Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Your father was right about everything,” Dr. Mitchell said, glancing at me. “The coordinates, the authentication details—his documentation was impeccable.”
I thought about Dad’s note in the lockbox. Trust yourself. He’d hidden the clues, set me on the path, and trusted me to finish what he’d started.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Conservation assessment, then museum display. The Salvador Mundi site will receive protected status within the month.” She smiled. “Seacliff Haven is about to become historically significant.”
The Christmas Market auction that evening felt different than any before. My driftwood star sat on the central pedestal, returned by Chief Barnes that morning after being processed as evidence. The backing had been carefully resealed, the microfilm inside now copied and secured in official archives.
“Nervous?” Sid asked, appearing beside my booth.
“You keep asking me that.”
“You keep looking like the answer is yes.”
I laughed—something that had become easier around him over the past few days. “I’m not nervous. I’m . . . processing. A week ago, I was just trying to finish a craft project. Now I’m apparently the daughter of the man who discovered a historically significant shipwreck.”
“And the woman who caught an artifact smuggler, recovered stolen property, and ensured proper historical preservation.” Sid handed me a cup of hot chocolate. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
The auction proceeded briskly. When my star came up, Mayor Jenkins provided context—a carefully worded summary that hinted at the adventure without revealing details still under investigation. The bidding climbed quickly.
Dawson Morrow won with a bid that would fund the marine conservation projects for an entire year.
“For the lighthouse museum,” he told me afterward, handling the star with reverence. “It belongs alongside the Salvador Mundi exhibit. Samuel would have wanted that.”
“He would have wanted you two to stop fighting years ago,” I said.
Dawson’s weathered face creased with something between a smile and a wince. “Probably. I wasted a lot of time being stubborn. Your father tried to tell me that the discovery wasn’t about profit or credit—it was about preservation. Took me too long to listen.”
“But you did. Eventually.”
“Eventually.” He nodded toward where Sid was examining a display of driftwood ornaments. “Don’t make my mistake, Marnie. When something good is right in front of you, don’t waste years pretending it isn’t.”
Later, after the crowds thinned and the market lights cast long reflections across the harbor, Sid and I walked along the waterfront with Finn ranging ahead of us.
“Dawson made an interesting suggestion,” Sid said. “A collaboration. Your traditional approach, my contemporary techniques. For next year’s auction.”
“Did he now?”
“I told him it was a terrible idea. That we’d probably kill each other within a week.”
I stopped walking. “And?”
Sid turned to face me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “And then I thought about the past few days. How we actually work pretty well together when we’re not being competitive idiots.”
“Competitive idiots?”
“Mostly me,” he admitted. “I’ve spent five years trying to prove I belonged here, that my art was as valid as yours despite being different. Turns out I was competing against someone who never actually saw me as competition.”
“That’s not entirely true. I definitely saw you as competition.”
“But not as a threat. Not really.” He shook his head. “Your work comes from genuine connection to this place. Mine was always trying to achieve what you had naturally.”
Finn circled back to us, nudging my hand. I scratched behind his ears, buying time to consider my response.
“Your work is good, Sid. Different from mine, but good. I was too stubborn to admit it.”
“So we’re both stubborn.”
“Apparently.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the harbor lights dancing on the water.
“About that collaboration,” I finally said. “I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“First, we work at my cottage. Your gallery is too sterile—it makes me anxious.”
“Agreed.”
“Second, Finn gets full creative consultation privileges.”
Sid glanced down at Finn, who gazed back with dignified approval. “He’s already proven his worth as a treasure hunter. I suppose artistic input isn’t much of a stretch.”
“Third . . .” I hesitated. “We try dinner first. See if we can manage a meal without arguing about wood grain or aesthetic philosophy.”
Sid’s surprise gave way to a slow smile. “Dinner. As in a date.”
“As in two people who’ve been through something intense together and might want to explore whether there’s something beyond professional respect.” I felt heat rise to my cheeks despite the December chill. “Unless I’m reading this completely wrong.”
“You’re not.” He stepped closer. “Dinner tomorrow? After the market closes?”
“K’s Korner Kafé. Klara’s been dropping hints for days—she’ll be insufferable if we don’t give her the satisfaction.”
“Then we’d better not disappoint her.”
Finn barked once, apparently satisfied with this arrangement, and trotted ahead toward the parking area. Sid and I followed, walking close enough now that our hands occasionally brushed.
The star had found its home in the museum. The Salvador Mundi would receive the protection Dad had fought for. And I’d found something unexpected in the midst of chaos—a partnership that might become something more.