Page 26 of Breaking Through

Wade leaned forward, his fingers hovering over a remarkably detailed page. "These are incredible. Look at how she layered the colors here." His voice softened with genuine appreciation. "She understood light like few artists do."

The rough pad of his index finger traced the air above Gran's sketches, and my skin prickled, remembering the grip of those hands on my waist. The chair's arms were smooth under my white-knuckled grip.

"Speaking of understanding light..." I grinned. "Want to hear how I ruined Parker's favorite whiteboard?"

The story spilled out—how I'd been so lost in thoughts of our kiss that I'd grabbed permanent markers instead of dry-erase ones. By the time I described Parker's face when he realized what had happened, Wade's lips curved into a genuine smile. It transformed his whole face, softening the usually stern lines.

"You should do that more often," I said without thinking.

"What, follow your example and ruin office supplies?"

"Smile. It suits you."

Wade's eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might press closer and kiss me again. Instead, he cleared his throat and looked down at Gran's journals.

"These notes about water damage prevention..." His voice was rougher than usual. "They could help us preserve what's left."

My phone chose that moment to buzz with an incoming video call—my parents' faces on the screen. I declined it, but it shattered the air of intimacy between us.

"I should go." I stood. "You can keep the journals for now. Study them properly."

Wade nodded, but his hand moved like he might reach for me before dropping back to his desk. "Tomorrow? For the formal shelter assessment?"

"Tomorrow."

The walk home was slow and deliberate. My mind replayed every moment—how Wade's eyes had lit up studying Gran's notes and the careful distance we'd maintained while wanting to be closer.

When I returned home, Grandpa was awake and looking better than he had in days. He sat in his usual chair by the window, but something about his posture was different—more alert, almost mischievous.

"There's Blue Harbor's top photographer. You look different today. Lighter somehow."

I touched my cheeks, wondering if I was that obvious. "Just found some of Gran's old art supplies. They brought back good memories."

"Mhmm." He adjusted his oxygen tube with knowing eyes. "And I suppose those memories explain why you're practically floating?"

Heat crept up my neck. "What do you mean?"

"That blush tells me everything I need to know." He patted the arm of the chair next to his. "Come and sit. Tell your old grandfather what's got you glowing like one of Belle's sunset paintings."

I settled into the chair, the old leather creaking. "I found her restoration journals. They had all her notes about the shelter murals."

"Ah, yes. She worked on those for months." He stared into the distance, lost in his memories for a moment. "Some days, she'd come home covered in paint, babbling about how the light hit the waves just right. I'd never seen her so excited about a project." He reached over and squeezed my hand. "She had the same look you get when you've had a good day taking your morning photos."

"I wish..." My throat constricted. "I wish I'd asked her more about her work and really listened when she tried to tell me about it."

"Match." He shook his head. "She knew you were listening, even when you thought you weren't. That's how love works—it sinks in even when we're not paying attention." He studied my face. "Just like you're starting to understand pieces of her now, through sharing her art with someone who sees its value."

"Wade, he... he gets it, Grandpa. He has this way of—'

My phone's harsh buzz interrupted the moment. Mom's face appeared on the screen. She wore her FaceTime smile, already set in a way that meant she had news she thought was good but believed I wouldn't like.

"I should take this." Grandpa reached out and caught my wrist.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Remember what Belle used to say about timing?" His eyes crinkled. "Sometimes interruptions are the universe's way of letting us catch our breath before the next big wave."

"Since when did you get so philosophical?"

"Since my grandson started looking at a certain ranger like I used to look at your grandmother." He released my wrist with a gentle pat. "Go on. Take the call. But Holden?" He waited until I looked back into his eyes. "Don't let anyone else's waves knock you off course."

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