Page 80 of Call It Serendipity

Turning back to Lucy, I watch her arch a brow. “Isn’t it best to just get it over with?”

The ringing continues to taunt me, bursting the perfect bubble of this evening. I reach for the phone and answer. “Dad, hey.”

“Jake, haven’t gotten a status update from you since you went back to that little town.”

“Well, there was a meeting tonight.”

Beside me, Lucy slurps in a noddle and I crack a smile. It turns out that her presence makes these calls significantly better. I relax back into the sofa until our bodies are pressed together in a line from shoulder to knee.

“A board meeting? Why would they have another one?” my father grumbles.

“Because Carpenter Collection is no longer the only bid entered on the property.”

The line goes eerily silent, and I imagine him sitting in his office growing red in the face. Finally, he speaks again. “How could you let this happen?”

“Excuse me.” I laugh drily. “What would you have liked me to do?”

“Focus on the matter at hand, for starters. What are you even doing with all your time there if you haven’t formed enough of a relationship with a board member to know this was coming?”

My fingers reach out to brush Lucy’s hair back over her shoulder then cup her jaw. She tips into my embrace with a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“I’ve been making excellent use of my time,” I assure him.

She smiles and I feel it in my chest.

“Apparently not,” he scoffs. “Maybe you need to get back to the office, and I should come handle things out there myself.”

“That won’t be necessary.” My voice dips an octave and my brow darkens. The last thing this town needs is Richard Carpenter in it.

“Find out who is responsible for this second bid or I will, Jacob.”

“Understood.”

I don’t tell him that I’ll have no trouble identifying this second bidder. I also don’t tell him I have no intention of stopping it.

45

Splashes of red iron oxide, burnt orange, raw sienna, and antique copper fill the canvas before me. It’s the third painting of four in my series, but also the one I’ve come back to time and time again in an attempt to catch the brilliant array of autumn hues in a bright day’s light.

The peak, if you will.

At least that’s what I expected this painting would be when I planned the series—exploring peak fall color, showing off against a cloudless blue sky. But looking at the four of them lined up together now, finished and on display in the bay window of my studio, I don’t think there is a peak work in the bunch.

Instead, they work together—better than I ever hoped they could.

“These are absolutely stunning, Lucy,” Claire’s voice praises from the doorway.

I turn down the radio and wave her in. “Thank you, can you believe that they’re done?”

“Completely done? Already?”

“Once I found my flow”—I shrug—“there was no stopping it.”

Claire crosses the room and throws her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so happy for you. Will you tell me about the series?”

My head falls against hers as we stand there, staring at the paintings together. “They depict the passage of time but specifically capture the change of seasons through light.” I point at the first one. “Morning light coming through the window inspired this one. It’s what started this all for me. It gives the appearance of fall on the horizon because the morning sun tints the dark green leaves.”

We turn our attention to the second painting. “The early signs of fall color illuminated by golden hour.” Then the third. “And this one is peak autumn foliage.”