Amara didn’t sleep that night. The letter from Ethan sat on her nightstand like it was watching her.

There are things you never knew. Meet me at the gallery, 8 p.m.

She told herself she wouldn’t go. She told herself she didn’t care anymore. But when the clock struck eight, she was already standing outside the gallery door, heart pounding like it had three years ago when she caught him with Lana.

She pushed the door open quietly. The room was dark except for the small lights that shone on the paintings.

And there he was — Ethan. Standing near one of her portraits, hands in his pockets, looking nothing...