The humid air made my shirt cling to my back. It was warm for October, but I reckoned that was just Charlotte for you. The fact that I couldn’t seem to stop pacing didn’t help much, either.

I was outside in a staging area near the central courtyard where we’d installed my piece this morning. She’d arrived safely from Bootleg Springs—not a scratch on her. They’d unloaded her fine, and I’d put on the finishing touches, securing her to the metal base where she’d live out her days.

I didn’t think I’d ever been more proud of a piece of art than I was of my angel. She looked magnificent—perfectly proportioned. Soft, organic lines. She looked like she ought to be breathing.

My client, a man by the name of Everett Davis, had come to see her around the time I’d finished up her installation. At first, I hadn’t been sure what to make of his reaction. He’d stood stock still, just looking at her. His mouth had parted, and after standing a while, he’d walked slow circles around her. When he’d finally spoken to me, he’d seemed to have trouble deciding what to say. All he’d managed was, it’s beautiful.

I took that to mean he was pleased. Hoped so, at least.

“Jameson!” Deanna power-walked her way past security, wearing a flowing black shirt and wide-legged slacks. Her dark hair had streaks of silver, and it was pulled back in sleek ponytail. She took off her sunglasses. “Oh my god, Bodine. Mr. Davis is basically in love with you right now.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“He loves the piece so much, you left him speechless.”

“I reckon he didn’t say much.”

She laughed. “You have outdone yourself. Even after seeing pictures, she absolutely blew me away. I knew you were good, but this… Jameson, the piece is stunning.”

I gave her a polite nod. Would have tipped my hat, had I been wearing one. “Thank you, Dee.”

“I hope you’re ready to get back to work,” she said. “Hits to your website are up by a thousand percent. I’m not kidding. I’ve had inquiries from all over the country. You’re about to be more in demand than you thought possible.”

“Wow… that’s great news.”

“I hope you’re excited under that humble exterior of yours,” she said with a smile. “Your career is taking off.”

“I’m just a little overwhelmed is all.”

“God, you’re adorable. Too bad you’re taken. My niece is here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced away. “Yeah… um, thanks, Dee.”

“Where is she, by the way?” Dee asked. “No Leah Larkin after all?”

“Um, no.”

“Is everything all right?”

I cleared my throat. “She couldn’t make it. Is there water around here anywhere? I’m hotter than a sinner in church.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, just point me in the right direction, and I’ll fetch some myself. Don’t need you going to any trouble.”

She stared at me a moment, a strange look on her face. I was about to ask her what she was looking at, but she finally answered. “If you go in through the main lobby doors, there’s a big table with bottled waters.”

I nodded again. “Thanks.”

The lobby was blissfully cool, the air conditioning in the brand-new building working like magic. I grabbed a water and took a few sips. We were starting soon, so I didn’t linger. I grabbed another bottle in case Dee was thirsty and went back outside.

People meandered around the courtyard, checking out the new building, but my sculpture was covered. A platform stood next to it with a podium, microphone, and big speakers. A man was up there—seemed to be checking the wiring.

I headed back toward the staging area, but something—or rather someone—caught my eye. I had to do a double, then a triple-take. Was that Gibson?

He stood near the covered sculpture, his arms crossed, sunglasses on his face. I stopped and stared at him. Was I seeing things? He seemed to notice me and sauntered over. It was indeed my brother.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I asked. Maybe not the nicest thing I could have said, but I wouldn’t have been more surprised if my dead father had been standing there.

“You should have told us about this,” Gibson said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Told you?” I asked. “Why?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked. “This is a big deal.”

“What, my sculpture?”

Gibson shook his head, then swiped his glasses off. “Yes, your sculpture. Jesus, Jame. Are you serious? This is one of those you’ve made it moments. Don’t you get that?”

“I reckon.”

“You reckon,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, most people aren’t good enough to make a living the way you do. Or brave enough to take the risk to try.”

I stared at him, dumbstruck. It was hands down the nicest thing Gibson had ever said to me. Maybe the nicest thing he’d ever said to anyone—that I knew about, at least.

“Thanks.”

“If you’d said something, we all would have been here. I came down ’cause…” He trailed off and looked away, clearing his throat. “Because I wanted to make sure you weren’t here alone.”

I looked down at the ground, feeling a bit choked up. Those weren’t tears stinging my eyes. Just a little breeze stirring up something in the air. “That was good of you.”

“I, uh…” Gibson paused again. Seemed like he was having some trouble figuring out what to say. “I was here this morning and saw your sculpture before they covered it up. It’s, um… it’s real good.”

“Thanks, Gibs.”

He put his sunglasses back on. “Yeah. All right, don’t think about all the people and shit. Just be proud of your work. You earned this.”

I nodded and he punched me in the arm before walking away. And just like that, the Bodine brothers were good again.

Dee found me again while I was still a bit dumbstruck over seeing Gibson.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “They’re almost ready to start.”

“Yeah, fine. Water?”

She took the bottle. “Thanks. We’ll wait over here.”

I followed her to the platform where a few people, including Mr. Davis, had gathered. He shook my hand again and said how much he appreciated me being here. I just tried not to think about all the people congregating in front of the platform. One second, it looked like just a handful; the next it was getting downright crowded. Someone had obviously signaled that things were about to begin, and the crowd in front of me swelled.

My heart beat hard in my chest, but I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. I could do this.

We all stepped up onto the platform, and a man I didn’t know started in on a long introduction, talking about Everett Davis. He had an impressive list of accomplishments leading up to opening the beautiful building behind me.

