It took about three years. The same amount of time it took Jo to meet Colin, marry him, have a baby, and get divorced. That stretch was what passed between when Harry left and when his name started to come across her notice naturally. Because his name turned up without her looking. Before she would google him, or target her search to fellowships she'd heard through the grapevine he was involved in, ones she had put him up for. But now there was an article about him, and then another in the art zines that crossed her desk monthly. He was at the start of the stir he'd bring to the art world.

Even more entrancing, his work was in the publications crossing her desk. Jo's heart stopped over pieces that were her. Her lines and expressions and rising. It was weird and joyous and heart wrenching.

They hadn't spoken in years. Since that day on her doorstep, and things had drastically changed for them both she assumed.  Well, very little had changed on the day to day for her. Except she was busier with Zoe, with her dance and gymnastics and primary school schedule. Jo still taught, and she painted now, daily. Maybe more than she had when they were together. And she'd had several mentees, but none quite so talented as her first.

That was a lie, the same day to day remained, but Jo had changed and she'd grown. All those paintings she made, putting her colors, his color, and her feelings on them. At one point Jo ran out of space. So, she'd started selling them. Making a tidy sum on the side. She'd started at open air markets, nearby, and then she'd done some small festivals. People, especially women, loved her beats girls, and saw themselves in her common self-portraits now. She usually drew herself smiling, grateful, sometimes not. But those were the ones that sold. And every time a woman told her they had felt like that, or we're trying to feel like that, she found purpose. It was a renewing spring, she'd paint herself happy when she wasn't sure she was. Other women were happy to feel the images, happy, and so she was happy. Her festival circuit reputation was growing and she had a booth at Glastonbury soon. That was a big change. If she kept it up, she may have been able to make her living with painting. That made Jo smile, in her paintings and mirror.

And Zoe was busy with another thing that kept Jo busy, busy as well. Jo had been moved one day, when her daughter's primary school had bemoaned the lack of art besides finger painting for the kids. It niggle at the back of her brain for three days before she called the director. This was a need she could fill, and be fulfilled by it. Hence, Jo taught two after-school class to kids ages six to eight and nine to eleven once a week each. She taught them techniques and tools, and even masters. She'd recently snuck one of Harry's paintings into class, and the kids had loved the shine. Jo had let them use gold paint that day, and she was happy to watch them use it liberally. Jo loved the idea of a life generously gilded.

She didn't think of him everyday anymore, but she thought of Harry a lot that day. He would have loved it. Nudged her, and asked her who her next project would be. "Who are you gonna have Thursdays with now Miss Jo?" Long before their best and worst of times. When he wasn't the man she loved recklessly, but the excellent student she saw that spark around. She saw it in Thomas. She decided that day she'd tell him mom to seek a other art enrichment programs. You had to foster talent.

Jo had known that Harry was going to do big things. Everyone in the department had known. She'd thought it was why Victoria was envious of her, put her under a microscope while they worked together, tried to catch her out. There were red hands to find, but Jo looked back and thought it was creative jealousy. Not that Harry's talent reflected on her, though in some ways it did more than most. Certainly she had a stronger hand in it than Victoria's who was not his biggest fan, but wouldn't have minded the career boost of the name association.

Jo was his biggest fan, if her occasional stalks of his name online, and rifles through art zines for his name, and scrolls of his active Instagram had anything to say about it.

It had been a long time, but she felt the same for him. And all the reasons they couldn't be together remained. She was even older now, less suitable for him, at a strapping 26 years old, and taking over the world. She also suspected he may be in love again, there had been a lovely boy splashing around Canada with him in some recent posts. She recognized him from earlier, but the tone of his presence had changed, and the frequency. Jo was happy for him, them.

From afar, but she wasn't sure she could be up close and personal.

Which was what it looked like she may have to endure. His rise had been noted. The department had been buzzing, they'd asked him to do an alumni show, and they'd been totally surprised he had accepted. He'd been showing in Canada, one show in New York too. It was a feather in the department's cap to get him back there right before he exploded. They had asked her to reach out to him if he seemed hesitant. It hadn't gotten that far, he's agreed at their first overture.

