Oil Painting by the Hudson

Hello again, gentle readers. Here's yet another strange tale dredged from somewhere in the depths of my psychosis. Familial duty is a thing in my clan, so I identify with some of the feelings expressed by our protagonist--in abstract, if not in direct comparison. Such obligation isn't always easy to navigate but to paraphrase the Joker, sometimes escaping it is like gravity, in that all it takes is a little push.

As always, I apologize for all errors and typos, because despite taking some time away from Lit, my editing skills haven't improved. All feedback--good or bad--is welcome. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

#

Blake leaned back on the stool until the cool of the bar's brass rail pressed against his back. He clutched the half-consumed beer in his left hand, which he'd been holding so long the foam and iciness had dispersed, leaving a flat, tepid beverage he had no intention of finishing. Still, as long as he held it, Lucas wouldn't insist on him having another.

Speak of the devil. His eyes fell on a man striding through the crowd from the men's room, and walking as if he owned the place.

"Ah, much better." Lucas slid onto the stool next to Blake. "I think I peed for a good ninety seconds."

Blake shook his head. Oversharing was his future brother-in-law's favorite pastime.

His favorite pastime, except...

Almost on cue, Lucas glanced around the bar. His gaze settled on a pair of chattering blondes in the corner. Both wore typical clubbing outfits, which barely concealed enough to keep them out of jail on indecency charges, and neither looked older than twenty-one. Lucas nudged him. "Target acquired."

"Mmm hmm."

"I'll move on the short one, you get the tall one, okay?"

Blake sighed in exasperation. "Dude, I'm marrying your sister in less than three months. I'm not picking up bar bimbos."

"I know you're not." Lucas quirked the corner of his mouth in a half-grin. "I just wanted you to play wingman, to keep the other one busy for a bit. I guess I'll just have to take both of them home."

"Go for it."

Lucas ordered a fresh pitcher. He paid, gave Blake a quick wink, then hefted the pitcher and three clean glasses before heading for the girls' table. Blake watched, half-amused, and half-hoping the guy would be shot down in flames. Sadly, the girls slid over and made room for him and within moments, all three were chatting and laughing.

Blake shook his head. Lucas was a confident, good-looking guy, in excellent shape, who knew how to chat with people and had enough money to dress the part. He rarely went home alone unless he wanted to. Still, he'd been known to say the wrong thing and strike out once in a while... and since Blake had promised Nia that he'd be Lucas's ride, he had to stay.

Unless he does get the girls to take him home. He can call Reggie in the morning if it comes to that.

He spun to the bar, placed his mug on the wooden surface, and nudged it away from him. His glance drew the bartender's attention. "Diet Coke, please."

"Sure thing, Mr. Pennington."

A moment later, the requested drink arrived. Blake slipped the man a fifty, sipped away, and let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people would have thought him insane to tip that amount but Wayne had looked out for him and Lucas as long as they'd been coming to the Fifth Ave Taphouse. Though the clientele was upscale, it had seen its share of incidents in the past, and security always sided with the best tippers.

Besides, it's only money, right? We've all got money to burn. That's about all we do have. The thought brought a bitter, ashen taste to his mouth but before he could stew on it, he felt a presence at his right elbow. Blake flicked his eyes in that direction and suppressed another sigh.

Unlike the pair of near-children Lucas was entertaining, the woman appeared to be in her late thirties, or about ten years older than Blake. She wore her brunette hair in an elegant upswept do, the style of which suited her slinky black cocktail dress. Expensive jewelry--or well-made fakes--decorated her fingers and a glittering tear-shaped diamond pendant dangled into her impressive store-bought cleavage. The gemstone's flickering facets drew the eye, which Blake was certain was the point.

Worst of all, he glanced at her face a second time and realized that he knew her.

"Good evening." The woman's voice was rich and cultured, and her hazel eyes were challenging.

At once, the confines of the bar felt constricting--suffocating, even. Blake shifted in his seat, leaning away from her. "Hello."

"Your friend seems to have left you alone." She slid into Lucas's former seat. The slit of her dress fell aside, revealing a length of toned, tanned leg. "So I figured you could use some company."

"I appreciate it but I really don't think I'm the right person."

She smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. "You could be."

Blake took a deep breath. "Not likely, Lucille."

The woman stiffened, though whether it was from him knowing her name or the fact that she'd told him previously that she hated her full name, he wasn't sure. She said, "Have we met?"

"Three months ago at Peter Morton's New Year's party. You were there with Phillip. I know he's in San Francisco this week but you do remember Phillip, right?" He paused. "Your husband?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide.

Blake offered her a faint smile. "He works closely with Albert Pennington. My father."

The woman paled as recognition dawned on her. She excused herself and hurried away. Amused, Blake watched her make a beeline for the exit and vanish. His momentary levity trickled away and he sighed.

She was hanging all over Phillip at that party not twelve weeks ago, playing the doting, loving wife... and now she's out on the prowl for strange dick. She's not even being subtle about it.

He shook his head. He didn't know Phillip Comstock very well but his brief interactions had convinced Blake that Phillip was a decent guy and not one to tolerate his wife fooling around. He was also twenty-five years older than Lucy.

Maybe that's it, the age difference. Performance. Maybe they have an arrangement or something. Or maybe they...

Unbidden, the image of a young woman's face--thin, attractive, blonde hair falling to her shoulders--appeared and hovered in his mind. Blake sighed again. I don't even know about myself anymore. I'm in no position to judge other people.

Lucas rose from his seat, along with the two ladies. All three wove toward the door. His hands slipped around their waists and the girls giggled nonstop.

His future brother-in-law caught Blake's eye and waved. As far as Blake was concerned, that was all the signal he needed. He motioned to the bartender and pointed to his friend. "Wayne, all three of them are toasted. Can you call them an Uber or a cab or something?"

"Already done, Mr. Pennington. Charles will make sure they get in it."

"Thanks." He drained his drink. "I'll see you next time."

He exited in time to see his friend and two companions pile into a cab under the watchful eye of the security staff. Charles met Blake's eyes and nodded, indicating everything was under control. Blake allowed the valet to bring his car around, tipped the man, and drove back to his building's parking garage, arriving just before midnight. He took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. On entering, he turned on a light and surveyed his domain. It wasn't a huge apartment but at least it was his.

He glanced at the window and grimaced. The bay window had been a selling point by the realtor, who had hyped the view of the city. In reality, all he could see was the building across the street.

