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Grant Mercer did not blink when Clara answered his question. He simply leaned back into his high-backed leather chair, the sound of rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows filling the heavy silence between them. / Chapter 8 / 8

Chapter 8 - The Sky We Painted Together

Six months later, the rain was falling softly against the glass windows of the grand salon on Magnolia Hill, just like it had that first afternoon.

Only this time, the room was filled with the sound of laughter.

Kira, now wearing a bright yellow dress, sat cross-legged on the white wool rug, carefully applying blue watercolor onto a fresh sheet of paper.

Beside her, sitting comfortably on the long leather sofa without a trace of his old, icy armor, was Grant Mercer.

Clara stood by the doorway, holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of warm apple slices. She watched as Grant leaned his head down toward the little girl, pointing a finger at his own cheek.

"I think I need another sun today, Inspector," Grant said, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face. "And maybe two bluebirds this time. Just to be safe."

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Kira giggled, dipping her brush deep into the yellow paint. "Only if you promise not to wipe them off when you go to sleep."

Grant reached out, catching Clara’s hand as she walked over to the sofa, pulling her down gently beside him. He looked up at her, his eyes shining with a peace he had spent thirty years searching for, and whispered, "I'm never washing them off again."

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