Jo had not had to talk to him. She was thankful for that. It would open up old wounds she assumed, or remind her of aches she'd found balm for. Being shown what you'd loved and lost wasn't pleasant.

Though she did it to herself often. Maybe she liked to press on the bruise, because she got to reminisce n how she gotten the wound. The free wild adventure, the fun, before the fall.

She was curious about why he'd agreed so readily. Maybe he had a soft spot for the school? Or it was easy because he could stay at his mum's? Jo had a rough go seeing his dimples on Anne's face the year she was Zoe's kindergarten nurse. A little voice said she may have agreed to check in on Jo for Harry. Jo's social media presence was nil. She appeared on Ethan's when Sean and he came round, when they had family vacations. Maybe Harry asked after her.

Jo imagined Harry checked in on Ethan, and his affections didn't fade, and he was usually able to maintain a soft heart despite resentment.

She hoped he didn't resent her, and there was no aching comfort to take from looking at her Instagram to see her face. She didn't have one.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with her.

She was sure it had nothing to do with her.

That's what she kept telling herself and why she wasn't going that night. To see his paintings. She'd already seen a ton of them, and glo and a few she knew intimately were among the collection to choose from.

The university had asked her to help curate his show. She'd worked with his agent and not him, thankfully.  It had been difficult and sent her to the boxing gym and yoga mat to keep her away from the bottles of wine. This wasn't the bittersweet ache of memory, it was a technicolor montage of going from teacher to professor to lover to partner and back to nothing. She had to sublimate the feelings, healthily.

She didn't drink to drown feelings anymore.

Jo felt like she was still present in his work, for much longer than she would have expected to be, but he still largely painted flesh and flora alchemy. And the flesh still looked like hers.

Some of the new pieces were someone else. That stung, but was right.

The day his head shots came through, and she had to choose from them, she had called Cidra and they had gone out. Zoe would be at Colin's house that night, and his image would haunt her in her empty house. She would take down the wall hanging over her lover silhouette and cry. Jo refused. She needed to dance it out.

It was easier to look at him after booze and girl talk.

Cidra's take was the funniest, "What's the worst that can happen? You get some superior dick you are sorely in need of?" She gave Jo a long look. The last dick she'd had actually. Jo had shaken her head at her, laughed.

It was not that simple, and it's where they had gotten into trouble before.

"That's not happening. I can't imagine he's single--"

"You honestly think that would matter?" she interrupted. "With the way you were for each other. Gone, I tell you!" Cidra laughed.

"No, you don't know him. he's not like that, when he's in love, he's really devoted. It's actually-"

"Sickeningly lovely," Cidra sighed. "Maybe he's changed. You think so? Or maybe just for you?" She leaned in to ask that.

Jo's truth was, "I don't know. But I hope so. I think all the reasons I didn't want to be with him then, or why I wasn't a good choice for him remain. He's in his prime career wise, and I'm here, Zoe and Colin and custody. I'm too old to even consider a child, and that man..."

"Needs to contribute to the gene pool?" She clinked her glass against Jo's.

"If the pictures they sent are any indication, he's aging like parmesan cheese. Yes, he needs babies, and he should get to have the experience the traditional way, if he wants."

"What if he's with a guy?"

"I think he is at the moment, or was. Regardless,  I hope they are happy." Jo sighed. She did, it wasn't his fault she'd held on so long. She wasn't really sure what was wrong with her. They were still impossible. Now if he'd just stop haunting her house that would be lovely. She knew he had no culpability there, he lived in her brain, it wasn't his fault she measured all men against him and found them wanting. She'd even went out with Will, at Cidra's urging, again. And he was great, but if it didn't glitter, wasn't gold, then Jo had to abstain. She'd promised herself that was the standard she would hold out for. Nothing less.

Will didn't sparkle at all.

"What about Ethan?" Cid was trying to be casual.