I'm sure there's a fitting metaphor about my life in that thought. He closed the curtains.

His parents had been disappointed when he elected to have an apartment downtown, rather than stay on Long Island with them. Blake hadn't seen the point, since his current address put him at a seven-minute walk from Pennington Holdings, rather than the hour-plus ride his father made each way every day.

It also meant getting out from under their direct supervision--at least, for the moment.

On cue, his phone rang. Blake hesitated, then answered it. "Hey, Nia."

"Hi. You guys having a good time?"

"I just got home. Lucas met some friends and went with them."

Nia chuckled over the line. "Yeah, okay. Friends? More than one?"

"Two, this time."

"That seems about right."

Blake knew Virginia was well aware of her brother's ways, and that she had tried to talk some sense into Lucas, to no avail. She herself had snarked to Blake that Lucas was going to settle down one way or another--either by finally succumbing to family pressure, or getting some poor woman pregnant. When Blake asked her what she meant by the latter phrase, Nia had given him a knowing look and said, "Because any woman that ropes my brother into marriage with a baby is going to regret it--at least until she's been married long enough to claim alimony and get out. At the very least, he'll be on the hook for eighteen years of child support."

Blake couldn't argue her line of thoughts. He snapped back to the current conversation. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, not much. Mom and I were going over some details, like a playlist for the band, and now just scrolling shorts on YouTube and having a glass of wine."

"Sounds fun," Blake said, feeling that would have been anything but. "I should have been there."

Nia laughed again. "Oh, sweetie, you don't fool me. You'd have been bored out of your mind. Taking Lucas out was a chance to escape, even if I knew how it was going to end. Speaking of knowing how things were going to end, Daddy wants to see you. Something about paperwork for your dad, to finalize everything."

And the dance continues. "Yeah, I have it ready. I was planning to drop by his office tomorrow morning."

"Okay, I'll let him know. Oh, by the way, Mom's having a little get-together on Saturday. Your folks and Julia and Maisey will be here. Should be the normal run-of-the-mill Hamptons socializing."

"Great." Desperation tickled the edges of his soul but Blake knew it was pointless. Though a Saturday afternoon in the Hamptons surrounded by their parents' snobby friends elicited as much excitement as a barium enema, not going would generate much more trouble than if he just showed and gritted his teeth through it. "Yeah, Mom already said something about it. One o'clock, right? I'll be there."

"Great, I'll let Mom know, she'll be delighted--you know, a chance to show off the happy couple to her buddies. Well, you sound tired, so I'll let you go. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow. Love you!"

The words scraped over his tongue. "Love you too."

They disconnected. Blake sat on his couch and stared at the wall for some time.

#

"Mr. Pennington? Mr. Walsh will see you now."

"Thank you." Blake stood and nodded to the man's executive assistant. He hefted his briefcase and strode into the inner office.

Like everything else in Silas Walsh's life, his office projected power and demanded respect. Located just a block from Wall Street itself, the American headquarters of Bank of Westchester--one of the oldest and most prestigious in the world--radiated wealth. The room offered a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of New York's financial district, the East River, and Brooklyn beyond.

His eyes settled on the man himself. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a stern, unsmiling face, Silas Walsh was imposing as his office. Many men had felt intimidated simply entering the same space as a man who could crush them in finances or reputation--and in many cases, physically.

Blake forced a pleasant look onto his face. He had long ceased being afraid of the older man's wrath; rather, he feared the secondary consequences of displeasing him. What does that make me? he wondered. Pragmatic, or a coward?

"Blake, my boy," Walsh's voice boomed. "Welcome."

"Good morning, sir."

Walsh stood and circled his desk, wearing a broad grin and extending his meaty hand. It was the same greeting the man offered to politicians, titans in the banking industry, and even celebrities.

Blake knew it was as fake as the rest of the man's facade. Still, he raised his arm and shook the man's hand. He was careful to apply enough force to show he wasn't a weakling but not so much as to challenge the man... and he hated himself that he instinctively understood the approach he had to take.

The man gestured at Blake's briefcase. "You brought the merger paperwork?"

"I did." Blake propped the case on the seat of a chair, popped the locks, and withdrew a sheaf of pages. He offered them to Walsh, who took them.

The man scanned the top sheet. "Good. Have a seat while I take a look at these."

Blake closed his briefcase and did just that. Walsh returned to his seat, papers in hand, and began reading. Within seconds, he had become immersed. He scratched a few notes and began muttering to himself as he read, seeming to have forgotten Blake was even there.

Blake let his mind wander. He gazed out the panoramic window.

This is my life now, isn't it?

He had no idea how long he'd been woolgathering when a stern, "Ahem," brought him back to the present. He blinked and looked at Walsh. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, at a quick scan, these appear to be in order. Am I boring you?"

Blake reddened. "Not at all, Mr. Walsh. I was just thinking about a separate work problem."

A small smile lit the man's face--the first genuine emotion aside from irritation Blake had noticed from Walsh since he entered the office. "Always working. That's my boy."

"Yes, sir."

"You know, of course, that I expect you'll have to put aside some of that work effort. After you're married, right?" He leaned back in his chair. "Not too much, of course."

"I plan on it."

"Good. Did Virginia tell you about our soiree on Saturday?"

Blake nodded, certain the man knew damn well she had. Him bringing it up is just one more power play, reminding me to whom I belong. "She did. I'll be there."

"Excellent. There will be a lot of movers and shakers there. I know your folks will be looking forward to presenting your sisters."

The implication that his parents would trot out Julia and Maisey and parade them in front of older men of the moneyed class made Blake's stomach turn. Like we're poor medieval nobles, bettering the family by marrying into higher position. Then again, since they've kind of bought into Mom and Dad's bullshit, they're probably fine with it. He sighed. Who am I kidding? I'm no better.

All that went through Blake's head in a flash and of course, he said none of it aloud. Instead, he dug his fingernails into his palms and said, "It should be a good time."

"I'm sure. Well, I'll have my people go over this to make sure all the fine details are good to go. I'm sure you have plenty to keep you busy back at your office. We'll be in touch."

Blake recognized a straight dismissal when he saw one. He stood and hefted his briefcase, wondering if Walsh would see him out. But the man picked up a phone, hit a button, and began jaw-jacking with whoever was on the other end. He swiveled his chair toward the window, ignoring Blake.

He can't pass up an opportunity to put me in my place.

