Page 18 of Tides of Redemption
Words failed me. I wanted to say yes, to promise I’d stay no matter what. But if Mary Anne didn’t retire and she reclaimed the position as director, what would I do? “I want to stay here, in Seacliff Cove. With you,” I said finally. “But I don’t know how yet.”
“So, if you can’t stay, you’ll go back to Paris?” His voice was small, vulnerable in a way I’d rarely heard from him.
The question hung between us—the crux of our problem.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my need for honesty winning out over the temptation to make empty promises. “But I’m trying to find a way to stay. I just need more time.”
Mason nodded, a mixture of understanding and continued wariness in his expression. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said, despite his hurt. “But I need to protect myself until you know for sure. I can’t go through that pain again.”
The silent acknowledgment of our impasse settled between us. I understood his withdrawal now, but that understanding did nothing to bridge the gap. He had every right to protect himself. I had hurt him before, even if unintentionally. Why should he trust that I wouldn’t do it again?
Our lunch sat mostly uneaten as I prepared to leave. At the door, I turned back to him, needing to offer something, some assurance that mattered.
“Fontaine gave me a deadline. But I’ll keep you up to date on the situation,” I promised. “Whatever happens, I won’t disappear on you again. That’s one mistake I won’t repeat.”
It wasn’t everything, but it was something—a promise I knew I could keep, regardless of what happened with Mary Anneor the gallery. As Mason nodded in acknowledgment, I saw a small crack in the wall between us. It wasn’t forgiveness or reconciliation, but it was a start.
As I walked back to the gallery, the beautiful day seemed to mock my turmoil. I had nine days to figure out how to stay in Seacliff Cove, or I would lose Mason forever—this time with no one to blame but myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caleb
Sleep had been impossible after yesterday’s conversation with Mason. I’d been at the gallery since seven, even though we weren’t open. Though Mason and I had cleared the air somewhat, the distance between us remained. A chasm I didn’t know how to bridge.
Eight days. That was all I had left to give Fontaine an answer. The deadline loomed over everything, a countdown clock ticking in my mind.
I straightened a painting that didn’t need straightening and shifted a small bronze sculpture two inches to the left, then back again. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my heart lurched when I saw the name.Mary Anne.
“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Caleb! I’m back early. Joe caught a stomach bug, so we cut the trip short.” Her voice sounded cheerful despite the unfortunate end to her vacation. “Any chance you’re at the gallery today? We can talk.”
My pulse quickened. “Yes, I’m here now. When would you like to meet?”
“This afternoon? Around three? I need to unpack and catch up on some things first.”
“That’s perfect,” I said, already mentally rehearsing what I would say.
After hanging up, I paced the gallery, trying to channel my nervous energy into productivity. I dusted shelves that were already clean, adjusted lighting that was perfectly positioned, and drafted talking points on a notepad, only to cross them all out and start again.
The hours crawled by. At 2:45, I made a fresh pot of coffee, setting out Mary Anne’s favorite mug—the one with Monet’s water lilies. Small gestures mattered.
When the door opened with awhooshat precisely three o’clock, I nearly jumped. Mary Anne entered, tanned and relaxed in linen pants and a flowing tunic, looking every bit like someone who’d been enjoying Mexican beaches rather than running a business.
“Caleb,” she said, embracing me briefly. “The Beaumont exhibition looks wonderful. You’ve done great work.”
“Thank you. How was Mexico?” I asked and poured her coffee.
“Relaxing. The kind of place that makes you wonder why you work so hard.” She smiled, sinking into the chair behind the desk—her desk, though I’d been using it these past weeks. “Those beaches make retirement look awfully tempting.”
My heart skipped. An opening.
“Actually,” I said carefully, “I’d heard rumors about that. That you might be considering retirement.”
Mary Anne sipped her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “Rumors certainly travel fast in Seacliff Cove.”
“Are they true?” I tried to sound casual, though I slipped my hands into my pockets to hide their tremors.
