Page 56 of Breaking Through

"Really? Theo says Holden's work has evolved more in the past few months than most artists have managed in years. Something about how love makes you see familiar things with new eyes."

Sarah began unpacking more baked goods. "Which is why Rafe also sent these."

She produced miniature art canvases made of shortbread, each decorated with edible watercolors in familiar patterns. I recognized several of Holden's Polaroid compositions—the lighthouse at dawn, the storm shelter entrance, and me emerging from misty waters.

"He's been practicing food painting for weeks." Sarah arranged them carefully. If we're celebrating Holden's success, we should honor what inspired it. Even the parts that try to hide from attention."

I picked up one of the cookie canvases. The detail was incredible—somehow, Rafe had captured how Holden framed his morning shots, finding beauty in ordinary moments.

"You know what else Theo said?" Sarah perched on my kitchen stool, helping herself to coffee. "He said watching you let Holden photograph you—really photograph you, not just surface shots—taught him something about artistic trust. About letting someone see past your walls."

"Sarah—"

"Oh, hush. Let me have my romantic moment." She bit into a muffin, platinum dust sparkling on her lips. "I've got money riding on you two in the coffee shop betting pool."

"You're betting on us?"

"Honey, this whole town's invested in your love story. The bets are our way of making it official." She brushed crumbs from her hands. "Though between you and me, you've already won us all over. Especially with this." She tapped my program notes. "It's perfect—using art the way Holden used it with you. Helping others find their way back."

"How did you know?"

"Maya said it didn't take long to figure it out."

I studied the shortbread paintings, each one capturing how Holden saw me. They were not broken or scarred but worth preserving. "Do you think it could work?"

Sarah spoke carefully. "I think that you're living proof it already does." She stood, brushing off crumbs. "Sometimes the best therapy is showing others it's possible to be loved as you are."

She gathered her basket and paused by the door. "Oh, and Wade? The actual celebration pastries will be even better. These are merely practice runs."

After she left, I sat surrounded by edible art and the lingering scent of cardamom. I picked up another shortbread canvas. Thisone showed me at Eagle Point, teaching Maya's nature class. Rafe had somehow captured the exact moment Holden always waited for—when I forgot about my scars and just existed in the joy of sharing what I loved.

It's kind of like now.

I reached for my phone to text Holden, then stopped. Some things needed sharing in person, over fresh coffee and pastries that sparkled like the future we were building.

Instead, I texted Sarah:

Tell Rafe he's a genius. But if he puts platinum dust in the actual celebration batch, I'm filing a ranger incident report.

Her reply came instantly:

It's too late. He's already ordered five pounds of edible gold leaf, and he says Holden's art deserves nothing less.

I laughed out loud, the sound echoing off my cabin walls. Three years ago, I'd chosen Blue Harbor as a place to hide. Instead, it had become the place where I finally found myself and could put together plans to help others do the same.

Chapter seventeen

Holden

The early November sunrise painted Lake Michigan in shades I'd never captured before—coral bleeding into amber with hints of something darker beneath, like my own tangled emotions about everything changing at once. My fingers trembled slightly on the Polaroid as I tried to frame the shot.

"You're up early." Wade's voice carried across the otherwise empty beach, making me jump. He wore his ranger uniform and carried two Little Blue Bean cups, steam curling into the crisp air. "Sarah insisted I deliver these. Something about fueling artistic genius.'"

I lowered the camera without taking the shot. "Did she tell you about—"

"The magazine? Parker filled me in." He handed me one of the cups. The warmth seeped through my cold fingers, and the scents of vanilla and cardamom wrapped around me like a hug. "Though knowing Sarah, she's probably already planning some kind of celebration involving experimental pastries."

"Rafe mentioned something about edible platinum dust." I tried to smile, but it felt wobbly. "Which seems excessive for a few Polaroids of park trails and morning mist."

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