He strode from the office, returned the assistant's cheery farewell with an absent wave, and boarded the elevator for the street. In the confines of the steel box, the walls of his life seemed to close about him yet again. By the time he debarked, Blake thought he was in the midst of a panic attack. He left the Bank of Winchester building, stepped aside from the front door, and called his office--in reality, his father's office.

His father's receptionist answered on the second ring. "Pennington Holdings."

"Hi, Vera, it's Blake. Is Dad in?"

"He's in a conference call with the Ishihara Group. Are you on your way back to the office?"

"I... uh, no. I think I'm coming down with a touch of something. I feel like I'm going to be ill. Can you tell my father that everything went well at Westchester but I'll be out the rest of the day? He can call if he has any questions."

"You have a lunch date with Virginia."

Blake pressed his lips together. "I'll call her. Would you let my dad know?"

"Absolutely." Concern touched her voice. "You sure you're okay, kid?"

Blake smiled. Vera had been with her father for almost twenty years and though the severe-looking woman had a reputation for her no-nonsense approach, she had also been like a second mother to him and his sisters. "Yeah. I just think it's a touch of flu or something. If I can get some rest, I'll be fine."

"Okay, you do that. Go home and sleep it off. In fact..." He heard papers rustling. "There's nothing major on the books for tomorrow. If you need to, you should skip that too. I'll make an excuse for you. I mean, you want to be in fighting shape for Saturday, right?"

He closed his eyes. "Right. Sure."

"Okay, I'll let the boss know." Vera paused. "You know once your mom hears about this, she's going to call you."

"I know. That's fine."

They said their goodbyes and disconnected. He steeled himself and dialed Virginia. Blake thought someone upstairs--not in the Bank of Winchester, but higher--was looking out for him since the call went to voicemail. "Hey, Nia, I am going to wave off lunch today. I feel a little ill. I'm going to take tomorrow off too... can we do lunch then? Love you, talk to you later."

Whew.

He hailed a cab and got in. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Where to, pal?"

For the first time that morning, a genuine smile crossed his face. "Home."

#

Breeze from the open window rippled his hair and teased his cheek. Blake inhaled, savoring the cool sweetness of the clean country air. He drove at a comfortable speed along the winding highway. The green tangle pulled back here and there, revealing the sparkling blue of the Hudson River to his right. With every mile put between him and New York, Blake felt his tensions and apprehensions diminishing.

He hadn't set out with any particular destination in mind, only a desire to leave it all behind him. So he'd taken the road north from the city. He eschewed the interstate, preferring the winding two-lane road known as US 9W, which followed a parallel path, but one much more scenic.

A car honked, swerved into the other lane, and passed. Blake smiled to himself. Apparently, he wasn't driving fast enough.

That's fine. I have nowhere special to be and doesn't matter when I get there.

As predicted, his mother had called him before he even cleared Manhattan Island, concerned that he was not at work--and then that he was skipping his lunch with his fiancee. He'd assured her that he just needed a little downtime. After several reassurances, she'd been mollified and told him to call if he needed anything.

His smile dimmed. The call with his father had been less courteous.

Blake shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. The beautiful day reclaimed his attention and he immersed himself in enjoying the drive, even if he knew it was a temporary respite.

After about two hours, he noted his stomach rumbling. He glanced at the GPS app on his phone. Albany was about a half hour away but the idea of wading through another city--smaller and less rushed than New York, to be sure, but still a city--to find something to eat brought his anxiety trickling back. His eyes caught a sign and arrow pointing to a town called "New Baltimore," indicating it was only a short distance off the road. He turned off the highway and followed the country lane. Old houses and well-tended neighborhoods began to appear and he sighed in satisfaction.

Yes. Much better.

Local signs pointed to a bar and grill right on the waterfront of the river but he spied a small building--as old as the rest but well-kept--titled Baltimore's Best Coffee, and on impulse, wheeled into the parking lot. He exited the car, trod the cracked sidewalk, and stepped inside.

A small bell tinkled at his entry. The interior of the coffee shop was tiny, with a service counter featuring a display case containing pastries and other treats. Three round tables and accompanying chairs crowded the right side. A menu behind the counter advertised various coffee styles and blends, including a custom one for the shop. The décor reminded him of country chic Nia had shown him in her home designer magazines, with wildflower oil paintings and placards featuring feel-good sayings covering the walls. Aside from him, the place was empty.

A woman he guessed was in her mid-fifties emerged from the back. She was average-sized, with hair that was more platinum than gray and bound in a ponytail, and a pleasant face. She wore a flour-spattered red apron over a long-sleeved blue shirt and jeans. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"

"Plain coffee, with cream, please. House brew." He leaned toward the display case. Though most of the treats looked good, he wasn't in the mood for sugar. His eyes fell on a small placard advertising homemade sandwiches. He gestured to the sign. "And a pastrami on rye."

"Would you like hot mustard on that? Sauerkraut?"

"The works." He grinned. "Or however you'd make it for yourself. Let me get the full Baltimore's Best Coffee experience."

The woman laughed. "Be up in just a sec."

Blake took a seat. Just as he did, his phone vibrated. He glanced at it and saw Nia's name. Shit, I didn't call her later. He took a deep breath and answered. "Hey."

"Blake?" The concern in her voice was clear. "I got your message. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little under the weather."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No, I took a drive to clear my head. I'm almost to Albany."

"Oh."

His throat tightened. She hadn't said "You took a country drive without me?" but the implication--and her hurt at being excluded--came across well enough. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you, Nia. I was really just thinking about driving and letting the cool breeze help my head, and it seemed to. I found a neat little coffee shop. I can bring you up here soon."

"Okay. Sweetie, I'm just worried about you, is all."

"I know and I appreciate it. I'm certain it's just stress and everything getting to me. A couple days off will do me some good. I'll be there on Saturday, and I'm still good for lunch tomorrow."

Some happiness returned to her voice. "Great! I'll pick up something and have Reggie bring me over around noon, okay? Is Italian all right?"

Reggie was one of the Walsh family drivers and bodyguards, and the primary attendant for Lucas and Nia. Blake said, "Yeah, that sounds awesome."

"You text me when you get home, so I know you're safe, and then if you need anything. I'll come right over, okay? Promise?"

"Promise."

They disconnected. Blake silenced his phone and waited.

A moment later, the proprietor returned with his meal. The scent of hot meat and mustard hit his nostrils and his stomach growled in anticipation. She set a plate in front of him, featuring a bulging sandwich stuffed with folds of pastrami. A fat pickle wedge sat on the side. She also plopped down a tall paper cup and a small metal pitcher of cream. "Here you go, hope it's what you were looking for."

