you for your submission⁠—

Distinctive body of work⁠—

Strong proposed project⁠—

We are pleased to inform you⁠—

My stomach flips. Oh my god. They’re offering me a place.

I sink into my chair. I’ve barely thought about the residency applications I submitted during my first week here. I hadn’t expected anything to come of it, not really. And then I got… distracted.

With a shake of my head, I reread the email. Then read it again.

Twelve months in Milan. Twelve months photographing alongside some of the world’s best contemporary artists. Gallery exposure. Publications. Industry connections most photographers would die for.

Connections I’d earn all on my own.