"Ethan," Jo sighed. "I think he is very much past it. I'm not sure they'll ever be best friends again, because Sean may not like it, and life moves on, but the opportunity for it is another reason I need to give Harry a wide berth. I think we had a lot of sunrises, maybe less than we'd have liked, but it would still be too weird and my blood has cooled enough to be level-headed. This time."

"Sure! You are cool as a cucumber, and your vagina is dustier than a desert," was Cidra's cheeky rejoinder.

Jo hadn't had much of a response to that, and it was true, but sex seemed to be a muscle for her, and it had atrophied, and that was ok for now. She still hadn't found a peep to rejoin that reminder before a song she liked kicked off and Jo dragged Cidra out dancing to move the conversation on.

The next day, her blood hadn't cooled. His image still made her feel like a livewire. She was menopausal for god's sake, peri at least. But he was beautiful as ever. In some his hair was even longer, a little unkempt. But those ones were older. He'd cut off his curls for a time. He'd had a high and tight even, and his dress, there were shots of him in suits that she was simultaneously cursing her eyes for forever seeing and happy to have the image of. Maybe her sex drive was just hibernating, not dead. She'd be happy for it to stay quiet. That complicated things and emphasized their connection, ignited it. Jo vowed to be a banked fire.

That was difficult. He'd grown up so right. His cheeky smiles killed her. The best one, the one she almost chose, before deciding the dimple was more approachable, saw him next to a grand canvas with a woman who was a road and a smug look. That smug look, she missed it. He was so talented he deserved it, he just buried it under gratitude and heart.

It was even more attractive when you knew him. And Jo had known him. And now, she vowed she would be the real lover, and not allow any hint of relationship, because it was not what was best for him. Now more than years ago. He'd left her to spare her and she needed to respect that. He had a whole life now, a big one, a burgeoning known name. She would be the lover and repay the sacrifice.9

When she'd put out the flyers, students got to come in limited quantities, seniors in the department getting first dibs. her advisee, Myra, had come by vibrating with excitement.

"I love Harry Styles! He's my favorite artist! I chose this school, you as my advisor, because of him, if I'm honest! What's he like?"

What was he like? Direct and romantic, and confident, but a boy who needed approval and acclaim. Loving and giving, prodigious and good with children.  "Um, well, I haven't spoken to him since he became the sensation he is now. But I remember him as kind and talented." Those were safe and true accolades.

"Ugh! I can't wait to meet him! Are you excited to see him? I imagine you feel really proud to have one of your students do so well."

"I do, honestly, but it was always obvious it would be like that for him!" Jo shrugged and dropped off the flyers. "Do you want a couple? You can hand them round."

Myra laughed, took a picture, and messed with her phone a moment. Then took a small stack of flyers. "I posted to some group chats, and my insta. Not that your attendance will be bad, but I'll encourage other seniors to share it."

"Thanks." Jo smiled.

"You really want a good turnout for him, huh?" Myra smiled.

She wanted the very best things for him, but she just smiled in response and cocked her head sideways, shrugged.

Later, the day of, She was freaking out at home, deciding whether she should turn up to the showing or not. It was expected, she was expected. She just wasn't sure it was something she could endure. She could say she was ill.

There was a dress laid out on her bed, and she'd put it on over and over this past week. It was white, knee length and strapless and she looked good in it, even by her own critical standards, but it had found her looking at pictures from that time, her time with Harry and comparing that face to her face now. There was a discernible difference, least to her, at 43 years old versus her and 46 that would simple things up, if he was not into her approaching 50, that made sense, it's what she would expect.

And it would crush her.

Hopefully their circuit was open anyway, because he was closed into a new one.

That would crush her too, but it was also as it should be. She hoped he still missed her and that it ached like it did for her, but also that he didn't hurt to much, and had somebody, a real try at forever,more adequate, and suitable, and uncomplicated.

She also hoped he didn't love them the way he loved her, that it fell just short.

Jo wasn't going, she was about to find a thermometer to put under a lamp to fake a fever. Except there was no one to question her. Everybody in the department would assume she would be heartbroken to miss her towering student's triumphant return.