"Looking for?"

"You walked in the door like you were seeking lost treasure--or the secrets to the universe, maybe."

"Hmm. I don't know what I was looking for."

"Just taking a drive from the city, are you?"

"That obvious, eh?"

"Only because I know everyone here. It's not tourist season and since we're not on the interstate or the highway, visitors are rare this time of year. Every once in a while, someone wanders in."

"I see." He took a bite and paused, allowing himself to enjoy the mixture of flavors dancing across his tongue. He chewed and swallowed. "Good."

"Thanks. I don't cook very many things well, but coffee and pastrami I can handle. Unfortunately, my husband doesn't want that every night. When it comes to gourmet cooking, he's better than me."

Blake smiled. "I'm not much of a cook myself, so I can sympathize."

She offered her hand. "I'm Lorena."

He wiped his hand on his napkin and shook her hand. "Blake."

"Nice to meet you. Well, I have dishes to clean so I will let you get back to eating. As you can see--" She spread her hands and looked around. "--it's non-stop activity in here."

Blake laughed and resumed eating. When he finished, he sipped his coffee for the first time and was delighted at the subtle blend of flavors. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed for a moment.

Another customer came in. Lorena greeted them as a regular and prepared the man's order. He appraised Blake for a moment... then apparently decided he wasn't trouble, gave him a nod, and departed with his bag in hand. Blake chuckled to himself.

Not exactly hostile locals. Just cautious. I suppose I don't blame them.

Lorena approached. "Anything else?"

"No, this is going to do it. Everything was great." He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, pulled three twenties, and laid them on the table.

"That's way too much."

"It's for the experience and the pleasant environment. Believe it or not, this is the most peaceful meal I've had in weeks."

Her look was dubious but Lorena scooped up the cash. "All right, then. But if you come back through, your next meal's on the house."

"That's fair."

She cleared his plates and Blake stood. He stretched and considered his options. He could keep driving, though if he went much further, he wouldn't make it home before dark... if he even wanted to.

I'll go sit by the river and drink my coffee for a little bit before I decide.

He found a small park right by the Hudson, parked in a gravel lot, sat on a wooden bench with peeling paint, and let his mind wander. Squirrels darted across treetops and birds wheeled overhead. The half-filled canopy of budding spring trees let just enough sunlight through to keep him from getting chilled in the shade. A sense of comfort spread across his mind and body, more so than even in the coffee shop, and his troubles faded to the back of his mind.

He'd been there about fifteen minutes when another car pulled into the area--this one a battered Volkswagen Bug. It parked less than twenty feet from him and slid to a rapid halt in a crunch of gravel and dust. Blake half-growled, annoyed that his peace had been disturbed.

A woman in her mid-twenties emerged. The first thing he noticed was a mop of unruly coppery-red hair that cascaded across her shoulders like a waterfall. Stray curls wafted in the breeze. Like a lot of redheads, her skin was pale--almost creamy. She wore a loose peasant-style ivory-colored shirt with laces in the front, a red ankle-length skirt, and sandals.

She spotted Blake, smiled, and approached, without a hint of apprehension about being near a strange man. "Hi."

"Hello."

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. Not many people come down to the park this time of year." Her voice was melodic and fluid. "Do you mind if I paint, or would that bother you?"

He blinked. "Paint?"

She smiled, revealing a row of even white teeth. "Yes, paint. You know, colors on canvas, that kind of thing?"

"Uhm, sure, go ahead."

His new friend spun toward her car. The hem of her skirt whirled around her legs. She bent away from him and dug into the back seat of her car--again, showing no signs of fear of turning her back on a stranger.

Gotta be a consequence of small-town living, he thought. No woman in New York would do that, and for good reason.

She emerged a moment later with a folded easel and canvas, and a paint-splattered denim bag bulging with tubes of paints. He watched as she popped the easel open right next to him and set the art bag on the bench. The woman pulled out a scrunchie, clumped her wild hair into a ponytail, and tied it off... though in practical terms, it didn't seem to do much. Strands and curls bounced free almost immediately. The woman propped a couple of rocks against the legs of the easel, centered her canvas, and then bent over her bag, toward him, and began excavating. Brushes and rags tumbled loose.

As she searched, her blouse billowed loose, revealing the swell of her breasts. Though the view was nice, Blake turned his head. Don't be a creep.

"So," the woman said. He glanced back. She was still bent over, with her shirt dangling, though she had raised her head and looked in his direction. An innocent smile decorated her face. "What brings you to the park?"

He forced himself to keep his eyes on hers, noting they were brown with flecks of green arrayed in an almost radial pattern, giving them a semi-hazel appearance. "Nothing, just taking a relaxing drive from the city."

To his immense relief, she stood upright. "Which one? Albany, or the big city?"

"The big city. I was at work and just decided to get away for a little while."

"Well, it is a nice day for it."

"Yes." Blake smiled; in tone, the conversation mirrored the one he'd had with Lorena in the coffee shop. He wondered if everyone in New Baltimore was so accommodating. "Are you from here?"

"Born and raised. I've lived here all my life."

"Sounds peaceful."

"It is. I love it here. Even when I leave, it's always nice to come home."

"You leave often?"

"Now and then." She cracked a few tubes of paint and spread hues on her plastic palette board. "I've done some traveling." She met his gaze. "I've been all the way to Catskill."

The town of Catskill lay a whole twenty miles south of where they currently stood. Blake knew some people never traveled very far from home but her delivery was so deadpan he didn't know if she was being serious or not.

Before he could answer, she laughed. "I'm teasing. No, seriously, I've been all over New England, took some classes in places like Taos in New Mexico and Sedona in Arizona--you know, artist colonies. I spent two summers in Europe. But like a homing pigeon, no matter how far I go or how long I'm gone, I always seem to find my way back here." She cocked her head. "What's your name?"

"Blake."

"I'm Rosemary. Well, Blake, I have to warn you about something."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I've been known to talk someone's ear off when I'm painting. Or when I'm not painting. Pretty much anytime I'm not sleeping, and sometimes even then. I know, I know... it's not much of a warning, since I'm already doing it. But if you want to escape that horrible fate, now's your chance."

Despite her words, the pitch and tone of Rosemary's voice were almost soothing to his ears. Listening to her had already overcome his annoyance at being disturbed. Blake chuckled. "I think I can take it."

"Oh, good." She turned to her canvas and began applying wide swaths to the canvas with crisp, confident motions.