Mr. Davis took the microphone and said a few words, mostly thanking people. Talked about his vision, and his hopes for the future. He was a good speaker—held the crowd’s attention quite well.

“Now for the moment I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “When I discovered the artwork of the young man standing next to me, to say I was impressed would be a vast understatement. I understand architecture and design, but Jameson Bodine understands beauty. I was fortunate enough to commission a piece from him, and I have to say, it blew all my expectations out of the water. And they were high expectations.”

He signaled for the sculpture to be uncovered. I watched, my heart hammering, palms sweating, as two men pulled the canvas sheet down.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a low murmur of sound as people reacted to her.

“It’s my great pleasure to introduce you to the artist of this remarkable piece, Jameson Bodine.”

The crowd applauded, and Mr. Davis gestured for me to take his place behind the podium.

I swallowed hard and blew out a quick breath. My stomach was queasy, but I squared my shoulders and stepped up to the microphone.

And then I saw her.

Leah Mae moved closer to the platform, slipping her way through the crowd of onlookers. Her hair was in a loose braid, hanging over one shoulder. She wore a pretty yellow dress with a chunky turquoise necklace and her favorite cowboy boots.

She smiled and winked, then tugged on her ear twice. Our signal. She’d done that for me back when we were kids, anytime the teacher made me get up in front of the class. I’d focused all my attention on her, forgetting anyone else was looking at me.

I grinned back at her, doing the same thing now.

“Hi,” I said, and the speaker cracked. I turned to the side and cleared my throat. “I’m Jameson Bodine of Bootleg Springs, West Virginia. I have to admit, speaking in public is not my biggest strength. I tend to prefer to stay behind the scenes and let my work speak for me.”

I paused and glanced over at my sculpture. I hadn’t planned to say much, but I looked back at Leah Mae, and the words poured out.

“I’d planned to make something different. But after seeing something on TV, this image came into my head. It was a woman. Someone I used to know. And she’d always been happy and smiling with a light in her eyes like summer sun glinting off the still waters of a mountain lake. But this time, when I saw her, the light was gone. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked like an angel to me. But not an angel who was free to fly. Like a caged animal in an old-fashioned circus, being made to do tricks.

“So, I took a chance and followed my vision. I’d never created anything quite like her before, and truth be told, I wasn’t sure I was capable. But I guess when a man is as inspired as I was, there’s not much that can keep him from seeing it through. In any case, I’m glad y’all like it. It means the world to me.”

Stepping back, I nodded, and the crowd erupted with applause. But I hardly noticed they were there. All I could see was Leah Mae. Her wide smile. Her eyes shining with tears.

Mr. Davis shook my hand again and stepped up to the microphone. I wasn’t too sure what else was said. A few more words, a few more people to thank. Then we stood for photos, and after what seemed like an eternity in the fires of hell, I was finally free.

Leah Mae waited near the sculpture, her head upturned. She looked toward me as I approached her. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Run up and scoop her into my arms? Kiss her? Walk slowly so I didn’t scare her off?

“Hi,” she said.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and nibbled on her bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me.”

“Oh darlin’.” I stepped closer. “I want you more than anything in this world.”

I stopped thinking about what I was supposed to do—how to do this right—and grabbed her, pulling her against me. She melted in my arms, her body soft. I kissed her hair and breathed her in—held her tight.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice quiet in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” She pulled back so she could look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry for how I acted in L.A. And I need you to know, nothing happened with me and Brock. I promise.”

“I know.” I caressed her cheek. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It wasn’t fair of me to assume you’d know the truth when I didn’t tell you.”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She let her nose rub gently against mine. “I guess… sometimes we let go with the person we love the most because we know they’re safe. We know they’re going to love us anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right about that,” I said. “I don’t want to live that way, though.”

“We won’t,” she said, her lips drawing closer to mine. “All we can do is our best. And when things are hard, we work it out.”

“You make it sound awfully easy.”

“Simple, but not easy,” she said. “But you’re a good man, Jameson Bodine. One of the best I’ve ever known.”

“I love you like crazy, Leah Mae Larkin.”

“Just tell me I’m still your girl.”

I cupped her cheek and looked into her bright green eyes. “You’re still my girl.”

Our lips came together and I nearly shuddered with relief. Without a care for who was watching, I kissed my girl. Kissed her until we were both breathless and had to come up for air. Then I kissed her some more.

She giggled as I kissed her sweet lips a few more times. Finally, I stepped back, just enough so we weren’t quite so obscene.

Leah Mae looked up at my sculpture. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I feel silly even asking, but… is that me?”

I smiled. She had known. That first time she’d visited my shop, I’d dismissed the look she’d had in her eyes—figured it hadn’t meant anything. But I’d seen it, and deep down, I’d known. We’d both known this was her.

“She is.”

She touched her fingers to her lips and her eyes glistened. “You added more since I last saw her.”

I nodded. “Pulled an all-nighter to finish.”

“But… whose hands are they?”

I’d crafted two hands reaching up, as if from below—hands intent on rescuing her. One gripped a bar, like he was hoisting himself up. The other held a key.

“I reckon they’re mine.”

A tear trailed down her cheek and I swiped it away with my thumb.

“You did set me free,” she said. “You, and Bootleg Springs.”

“Bootleg has a way of doing that,” I said. “I guess it has the right sort of magic.”

“It most certainly does. And so do you.”