A knock at my office door announced Rakesh’s arrival.

“Hey, Rakesh,” I said, dropping my pen and rubbing my tired eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“I need cheering up and thought you were the man for the job.”

Confused, I stared at him until he rolled his eyes. “They were right in the staff room. You really are in bad shape.”

My stomach pitched. My life was already in the gutter, the last thing I needed was to lose my job as well.

“What are they saying?”

“Just that something’s wrong with you and I should be the one to make you snap out of it.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “And how are you planning on doing that? Because if it’s possible, I’d love to know.”

He shrugged. “I’m an academic, not a psychologist. I was hoping you’d tell me your tale of woe, I’d commiserate, we’d drink beer, and it’d be over.”

“You’re going to need a bigger plan.”

“Oh, hell,” he said, and slid into the chair at the desk beside me. “It really is serious, isn’t it?”

For a few seconds I contemplated brushing him off, but Rakesh had stood by me when my parents died and ever since. He deserved the truth.

Picking a spot on the wall so I didn’t have to meet his gaze, I braced myself to say her name aloud for the first time since she’d left.

“Scarlett and I moved things beyond friendship and started dating, and it was amazing. Right up until I screwed it up. She’s moved out and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Shit. I don’t know if you’re my hero for dating Scarlett, or if I’m disgusted with you for losing her.”

I flinched. “Thanks. Your support is appreciated.”

“Who left who?”

“She left me.”

“What did you do to stop her? Or get her back?”

“Not so much.”

“For Poseidon’s sake, man, why not?”

The same question had been thumping through my brain for seven days and nights. Even if I convinced her to give me another chance, I knew deep down it was the wrong thing to do.

“There’s one thing Scarlett craves above all else. Stability. She grew up constantly moving around with her hippie parents, and all she’s ever wanted to do was put down roots in a house that’s stocked with kitchen appliances and furniture that can’t be folded up and packed in the back of a car. I’ve always known that about her, but I hadn’t realized how deep that ran until recently.”

Rakesh’s forehead was creased for a long beat, then it cleared as if understanding had dawned. “You’re planning a career in fieldwork?”

I tossed him an open envelope and he pulled the letter out.

“I’m already getting offers,” I said as he scanned it. “I’ve explained each time I can’t do anything while Amelia is underage, but after that I’ll be open.”

“Ah. And Scarlett knows,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“One of the offers was in person, in front of her. From Ray Oliver. At the time I barely thought about how it would affect her, but now that I’ve had time to run pretty much every one of our conversations over in my head, I can see she was thrown by it. Long term, I’m not the man for her.”

He handed the letter back and I stuffed it in a folder.

“Just because you travel, doesn’t mean she’d have to. You could come home to her in between.”

“That’s a half life, only being together when our schedules permitted. She deserves so much more. Scarlett is so full of life and passion, that sort of relationship would grind her down.”

“So your solution is that you’re both miserable instead?”

“She’ll get over me. Move on.” I ignored the way my voice broke over the words and was thankful Rakesh did, too.

His expression said he didn’t think much of this solution, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for Scarlett. Much as it killed me to even think it, I wanted her happy, even if it was with someone else.

Rakesh sighed and stood. “You deserve happiness, too, Finn.”

“She deserves it more,” I said, knowing deep in my soul this was true.

Chapter Eighteen

Scarlett

I knocked on the door of the room where we’d been to the silversmithing workshop and Noela’s smiling face appeared.

“Come on in,” she said.

Adjusting the two canvases under my arm, I followed her. I’d decided to take up Noela’s offer to look at my work, partly because I had to do something other than mope around, thinking of Finn. But also, Finn had been right.

You’re not making decisions about your art or your career. You’re standing in one spot.

Maybe it was because the rest of my life was such a disaster now, but I finally wanted to take his advice to move forward and show my art to someone. Whatever the cause, it felt right to take a step. So here I was. Stepping forward.

“Hi, Noela,” I said. “Thanks for looking at my work.”

“You’re welcome. I’m interested to see what you’re painting.” Her smile seemed genuine, which was encouraging. “Here, let me take one of those.”

She took the closest canvas and pulled off the protective sheet to reveal the portrait I’d done of Harvey. My stomach was a mass of nerves, all seething and knotting together. Much like my early arm knitting attempts, actually. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous—it wasn’t like there was anything riding on this meeting. This stepping forward thing was mainly about not having anyone else artistic in my life. It would be good to talk to someone who understood. My family and Finn’s family had always been impressed with my paintings, but since none of them could draw more than a stick figure, they’d naturally be impressed with anything I made. That didn’t mean it was any good compared to other artists.

“This is nice work,” Noela said, studying it in detail.

I tried not to get too excited at the compliment, since there was probably constructive feedback still to come. “That’s Finn’s dog, Harvey.”

After the first portrait I’d made for Finn’s birthday present, I’d done a series of others, trying to capture different doggy expressions.

“Let me see the other one.” She took the second canvas and pulled the sheet off a landscape I’d been painting off and on for a few months.

“I used some photos I took on a day there were storm clouds over Sydney Harbour as inspiration.” She held the canvas to the light at different angles as she inspected it, but didn’t say anything, so I kept on talking. “I paint in a modern impressionist style—I love to play with how the light falls, and with exaggerating certain elements slightly to get the emotional effect I want.”

“This is really good,” Noela said, still examining the painting. “I’m more a sculptor than a painter, but I can recognize talent.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling a blush creep up my neck to my cheeks.

Noela set the canvas down and leaned back against a workbench. “So, what are your plans for your art?”

“No real plans. It’s a hobby. I’m studying to be an accountant.” I paused, almost waiting for Finn to call me on that, but Finn wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be calling me on that or anything else anymore. So I called myself on it. “Well, officially I am, but I’ve taken some time off.”

Her gaze said she hadn’t missed the undertones in front of her. “Do you like accounting?”

“I like it enough. Some aspects are fun. But, to be honest, I need a regular paycheck and the arts as a career can be unstable. I’m just not built for that.”

She tapped her lips with a finger as she considered. “Have you thought about teaching?”

“Here?” I asked, looking around. It looked like a fun place but I didn’t have enough experience.

“High schools. Your subject areas could be art and math. You might even get some credit from accounting subjects towards your Bachelor of Education.”

A school teacher? That seemed a bit random. “Why would you think of me teaching?”