He observed her for a moment. "You look like you've been doing that for a while."

"Since I was about eight. I tried a bunch of different disciplines: pottery, stained glass, charcoal drawing. But painting is still my true love. I never get tired of it."

"Landscapes?"

"A lot, yeah. I've painted this view a couple dozen times." Rosemary shrugged. "That's okay, since it sells to tourists and visitors. But I also paint portraits, still life, abstract. I skip between oils, watercolors, even do some projects with spray paint... just about anything that involves putting various hues on a surface." She glanced at him, then turned the easel slightly, so it was out of his view. "No peeking until it's done. When it's finished, you can tell me if you like it or not."

"I'm sure it will be beautiful."

"Ha!" She tossed her hair, loosening more strands. "It might not be but that's fine. I know my talent's mid-tier, and that's okay because I love doing it so much. But you don't have to humor me. Just give it to me straight, even if it offends."

Blake smirked. "I get the impression you're somewhat hard to offend."

"Very hard, so be honest. Life is complicated enough, without lies clouding it up."

"With art, or everything?"

"Everything. Honesty's the best policy with me, and I don't know any other way to live."

The best policy...

Thoughts of Nia, his job, his parents, his future in-laws... it all crashed into his mind, driving his peace and tranquility to the outer edges of his consciousness. Honesty, eh? Be honest with yourself, Blake: this isn't what you want in life. You know that, and you're forging ahead anyway. You're not being honest with anyone--not even Nia. And why? Because you're a coward. He stared into the distance, his mood growing darker by the second.

A sharp clearing of the throat brought him back to the present. Blake blinked and glanced at Rosemary, who gazed at him intently. "I'm sorry?"

"I asked if you were all right. One minute you seemed fine, and the next moment, the look on your face was like I had just dipped my butt in your cereal bowl. Did I upset you?"

For a split-second, the mental image of her doing just that--of her bare ass, milky-colored as the rest of her, exposed and on his meal plate--flashed through his mind. The playful words sprang to his tongue, to tell her that didn't sound like the worst idea in the world. He caught himself from saying so just in time and shook his head to clear the thought. "Sorry, I was just reminded of things happening in my life right now. It's me, not you."

Her smile returned and she batted her eyes. "You're not supposed to use that line until we've been going together, and then broke up."

The tension broke and Blake laughed. "Yeah, okay."

Rose continued her non-stop chatter as she painted. Blake learned that she was twenty-five and that Lorena from Baltimore's Best Coffee was in fact Rose's mother. "Kind of makes me feel good," Rose said. "She used to have hair the same color as me, so I guess I look forward to going silver rather than gray. Not uncommon in redheads, from what I hear."

"You don't strike me as someone who worries about their hair color."

"We all have our little vanities," she replied with a smile. "I bet you have some too. Fancy car and well-dressed... that says something, you know."

"Force of habit. An image to maintain, and all that. I don't even really like this car."

"I see." Her eyes flicked from the canvas toward him. "What would you rather be driving?"

"I have no idea. I don't drive it that much anyway. Getting around Manhattan in a car is a pain. I mean, you drive a VW Bug. That says something too."

She wrinkled her nose. "It says that's all I can afford."

"I see. I figured it was a culture statement."

"What, like embracing my inner bohemian?"

"Something like that."

Rosemary raised her brows, though her eyes stayed on her work. "Assumptions are dangerous, Blake."

"Didn't you just make one about me?"

"Yeah, but I embrace the danger."

He snorted. "Okay, if you could drive anything you wanted, what would you pick?"

"As the movie says, something that goes really fast and gets really shitty gas mileage."

"I don't recognize that quote."

"You gotta expand your horizons, Blake. That was eighties-action at its finest." Rosemary squinted at her canvas. "Lorena and I argue about that idea--philosophically anyway, since I'm not in a position to buy a car like that. She and Hector are old-school hippie idealists. I have my ideals and morals but..." She shrugged again. "I try to live in this world too."

"I noticed you call your parents by their first names."

"They encouraged it when I was little and now it's just habit. It took me a while to realize not every little kid did. My folks are true believers--real children of the earth." She tossed her hair again. "As I grew up, I picked and chose which teachings of theirs I wanted to follow. They approve of the ones I agreed with, and we argue about the others--in a good-natured way, I mean."

Blake rested his arm on the back of his bench. "My parents would have a fit if I called them by their first names. They're very traditional in that sense--in every sense, really. That's--" He clamped his mouth shut, annoyed to have almost said too much.

Unfortunately, Rose caught his hesitation. She set down her brush and faced him. "Don't stop now. It sounds like you were getting to the heart of it."

"Huh?"

"Something made you leave work in the middle of the day and drive north and the longer you've been here, the less you strike me as someone who acts on impulse. And on top of that, I can tell something's bothering you."

"How?"

"The undercurrent in your voice. I've heard it enough before, from people in distress. I worked in depression counseling for a while."

He stared at her, stunned that she'd read him so easily. I guess I'm not keeping this inside as well as I thought.

Rosemary's voice brought his attention back to her. She touched her paint-splattered hand to her collarbone, leaving a smear of color. "You can talk to me--or tell me to mind my own business. Believe it or not, I am a good listener, when I can shut up long enough."

Blake hesitated for a moment. What the hell. Not like I'll ever see her again. He took a deep breath. "You read me pretty well. It's not just my parents but my future in-laws."

Rosemary cocked her head but said nothing.

"My father owns the investment firm where I work. He founded it and it's doing extremely well. It's one of the fastest-growing brokerages on the East Coast." He sighed. "But then Dad had a chance to merge with the Bank of Westchester. It basically guarantees the family gets tied into old money and elevates us into high society. Unfortunately, it came with a cost, as it means I am supposed to marry the bank president's daughter Virginia."

"I take it this is not a happy union."

"Not exactly. My father and her father put their heads together and introduced us, with the expectation we move forward together. My dad made it clear he expected me to marry her, for the good of the family. I resent his intent but I can't resent him. I know he's just concerned about all our futures. Nia's dad, on the other hand, is a complete prick. He explicitly told me that I'm to call him Mr. Walsh, even after I marry his daughter. I catch the subtle digs he throws at Dad, letting him know who's still the senior partner in this debacle. His wife Mary is the very stereotypical image of a snobby elitist. She's always making condescending remarks to my mom--basically doing the same thing her husband does. I end up having to spend a lot of time with Nia's brother Lucas, 'cause he seems convinced he and I are going to be best bros after the wedding. He's not a bad person, really, but he and I don't have much in common. He's all about partying and racking up notches on his bedposts and I'm just not. The whole set-up pisses me off."

