The next day, I wake up and take a shower. I’ve wasted a month of my life drowning in grief over things I can’t change, and it’s time to take a step toward my future, even if I have no idea what it holds. I put on makeup, dress in jeans and a tank top, and leave my apartment before ten o’clock.

I’m going to get coffee and a beignet, and then I need to track down the Tahoe with my sculpture. I also need to get my Bronco back, although I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. It’s time to start reclaiming my life, no matter how much it hurts to think about all of those things.

On the way to the café, a prickle of unease creeps down my spine when I see a man in a baseball cap, dark glasses, and wearing all black duck into a doorway as I turn a corner and look behind me.

Am I being followed?

I rush home and slam the gate behind me with a clang before leaning against the brick and fishing out my phone. I start talking as soon as Keira answers with a cautious greeting.

“I need to talk to Mount. I need to know if they’re going to come after me, because I think I’m being followed.”

“Whoa. Whoa. What are you talking about?” My boss’s tone takes on a panicked edge. “Where are you?”

“I’m at my apartment, but I think someone was following me when I went for coffee this morning. I thought with Rafe gone they wouldn’t keep coming after me.”

“I’ll call him right now.”

Before she hangs up, I quickly add, “Can you ask him what happened to the Tahoe and my sculpture? I’d like that back. Actually, I need it delivered to Noble Art.”

Is it a lot to ask my boss? Yes. Do I care? No.

Do I have a death wish giving orders to Mount? Not exactly, but I also have nothing to lose. I won’t cower and be intimidated by him or anyone else, including whoever was following me. They can fuck off too. I refuse to live in fear.

That’s when I make the decision—I’m done hiding from the world. I’m going to live and live fearlessly.

“It’s good to have you back among the living, Temperance,” Keira says quietly before she hangs up.

It doesn’t take long before I get a text.

---

Keira: The Tahoe is on its way to the distillery. V will come get you.

Temperance: Thank you.

Keira: Your answers will be there too.

---

Finally. Ask and you shall receive. Magic.

With newfound determination, I prepare to get on with whatever comes next for me.

Thirty minutes later, I’m in a parking lot I haven’t stood in for over a month, staring up at the building that no longer feels like my second home. Shockingly, it’s not a lackey standing beside the Tahoe with the keys. It’s Mount.

He wastes no time getting to the point.

“With Rafe gone, you’re no longer a target. No one should be following you, but just in case, I’ll have someone continue to keep tabs on you.”

My gaze jerks to his in surprise. “Continue?”

He nods but doesn’t explain why he’s still having someone watch me. Instead, he cuts to the only thing he clearly cares about. “Don’t bring Keira into this again. If you need something, you call me. My number is on the card in the glove compartment.”

I give him a nod. “Okay.”

“The keys to your warehouse are in there too.”

“How did you know about the warehouse?” Shock permeates my tone.

Mount doesn’t answer, just turns away as another black car pulls up.

“Take care, Temperance.” He slips into the backseat and he’s gone.

I watch the car drive out of the fenced parking lot and release a long breath. As much as I want to go inside and give Keira a hug and thank her, I won’t. Mount doesn’t want me near her, and I can respect that.

Instead, I shoot her a quick text thanking her before checking the back of the Tahoe.

When I see my sculpture inside, my lips stretch into a genuine smile.

I have a long overdue delivery to make.

Valentina’s eyes light up when she steps back from the piece and stares at it. “It’s incredible. Truly, Temperance. Incredible.”

“I’m sorry I’m so late.”

She gives me a small smile. “I understand completely. I wasn’t going to rush you. I know you’ve been dealing with . . . well, I wasn’t going to rush you.”

The pity in her eyes unleashes a new wave of grief, but I keep my composure. Come hell or high water, I’m not going to cry for an hour.

Be happy, I remind myself. Or at least pretend.

Maybe if I pretend enough, I’ll finally get there. I’m not sure if happiness falls under the fake it till you make it category, but I’m going to try.

I force the corners of my lips upward. “Do you think someone will buy it?”

“Are you serious? I’ll have this sold before you drive away. People have been waiting. I shouldn’t tell you that, but it’s true. After sending a picture and dropping a few lines in the right places, I’ve been getting calls. I have at least five more buyers interested in large pieces—and they’re buyers who aren’t afraid to pay.”

“How much do you think?” It feels crass to ask, but I need to know.

She gives me a number that’s more than what I make at the distillery in several months.

“Really?”

“Yes. So, if you’re able to get back to work anytime soon . . .”

“I am,” I assure her. “I need to. It’ll be good for me.”

When I say the words, I realize just how true they are. Having tools in my hand and creating something would be the most therapeutic thing I could do right now. When I thought about burying myself in work before, I felt even more suffocated.

Because I was thinking of the wrong work.

Now that I’ve been forcibly served another reminder that life is short, there’s another item I need to think about adding to my list. And while it’s not as scary as the other one I refuse to put on paper, it’s still pretty terrifying.

Quit my job.

As much as it sears me with burning anger to admit it, Kane was right about one thing. Working at the distillery isn’t what I want to do with my life. It doesn’t fill me with joy.

Life is too short to be unhappy, and that includes showing up for work doing something I don’t love when I have the opportunity to get paid for my passion.

“Give me a list of everything you think your buyers would want, and I’ll get to work. I’ll deliver them as soon as they’re ready. No more screwing around and taking forever.”

“Temperance . . .” Valentina’s voice is soft. “You only need to do what you can. Don’t run yourself ragged just yet.”

Her eyes are kind and I know she’s genuinely concerned, but Mount’s speech kicked me in the ass. I’m done with self-pity. At least, I’m trying to be.

“This is the best thing for me right now. Please, let me do it.”

She studies me and finally nods. “Okay. I’ll put a list together and text it to you. Although . . .”

“What?”

Valentina stares at my skyline sculpture for a moment. “How would you feel about having a showing of your own? Not a massive one, but a dozen or so pieces. It’s the best way to launch you as an artist in the community, but I know that’s a lot to ask. It’s not like you can just magic these up.”

Her suggestion rocks me, but even in my shock, my first thought isn’t no. It’s how fast can I make twelve sculptures?

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course. It’s not purely altruistic, you realize. I’m making money on these too.”

“I know. You should be. I don’t know anyone who would buy these. And certainly not for more than I could make in a few months at my day job.”

Valentina shoots me another smile, and this one is devoid of any pity. “We got this, girl. You get to work, and I’ll start planning as soon as you can give me a ballpark date when you could be ready.”

For the first time in over a month, a different emotion bubbles up inside me.

Hope.