Except Victoria, and she had mercifully moved on.

Jo was staying home. Well, she was not staying home. That would make her crazy. She'd wind up staring at him more than if she was at the damn opening. The him on her wall, with that gleaming green she'd named for him. Naming more colors for him.

She was on the road already, headed to Liverpool, a familiar playlist playing. It seemed she was living in memory tonight no matter what. Jo was choosing happy ones.

Her phone dinged. It was from Ethan and it was a picture of a painting she knew really well. Jo had even added it to her syllabus as a contemporary fusion piece. Part of its place was personal vanity, and that she had a lasting impact on his creative imagination.

In the past, she'd been a nymph, interstellar, a flower, the moon, a mermaid, and any number of landscapes. But she had never been a sunrise, maybe just in his eyes.

She called Ethan back.

"You're there?" Jo didn't think she had mentioned it even.

"Yeah, um... well, Mum, Harry sent me a postcard invite, called me even. Said it would mean a lot if I came, wanted to bury hatchets. And well, it's been a long time, and I, I think it's time to move on, for all of us. I think I needed to see him, if we could be friends again."

"And can you?" That would make her so happy, if they could resurrect the friendship, Ethan had once said Harry was his lifelong friend.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe, but Mum? Did you know Harry paints you, like, a lot?" Ethan sounded amazed. "You're really beautiful, Mum, in his work. Like, I knew it was special, but, I don't think I really understood."

Her eyes were watering a bit. She did know that. She wondered who else he saw as beautiful as they were, under their skin. Who else he was painting.

"I'm, thank you, mum. I'm not sure I could have given that up. And, I'm sorry that I wasn't, I don't know, gracious enough to get over it."

"You could have, you would, for your child. Your own son or daughter." She was sure of that. "Speaking of, how's Sean?" She figured she'd have grandchildren soon. They were awfully settled for mid-twenties.

"Sean's well. He's here with me. Still not really happy to see Harry's face, but he came. He said moral support." His pleased smile was audible. Jo guessed Ethan liked when Sean was a little jealous. "Mum, where are you? Why aren't you here?"

"I don't, I don't think I can see him, Ethan. I want him to be happy, and I think I'd like to see him, but the reasons we shouldn't have been together are magnified now." How did she explain?

"I think I could get over it now, Mum." Ethan sounded like he believed it. Though he still whispered it, and she could see that horrible Holiday in her head. Perhaps less explosive, but like a pair of pants two sizes to small.

"Oh, Ethan!" How to explain. "It's been years, I just don't think, I really, really think that ship has sailed. He needs somebody he can make a life with. I've had all my opportunities, I can't take any away from him. Not if he is close to him. He's moved on. I've moved on. Honestly, I hope he has. I hate the idea that Harry has been alone all these years. I hope he's moved on, is happy."

"You've been alone though Mum." It sounded like an apology.

"No, I've not. I've had you and Zoe. And I did get to have some beauty with him, among all the madness."

It would be a let down, to let herself hope. And there was still no relationship possibilities.  They lived in different countries, worlds. She kept telling herself this, because there was no way he was single. And she still wasn't what was best for him. Jo was not what he needed now. She couldn't let herself dream.

"Mum, I think he wants to see you. When we spoke, he was looking behind me, I'm sure for you." He sighed down the line, and jo pulled to the side, she couldn't drive and have this conversation. She indicated and exited. "Don't you want to see him? His work? You'd be proud of him."

"Are there other people?" She got out.

"What? Yeah, place is packed, these coeds keep trying to talk to him and he looks so uncomfortable, I'm living for it," he laughed. Boys and taking the piss out of their mates.

"No, in his work?" She was biting her lip.

He stuttered over the answer like he was about to bungee jump. "Um, Yeah, there's a blond guy, one of a red-haired girl. Woman I suppose. But it's mostly you."