Rosemary nodded her understanding.

"And Nia? Don't get me wrong, she's a good person--a great one, actually. She's kind and pleasant and attractive, and not nearly as pretentious as the rest of her family. I'm not sure she actually has a mean bone in her body. When we were introduced, I could tell she really liked me right away. But for me, there's just no..." Blake raised his hands, palms up. "Chemistry? Spark? It's not fair to her either. She deserves someone who wants her as much as she wants them.

"And Nia is really immersed in high society and the whole culture around it. It's all she's ever known. Like I said, she's not haughty about it and actually does some charity work--not the false 'this-makes-us-look-good' kind of crap where people drink wine and get nothing done, but actual work. She makes her social connections work for her. But the longer I'm tangled up in the whole scene, the less I want to be there. It's like a prison cell, slowly getting smaller and smaller, until I feel like I can't move, can't breathe, can't... live. If I had my way, I'd just prefer to be away from it all, even if it meant giving up the prestige and money. I mean, unless shit went really wrong, I doubt I'd ever be in poverty. I work too hard for that. But there has to be an in-between being broke and living in that ocean of stress."

Rosemary didn't say anything but continued to gaze at him.

"Dad can tell I'm reluctant about the marriage. I think he's the only one who has a clue--before I spilled my guts to you, anyway."

She smiled.

Blake continued. "My mom and sisters think the wedding's going to be awesome and I'm so lucky to land a girl like Nia. Dad sees it, though. He reminds me every day about my duty to the family, about the sacrifices he's made for us all, the opportunities this opens up for my sisters, yadda yadda yadda. All I can do is agree with him, because anything else just starts a round of browbeating and fights, and in the end, I always cave."

He lowered his eyes. "The sad thing is, in a way, I know he's right. Mom and Dad worked their fingers to the bone when me, Julia, and Maisey were little. Dad founded his business when I was six and was working eighty-hour weeks. He didn't make much until it suddenly took off a few years later when he made a few good investments. Mom worked two jobs around our school schedule to support us, until he was in position to succeed. I owe them so much and that's the worst part. Whenever I think about pulling the plug, the guilt of disappointing them chews at me until I actually get heartburn. I know when Thoreau said that most men live lives of quiet despair, he didn't mean this exactly, but he might as well have."

Blake gave a sad shake of his head and he lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. "I know arranged marriages are supposed to be a thing of the past but New York gossip mags have eaten this one up--the merger between old money and a young, vigorous financial giant... between a high-society family that can trace its roots to the old world with a hard-working family of all-American entrepreneurs. Silas Walsh has pictures of himself with three presidents, for Christ's sake. On paper, I'm sure it all looks amazing. In reality, it's a shit show, and I hate myself for being part of it--or maybe I just hate myself for being too much of a wimp to duck out."

His words trailed away. Blake kept his eyes on the grass-studded gravel at his feet. He'd wondered if spitting out everything would be cathartic or cleansing--like inducing vomit to purge the poison in his system. But now that he had, all he felt was hollow.

That's the reality. This is where my life is going and there's nothing to be done about it. Tentacles of despair enveloped his brain. The darkest of thoughts took root.

A small hand touched his shoulder. Blake flinched; he hadn't even noticed her coming to sit next to him. Rose's fingers squeezed gently and her soft breath grazed his ear. "Blake. Look at me."

He swiveled his head toward her. Empathy and concern painted her face. "What?"

"Are you thinking about harming yourself?"

He didn't even attempt to lie. "It's crossed my mind... but I think I'm too much of a coward for that too."

"I don't think you're a coward." Her tiny fingers gave his upper arm a second squeeze. Blake marveled at the warmth of her touch. "I think you're just dealing with a lot."

"That makes me hate myself even more." His eyes lowered to the grass. "There are people out there with real problems. I've never faced starvation, or abuse, or disease. A lot of folks would love to be in my position, and all I can do is bitch about it."

"I wouldn't look at it like that. Your problems--and whatever your level of coping with them--are yours alone. No matter what other folk are going through, that doesn't diminish your trouble."

"But--"

"No buts."

Blake smiled, though there was no humor in it. "I've heard that when humans have no real problems, they tend to invent new ones... almost like we define our existence by our misery."

"Nah." Rosemary patted his shoulder and stood. She swirled in a full circle, extending her arms and tilting her head back. Sunlight fell over her face. "You came to this little spot for the same reason I did. It's pretty and shaded and tranquil. Sitting here brought you peace and pleasure. You didn't come here to be miserable. You came to have your spirit lifted. We humans chase that--all of us. I think we define our life by joy."

She stepped closer and offered her hand. Unsure what to do, Blake took it and let her pull him to his feet.

Rosemary gazed into his eyes. "I wouldn't begin to tell you what to do with your life, Blake, but I will say this: whatever it is you do, don't forget the things that bring you happiness. Your parents can't live your life for you, and neither can your future in-laws or even your fiancee. If you go through with your marriage, don't lose yourself."

"How do I do that?" he whispered.

She gave a light shrug and whirled away again, spinning her skirt. Rosemary picked up her brush and palette board. "Beats me. Only you would know." She held up a finger as he stepped closer. "Uh-uh. You can't see it until it's done."

"How much longer?"

"Oh, probably tomorrow."

Blake blinked in surprise. "Uh, I'll be back in New York by tomorrow."

"Then I guess you'll have to come back to New Baltimore to see it." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, shoot. I am so late."

"Late for what?"

"Meeting a client. I thought I could get some work in beforehand but..." She began packing.

"I'm sorry if I was a distraction."

She paused, giving him a penetrating look. "Do not apologize for that, ever. No painting means more to me than talking to a soul in need, okay?"

He nodded dumbly.

In less than two minutes, she'd finished stuffing her gear and the half-finished canvas in the car. Just as she made to climb in her overgrown scooter, Rosemary glanced over her shoulder. On seeing Blake staring at her, she smiled. "Remember what we talked about here, Mr. Blake. Go find what makes you happy."

She hadn't even gotten the door closed before the rear tires began kicking up gravel and dust, and then she was gone.

#

Blake let his eyes roam across the pavilion and reminded himself to keep his stiff smile in place. He stifled another sigh. He knew he'd been doing that a lot lately and told himself to shake it off.

