Page 89 of Unforgettable
Blythe smiled, her hand resting lightly along the frame.
“I told you,” she said softly.
Randi felt the warmth rise in her chest, unfamiliar and grounding all at once.
“It’s not perfect,” she said, almost out of habit.
Brew had been quiet through all of it.
When she looked at him, his gaze was already on her.
He didn’t step forward.
Didn’t analyze the painting the way the others had.
He simply looked at her, something unmistakable in his expression.
“It is,” he said.
Not the painting.
Her.
And she felt it.
Dinner came early that evening.
Not rushed, but unspoken in its timing, as if everyone understood that something had shifted and wanted to hold onto it just a little longer. The conversation was easy, laughter returning in gentle waves, the kind that didn’t demand attention but filled the space naturally.
Randi found herself listening more than speaking, watching the way they moved with one another—years of familiarity, of shared life, woven into every glance and passing comment.
It wasn’t something she had known.
But it was something she felt.
Later, when the dishes were cleared and the house had quieted, Brew found her on the porch.
The sky had opened into something vast and endless; thestars scattered across it in a way that felt almost unreal.
“You always come out here?” she asked.
“When I’m home,” he said.
She leaned lightly against the railing, her gaze lifted.
“It makes everything else feel… smaller.”
“Or clearer,” he said.
She smiled faintly.
“That too.”
For a while, they stood without speaking.
The night wrapped around them, soft and steady.
“About what happens when we leave here…” she began, then hesitated.
