The last entry had been made on the sales spreadsheet Olivia had made for the gallery when Mira and Tony left. They were both amazing artists, but bookkeepers they were not. As an artist herself—well, sort of—it wasn’t Opal’s cup of tea, either, so her father’s experience as a store owner and Olivia’s as an accountant had come in handy.

They had things in order now, but there was still data entry to be done, and Opal had been focused on it all morning.

Her eyes closed, she stretched her arms to the ceiling and rotated her shoulders.

“Hello,” a male voice said and her eyes popped open. Bernard stood in front of her—how had she missed the bell on the door?

“Oh, hello,” she replied as she stood from the stool she’d been sitting on. “I think we’re all ready for you. I’ll go check.”

“Thank you,” he said as he started to wander the gallery, his hands behind his back. He stopped at several of Tony’s paintings of the majestic landscape surrounding River’s End Ranch and even whistled at one.

Opal peeked in the back as her dad was rolling the oversized photographs and placing them in a cardboard tube. “You all set?” she asked.

“Just another second while I write out the pricing sheet.”

Opal turned back into the gallery and her stomach jumped when Bernard stood in front of one of her earliest efforts—a dramatic, black and white photograph of the entire River’s End Ranch valley, just at dawn.

“Wow,” he whispered as he stepped closer and squinted. “This is really something else.”

“It is, isn’t it?” her father said as he rounded the corner, the tube of photographs under his arm. “She’s quite a photographer.”

Bernard squinted and looked down at the lower right-hand corner of the photographs. “It’s not signed.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t get her to, no matter how much I try,” Allen said as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Opal.

The heat in her cheeks bloomed outright now as she glared at her dad. She’d wanted to just be anonymous, and had purposefully decided not to sign the photographs. They weren’t very good, anyway, and she had hung them in the gallery just to humor her father. Well, and Mira and Tony who’d asked her to also.

Bernard stopped in his tracks as he walked back to the counter. He looked from Allen to Opal. “You?”

“Yes, her,” Allen said with a wide smile. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“They sure are,” he said slowly as his eyes met Opal’s.

She reached for the tube in her father’s hand and held it out to Bernard, hoping to change the conversation. She looked at the price sheet her father handed her.

“Here you go. Twenty over-sized prints will be—”

He handed her a credit card and said, “You really should sign them. They’re spectacular. You have a unique way of capturing light and shadow. Like Ansel Adams.”

He rested the tube of photographs under his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“She really does, doesn’t she?” Allen said, the proud father in him now on full throttle. “She can take pictures of anything. Look, this is a picture of my daughter’s wedding—Olivia, you met her—that Opal took. The pictures were all great.”

He shoved a framed photograph at Bernard and he smiled and nodded, politely looking at the pictures of her sister’s wedding. Her father went on to show him several more, and he politely nodded at each one. When her father handed him the last, he reached for it and cocked his head as well as the angle of the photograph and looked at it a bit longer. He smiled at Opal and handed the picture back to her father.

“Very lovely. Great composition,” he said finally with a glance at Opal, and she knew he was just humoring her father.

Olivia hoped the floor would open up and swallow her as she slid Bernard’s credit card through the machine. As she waited for it to clear, she read the bottom of the card—he was with the production company that was filming the TV show, it looked like.

There hadn’t been a formal announcement from the Westons, but news traveled pretty fast. None of the staff knew any details, but they did know that there was something exciting coming—and apparently Bernard was part of it. Part of her wanted to ask, but the bigger part of her knew she shouldn’t. When Wade wanted everybody to know, he’d tell them. So far, everybody had tried to keep the gossip at a minimum. They’d find out when the time was right.

As her father babbled to Bernard in the corner of the gallery—apparently showing him every one of her prints—the phone rang, and Opal looked at the clock. It was noon, and she’d forgotten to call Kelsi with their lunch order.

“Hi, Kelsi,” she said as she picked up the gallery’s phone.

“Hi, Opal. You guys want your usual lunch order?”

“I’m sorry I forgot to call, and yes. One of us will be there to pick it up in a little bit. Thanks for remembering.”

“No problem,” Kelsi said. “I needed to take a sit-down break anyway. My feet are screaming at me.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. But thank you. See you in a bit.”

Opal hung up the phone and said, “All set here, Bernard.” The sooner she interrupted his conversation with her dad, the better. She knew from experience that he could go on for hours if she didn’t step in, and that was when the conversation wasn’t about her or Olivia. When it was, it could be brutally long.

“Thanks,” Bernard said as he crossed over to the counter and signed the credit card receipt. As he bent down, Opal noticed that his wavy hair just crossed the collar of his plaid jacket, and when he stood and smiled, she was struck once again by the color of his eyes—like fall leaves turning, or new leaves in spring.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re with the production company,” she said, feeling like she was prying a little. It wasn’t her way to be nosy. If people wanted to talk about it, fine—but she wasn’t nearly as chatty as her father.

“Oh, really?” her father asked as he crossed back behind the counter. “That sounds like fun. We’re hearing talk of a TV show here but nobody really knows for sure.”

“Oh, no? My understanding is that it’s a done deal. At least I’m presuming it is, and I’ve signed a contract to film the pilot. There was no clause about keeping it confidential.”

Opal wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “You? Filming the pilot?” She couldn’t imagine what a job like that would be like, to be paid to take pictures—well, movies. She was fascinated, and realized that her mouth had fallen open.

He held his hat in his hand and looked down at his boots.

“Yes, me,” he said with a laugh—one that was sincere and humble.

“Wow, that sounds pretty exciting. Doesn’t it, Opal?” Allen said as he nudged Opal with his elbow.

“Yes, very,” she said slowly, unable to imagine how exciting it would be but at the same time, knowing it would be an awesome job.

“We start filming in a few weeks. They’re just getting ready to start casting. The actors will be here in a couple of weeks. I’ve spent my time getting ready, planning and blocking shots and angles.”

“That sounds like it would be fascinating, doesn’t it, Opal?” her father said and Opal wished again for a tsunami or earthquake...anything to change the conversation that seemed to be—from her father’s standpoint, anyway—centered on her rather than on the TV show.

“Yes, absolutely,” she said. “Dad, Kelsi called and lunch is ready.”

“Oh. I have a few more prints to make. Would you mind picking it up?” Allen asked as he glanced in the back room. He handed her a twenty-dollar bill, and she usually argued, but today, she’d let him pay for all the blushing he’d caused her.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” she said as she shrugged on her coat and gloves, and without thinking grabbed her camera.

“Thanks for getting your prints made here, Bernard,” her dad said as he turned toward the back. “Very nice to meet you.”

“You’re welcome, sir. My pleasure. And it was very nice to meet you, as well,” Bernard said as he waved at her dad and held the door open for her.

She smiled up at him as they stepped outside, and couldn’t wait to walk away as fast as she could and forget about the parental humiliation she’d just lived through.