"Good, good." She bit her lip. That made it for her. He'd had other loves, and she knew he was a faithful sort. She could see him, and they wouldn't have to torture themselves over shouldn'ts. He had somebody.

"Mum, you're coming. You're not driving anymore."

"How'd you know I was driving?" She asked.

"Could hear it, turn over the engine, put on a dress get here."

She bashed herself on the rocks of indecision for long enough to turn the engine over. Then looked in the mirror, she'd do a sleek pony, those were quick and throw on a red lip, some eyeliner. That would be that.

It didn't matter, what she looked like. he had somebody, she hated it, she hoped for it, but she still needed to feel pretty to see him.

She doubted it would matter much to him, he'd always thought she was perfect, even at her most selfish and weak. It was for her. Her confidence.

It took her fifteen minutes to get home, fifteen minutes to change And the drive was quick this time of night.

She almost hyperventilated when she parked in the staff lot. It looked to be clearing out.

"Professor Smith!" Myra Called. "I was wondering where you were, you're so late."

"I know, I was late getting back from Liverpool. It still going on, then?"

"Yeah, cleared out a bit, you'll probably get a better crack at talking to him. He was very busy earlier. I barely got to tell him he is my inspiration." Myra had hearts in her eyes.  "I didn't know he had dimples!" She squealed.

It made Jo laugh, she needed it. "He does have dimples, did he blush and duck his chin?

"Yes, I about died, it's worse now I know he's handsome."

Yes it was, and she knew what she worried about in those instances, especially at 22. Still at nearly 50. Being a woman was exhausting. "Well, you look lovely. It that helps."

Myra beamed and scattered off to catch her friends as quickly as her heels could carry her.

Jo took a breath, she almost wished she had asked Myra how she looked. It was a silly concern, but she hoped she looked good, a shade of how he saw her. That would be enough.

And then she exhaled and opened the door, turned the corner and saw a version of herself.

Nobody looked the way he saw her. That was what love did to somebody.

The first painting was her as the amber lady, rising from the planes, the one that had stolen a kiss from her. She closed her eyes and remembered that day. It changed her whole life, her whole self.

It had been bad, that last month, and for six after, but when Jo was able to accept Ethan's forgiveness, forgive herself, and be renewed by Harry's sacrifice, she was able to integrate.

She wasn't just a mother, or Harry's lover, or an artist, or a teacher. She was all of those things, and not perfect, but good at them.

And that feeling had started with this painting. She wondered why it was the opening image.

The next walk through the gallery was old things, his landscapes, starting with his Glo painting. All that gold, now it had hints of them to her and she would have touched, if she didn't know better.

There was a standing wall they had added, it was images she'd never seen, just studies of flesh, a shoulder, thigh, knee. The back was hers. She could see her mole, right scapula.

Jo had come to the first piece that wasn't her. A blond, healthy looking boy, and it wasn't a landscape he melded with, but a snowy city street. Jo knew, this was a man Harry knew in Montreal, loved in Montreal. She could tell just by the care of his lines, Harry had moved him.  And he was smiling, the boy.

It made her misty, and the jealousy she expected, wasn't present. He'd been happy after her, with this boy. She could feel it.

He appeared in a few others, the healthy blond. Ducking into and out of corn stalks. Within a large dome made of the same grid as Harry's last postcard to her. She liked the smile Harry's man wore here, like he had braces. It made her laugh.

She silly-dallied, found herself back looking at his landscapes, the disembodied pieces of her. Jo felt like she was broken down to parts, right now. Like she had been before him, at the end with him. But she wasn't a collection of mischosen parts, she was a piece of perfect carved marble, integrated.

She needed to see that sunrise.

But she stalled more and wandered over to the pictures that were not her, again.

He had strong affection for the snowy blond, but she had a feeling about the last painting before the showpiece that she was avoiding. The redhead in the painting, being born of a baby fire. Those flames were feelings. The blond was maybe the rebound. But the redhead might be the rebound of the rebound, and that was the one you stayed with. Jo wasn't sure how she could read the nascent feelings he had, but she could. Her stomach twisted and she opened her eyes. She needed to see that sunrise, this was what cowardice bought her, a sour stomach and a heart bleeding at the seams she'd sewn together.