About him, party-goers in chic casual fashion circulated with drinks in hand. He recognized a number of high-and-mighty from New York's social and business circles. A pleasant murmur of conversation hung over the crowd and the light lilt of a string quartet played in the background.

Walsh certainly knows how to throw a party. He also knew Nia's father did so just for the opportunity to say he'd had so-and-so under his roof. Blake's eyes tracked the man himself. Silas Walsh mingled on the lawn, chatting in amiable tones with his peers, and nodding with polite disdain to those circling around him.

The man caught Blake looking. He raised his champagne flute and adopted a mocking grin.

Blake nodded in return before looking elsewhere. Just a matter of time, he thought, before he takes time out of socializing to show everyone how whipped his future son-in-law is. He'll wait until several people can overhear, probably including Mom and Dad. Sometimes, I wish he'd do something unpredictable, just for something new. But it's the same routine, over and over.

A slim arm slipped through his elbow and a soft voice whispered in his ear. "You're daydreaming."

"I am, sorry."

"It's okay. I know you'd rather be anywhere but here." Nia leaned close and kissed his cheek. A faint flowery scent wafted past his nose. "Thank you for coming."

Like my father would have tolerated me being anywhere else.

As if reading his mind, Nia said, "You could have skipped, you know. I would have made some excuse to the old folks for you--said you got run over by a boat or something."

Blake smiled again, genuinely this time. "I couldn't have left you to deal with all this alone."

"It's Mom and Dad's soiree, not mine. As far as this gathering goes, I'm like you: another piece of impressive ornamentation."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

He knew she was right, so he shook his head and laughed. "Okay, you win."

Her grin broadened. "Wonderful, I adore winning." Her small hand slipped into his. "Since I am on a winning streak, I think you should come with me."

"Nia--"

"Trust me."

Blake allowed her to lead him to a small cluster of men and women their age. He and Nia's brother saw each other at the same time. "There he is," Lucas bellowed. "My future bro-in-law!"

"Afternoon." Blake shook Lucas's hand and got the impression the man was already half in the tank.

Introductions and reconnections were made all around. Blake remembered several of Lucas's friends, all of whom were just like him. From the briefest snatches of conversation, Blake caught the primary drift of their conversation, which centered on sports, partying, and chasing women. He shot a look at Nia.

His fiancee squeezed his arm and placed her lips on his ear. "As long as you're with these guys, Mom and Dad won't bother you." She pulled back, smiled, and walked away.

She turned out to be right. Every time Blake caught Walsh eyeing him, the man had a half-frown on his face, especially when Lucas grabbed Blake around the shoulders and drunkenly proclaimed that his future brother-in-law was the best man alive. Blake had no idea why Walsh was reluctant to approach while he was with Lucas but he decided not to look the proverbial gift-horse in the mouth.

That lasted until his mother swung past the group and asked Lucas if she could steal Blake away for a moment. Blake groaned as soon as she spoke. The pleasant tone of her voice was undercut by the diamond-hard set to her eyes. He prayed Lucas would object--which of course, he didn't.

"Sure thing, Theresa." Lucas slapped Blake on the shoulder. "He's all yours."

Her pinks colored at Lucas's familiarity but she said, "Thank you, Lucas. Come with me, Son."

Having little choice, he followed her away.

The moment they were out of earshot, his mother's voice warped, filling with anger. She glanced from side to side to make sure no one else was in earshot. "What a little snot. I have no idea what you see in him."

"Mom, I mostly hang out with him for Nia's sake."

"Still... I hope you aren't picking up any of his filthy habits."

"No, Mom."

"Silas and your dad are asking about you. They want to discuss something about the merger."

It was a good idea, Nia, but neither of us saw your Dad using my Mom to outmaneuver us. Blake rolled his eyes. "Mom, it's a party. We're supposed to be relaxing."

"And that attitude right there is what has your father concerned," she snapped. "You need to treat this seriously, Blake. Things could still fall through, and then where would we be?"

He wanted to answer by saying that even if the merger failed, they'd still be wealthy, ascending in society, and well-regarded. Several other large financial sharks--some of whom were bigger than Walsh, if not as blue-blooded--had sniffed around Pennington Holdings. It was on the tip of the tongue to say so.

Instead, he only nodded.

"Ah, Blake, there you are." Walsh's voice boomed across the lawn--no doubt drawing everyone's attention, Blake thought. Walsh grinned. "Come, join us. Al and I were just discussing the merger."

The next fifteen minutes went exactly as Blake had dreaded. Silas Walsh rambled on about their merger, not really asking questions but not allowing anyone else to speak either. He made subtle digs at Blake's father, saying things along the lines of "Once it's all said and done, I'll show you how this city really works, Al." Al nodded and smiled but Blake knew his dad and knew it was a plastic smile. Blake caught the casual glances of those gathered around them and saw the polite aloofness of Walsh's other guests when they looked at his father.

Sheep. They're all sheep. They can't even form their own opinions, they just wait for Walsh to say something and they nod along like he's the great prophet, delivering wisdom from their deity. God, I hate it here.

Mercifully, Nia appeared again and informed her father she needed Blake for something. Having had his spectacle, Walsh gave a magnanimous laugh. "Gotta let the lovebirds have some time together, eh folks?" His followers barked laughter along with him, like the pack of trained seals they were.

Nia led Blake to the main house. He all but slumped in relief when the door closed, muting the sounds of the party--and then jumped when she launched herself against him and smashed her mouth into his. Their fervent kiss lasted a few seconds before Blake broke it off. "Easy, sweetie, I need to breathe too."

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Forget breathing. I think I could live on kisses alone. Well, maybe not just kisses." Her hand drifted over his crotch, where Blake's sudden erection strained at his pants. Her voice fell to a sultry whisper. "Want to go upstairs?"

"We better not."

Her smile faded. "Blake, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't touched me in two weeks. I know you wanted to wait until we were married but that doesn't mean we can't play, and it feels like you don't even want to kiss me." Her gaze softened and she touched his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Blake resisted cringing as yet another lie rolled off his lips.

Her expression indicated doubt at his statement.

What can I say, Nia? I know my cock is hard but that's because a pretty girl kissed me. Neither my mind nor my heart are into it. The temptation to give in--to bust a nut and be done with it--crept into his mind but Blake smashed the thought.

Neither of them were virgins but when Nia had rather directly suggested they'd needed to get in bed, he had stammered an excuse, saying he'd promised his parents to wait until they were wed--for political reasons between the families. Knowing her own father, Nia had bought that excuse.

