Without thinking, I reached out my hand and found Max’s, my fingers sliding up and through the webbing of his, before I curled them, linking our hands.

Max’s finger’s curled back and his grip was tight.

When no one spoke for awhile and I realized Cotton was staring at us, I struggled but found my voice. “It’s… it’s,” I looked at Cotton, “there are no words.”

Cotton turned to look at the picture assessingly then he mumbled, “Yeah, kinda like that one myself.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered from my throat. “You kinda like it?”

Cotton grinned at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Then he looked at Max. “It’ll look great here in the A-Frame.”

I felt Max’s body grow tight and his hand flexed in mine.

“What?” he asked.

“Givin’ to you, boy,” Cotton answered.

“I can’t –” Max started but Cotton waved his hand.

“You can, you will,” Cotton interrupted. “I’m old. Wanna know, when I die, my photos are in the places where they need to be. This one needs to be here.”

Oh my God.

“Cotton –” Max started again but Cotton had turned toward the other picture and he kept talking.

“This one’s for Nina.”

I started, this time my hand flexing in Max’s and whispered, “I’m sorry?”

Cotton didn’t answer. Instead he slid the knife in and along then ripped the paper down, bending to pull it away.

“V&A,” he said, turning back to me but I was staring at the picture.

I remembered it. It was a close up photo of the rock on the side of a mountain, again in black and white which was all Cotton did. The lines in the rock prolific and almost mesmerizing, sliding through in random undulations, one lone, yet utterly perfect wildflower growing out of the rock.

“Cotton,” I whispered.

“I like that one too,” Cotton declared, gazing at it critically.

“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he looked at me.

“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“I… it’s…” Why not? Was he mad? “Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.

“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk would be.”

“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.

“Like the feel of it hangin’ wherever you might be.”

At his words, which rocked me to my soul, I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop myself I cried, “Oh bloody hell! I’m going to cry!”

Then I did. I burst right into tears.

Within an instant, I was in Max’s arms. I put mine around him and held on tight, shoving my face into his chest and crying like an idiot.

It was several moments later when I heard Cotton mutter, “Women.” Then sounding like he was on the move he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I felt Max’s body get tight against my wet cheek.

I tipped my head back to look at him, the tears subsiding when I saw his neck was twisted and he was staring toward the kitchen and, regardless of the fact that Cotton just gave both of us priceless pieces of his art, Max’s expression appeared murderous.

I followed his eyes and saw Cotton pulling himself up on a stool.

“Get me a beer, Max, it’s been a long day,” Cotton called, leaning forward to look at the rolls then he spun on the stool and exclaimed, “Right on! Crescent rolls!”

“Cotton –” Max started but my arms gave him a squeeze, Max stopped speaking and looked down at me.

“He just gave us his photos,” I told him. “We can give him dinner.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since Alana died or least not a good one.” Cotton drew in an audible breath through his nostrils and he declared, “And whatever’s cookin’ smells good.”

“Fish pie,” I told him and Cotton grinned.

“I like fish,” he said.

It was low, it was soft but I definitely heard Max growl.

I gave him another squeeze with my arms, let him go and, slower, he let me go too. Then, wiping the tears from my face, I went back to the rolls.

Max got Cotton a beer and I had poured frozen peas into a bowl and was setting them in the microwave when lights flashed on the wall.

“This is a f**kin’ joke,” Max clipped from his place, h*ps against the sink, beer in hand, unhappy expression on his face as he stared toward the drive.

“Max’s popular,” Cotton noted.

“I’m noticing that,” I replied, also looking out the windows.

I watched a figure come up the steps then I recognized Arlene walking across the porch toward the door. Her eyes were on us and she didn’t bother to knock, she just walked right in.

“Hey y’all,” she called, striding toward the kitchen like she lived there. “Hey Cotton.”

“Heya Arlene. What’s shakin’?” Cotton greeted.

“Don’t shift some of this weight, everything,” Arlene replied, she stopped at the mouth of the U in the kitchen and looked at me.

“That don’t look all that bad,” she observed.

“Um…” I muttered, “hi Arlene.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” was Max’s greeting.

“Damon whaled on her, had to check, see she’s all right,” Arlene explained to Max then turned to me. “Woulda thought it would be worse, thought he really walloped you one. Least it looked like that.”

Something unpleasant was emanating from Max and I took a step closer to him. His response was to slide an arm around my waist and yank me back so the side of my back was to the side of his front.

“What’s this about?” Cotton asked and Arlene turned to him, walking to the bar and putting her forearms on it.

“Last night Damon Matthews backhanded Nina at The Dog,” Arlene answered like she would say, “Last night, I made a TV dinner and watched the News.”

“What?” Cotton exclaimed on a near shout, his eyes moving to me and then narrowing on my cheek. “Is that was that is?”