"Thank you, universe, for letting me work on my feelings of jealousy, and reminding me of how thankful I should be to have had a moment in the sun with this man. He deserves to be loved without reserve and openly. That's my prayer for him. Let her be good for him and to him. I wish them love." She said it lowly, but out loud, repeated her wish until her stomach relaxed.

After a deep breath, Jo shook it out and intended to head to the bar, Instead she found herself in front of the grandest canvas.

Her eyes closed. Jo could feel this one. All of their dawns rolled into one. Every hope he had for her. Her walking into the dawn, on her own, with gold on the soles of her feet. Long hair blowing, the tips the color of the sunburst, her gilded, a woman of gold.

Who he made her, when he showed her her best.

She warmed all over, remembering this. Then she heard his voice, and that, that was like stepping into a steam room, but it was a polar bear dunk right afterward, because she felt frozen the next instant. "I was in a relationship, and she was everywhere, in everything, I was painting her all over without realizing it. The real breakthrough came when she let me actually paint her. I found some marriage of flesh and earth and ore, and that's where my figures came from." Jo turned to the voice then. He's  staring at her, his locks were shorter, grazing his chin, curls, he was thinner, and his jaw looked like it would cut somebody, but she knew it would turn to velvet in her hand. Jo's lips lifted at the corners and she waved lowly and he excused himself from his company. He walked over and she could see his need to hold her all over him. Instead he walked up beside her and took her hand, and she felt it in her belly, that warm place beneath her heart.

"Hello Miss Jo," he said it for her ears only and she couldn't speak, not right away, with him so close but more gone than he was before. He had a whole new life. So she squeezed his hand and he used his thumb to caress the back of her hand until she got it together.

She swallowed. Looked at the painting of sunrise before her. Her eyes needed somewhere to linger instead of over all the ways he was ever the same. How her heart was. "They're amazing Harry!" She motioned around and the room a turn about the room, and he showed her the pieces she'd never seen. Jo pointed out the details, some of her own, that she loved. "The musculature! Did they do life drawing or focus on sculpture in Montreal?"

"More in the Ukraine. The facilitator was a real lover of the classics." He explained his new skill to her.

"God, I really didn't know you could, but you've gotten better. I can feel the movement, Harry!" Her proud smile deserved a provenance.

He ducked his chin and gave her a rueful shake of his head. "It still means the most when it comes from you. Don't know why." He blew out some breath. Looked around the mostly empty hall. "I want to show you some new stuff." He'd pulled his phone free of his beautifully cut trousers.

He showed her what he has been working on since. And they were not just her or his new loves, but him. Jo once again marveled at his growth and their symmetry. He'd also learned to make self-portraits. And many of them were him in agony. He was on a rack in one, stretched between a man and a woman. They were faceless, but Jo saw herself, the square of her shoulder. In another, he was behind glass, watching a domestic scene and reaching for it. Another behind bars, reaching out for a crying woman. Her. She was just out of reach.

They got less tortured, in some he opened doors for her, head held high, or was presenting a gift, a babe inside, or waving from across a wide body of water.

It was the last one he scrolled to on his phone and magnified she couldn't catch her breath over. In it he was rising from a burning house, it looked like hers, he is scorched but powerful. His face tear-streaked, but proud and resolute, sure. Her Phoenix.

He was better, or felt like he was on the other side of the heartache, their love. Renewed by fire and refined.

"Are you happy then Harry?" Her face trembled for the first time, but her smile didn't dim.

"Not yet, almost." He smiled and she felt like is was just beyond his horizon. Had a feeling she already glimpsed his renewing flame. He didn't have much farther to go. "And you, are you happy?" He took her hand, the one he'd held until the got back to the painting they'd started at and realized it should be awkward.

She looked at their painting, felt his wishes for her. Radiated her hopes for him.

Jo squeezed the hand she had taken and promised him, "I'm golden."