AS THE SUN SLIPPED down behind the hills, Nerea brought Jamie to her studio. It was on the third floor of the house with windows on two sides, through which he could see the surrounding fields, now wrapped in a dusky evening blue.
“Are all these for your gallery show?” Jamie asked, examining the canvasses hung on one of the windowless walls and propped up against various bits of furniture.
“Some.” Nerea seemed to be inventorying paints or brushes as she shifted things about on a workbench.
“What about this?” Jamie asked, pointing to a canvas stacked against others and leaning against a wall out of the path of the light.
Nerea turned to see which one he meant. When she saw, she shook her head. “No.”
“Do you ever show pictures of Callum?”
“Can you imagine? No. It’s the worst part of my