That did not mean she hadn't been all over him. They'd made out quite a few times but the more Blake's doubt grew, the less comfortable he felt with the physical side of their relationship. It's not right and not fair to her. I have to wrap my head around this before we do anything further. Fish or cut bait. Shit or get off the pot.

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Nia. But between our dads and the wedding and everything, the stress is really getting to me. I'm trying to find ways to relax, so I can be more... present, I guess, when we're together."

Her smile returned. Gentle fingers caressed his cheek. "It's going to be okay, Blake. I promise."

I wish I could believe that.

Nia abruptly broke away from him. "By the way, I'll be out tomorrow and Monday. Julia and Maisey and I are going with our moms to Boston. Girls trip--shopping, and the like."

"When did this happen?"

"Just a little bit ago."

"Hmm. Do I need to worry about you misbehaving?"

"Not at all, baby." She leaned in and pecked him on the lips. "You know you're the only man for me."

Blake gave a weak smile, wishing he could have said the same.

#

His car glided to a halt on the loose gravel in front of the small, modest building, which appeared to be a converted home. A white sign with colorful lettering proclaimed the location as "Imagination Studio."

This is crazy.

With his fiancee and the women in his family out of town, it had been easy for Blake to beg off spending Sunday with his father. Al had only grunted and mumbled something about dropping in the office for a few hours--clearly hinting that Blake should do the same. Instead, Blake said his goodbyes, hopped in his car, and headed north again.

Lorena, the smiling coffee shop proprietor, directed him to her daughter's studio. Blake bought a couple of coffees to go and headed down the street. Since New Baltimore was hardly a thriving metropolis, it only took him a few moments.

A placard by the door proclaimed the studio's regular hours--from ten to five, Monday through Friday--and an enigmatic "Maybe" next to Saturday and Sunday. But the sign in the door itself read, "OPEN," so he pushed inside and entered an open room that he guessed filled the front half of the building. Finished paintings, sculptures, pottery, stained glass, and other art crowded the chamber. "Hello?"

"Just a moment," came a voice from the back.

Blake glanced around, looking for a doorway covered with long strands of beads but didn't see one. Yeah, he thought, I guess that would have been a little too on point. He set the two coffees on a clear corner of the nearest workbench. A stack of colorful business cards, just as vibrant as the exterior sign, lay on the counter. He palmed one and stuck it in his pocket.

A moment later, Rosemary emerged from a back room. Her yellow summer dress was splattered with splashes of color, as were her hands, though she wiped both on a rag. Her curly red hair, just as wild as before, bounced in every direction along with her movement. Her eyes fell on Blake and she smiled. "Oh, my friend from the river park. Mister Blake, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Hi, Rosemary. I, uh, came to see the finished painting."

"How'd you know I'd be finished?"

"You said Thursday that you'd be finished, 'probably tomorrow,' and it is now two days after 'tomorrow,' so that should have been enough time."

Her grin widened. "Bold of you to assume I would... even though I said I would."

"Do you make a habit of not finishing what you start, or being done when you say you will?"

"Oh, all the time." Rosemary waved her hand. "The mind of an artist, you know, always bouncing from one thought to another? Maybe it's ADHD. Or I like to make excuses. Or maybe I'm just a little crazy."

"Or maybe all of them put together?"

Rosemary folded her hands in front of her. A very somber expression appeared on her face. "That seems very likely, Mister Blake."

She looked so somber that he hesitated. Then Rosemary burst out laughing. "Sorry, I can't maintain that face for too long."

"You had me going."

"In all seriousness, I try to be on time when a customer's paying. Otherwise, I do projects on my own schedule, which could mean a day or a month. In this case, I did manage to finish."

"Well, may I see it, then?"

"Oh, sure. Come on back." She whirled away and headed into the back room without seeing if Blake followed. He did.

The back room was even more crowded than the front one, with a mixture of half-finished and completed projects. Several canvases stood on easels, one of which Rosemary moved to. She made a flourishing motion with her hands. "Ta-da!"

He peered at the painting. At a casual glance, Blake wouldn't have known the depiction from that of any other landscape painting he'd ever seen. But the small details--the cut of the treeline at the park, the small houses on the far side of the bank--immediately reminded him of the view he'd had on the bench. The vibrant colors and cheery tone filled him with a sense of satisfaction and peace, though he suspected only because it reminded him of sitting in calm and silence.

His eyes drifted toward the bottom, where he noted the long shadow of a man sitting on a bench, staring at the river. Despite the cheery nature of the cheery nature of the overall piece, the gloomy figure made Blake think of dread and despair. He pointed to it. "That's kind of ominous, isn't it?"

"Sort of but no more so than you were at the river."

He grimaced. "That's blunt."

"I'm sorry, Blake, I call them as I see them. You told me everything going on but even before then, you had a certain... sadness radiating off you. Your negative energy was plain as day. Only the most self-absorbed people couldn't see that."

Blake pressed his lips together. "Self-absorbed" did indeed describe most of the people in his life. The few who had really noticed something wrong had barely acknowledged it. Only Nia, the one person I really feel bad for in this situation, has both noticed and cared that something is bothering me... and to do anything for myself, I have to crush her. Some choice.

Still, having his inner circle described as such, by someone who had never met them stuck in his craw. A bit of sneer crept into his voice. "Energy, huh? Is this some kind of earth-child aura thing--where you tell me my chakras are out of balance or something, and I need to sit around chanting to restore them?"

Rosemary caught his tone. She gave him a direct look. "No, just empathy and plain common sense." She did not add the words, 'you jackass,' but the inflection of her voice said it nonetheless.

His annoyance fed as quick as it had come. Blake sighed, knowing she had no blame for his state of mind. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be a jerk. You're right, I guess I was putting off the vibes that day."

"And today."

"Yeah." Blake squared his shoulders. He'd glanced at the similar-sized paintings in the front room, most of which had been tagged with a low-three-figure price. He placed his hand on his wallet. "How much for this painting?"

"Normally, I'd sell this for one-fifty but..." She trailed off as she peered at him.

"But, what?"

Rosemary scrunched her brows. "I'll give it to you for free--"

Blake opened his mouth to protest but caught himself when she held up her hand.

"--if you stay here and paint with me this afternoon."

"Paint? Me?"

"Yes, paint, and yes, you. Well, we're not going to paint you but you know what I mean."

"I've never painted." Blake held up his hands. "I was never the artistic type."

"No matter. And don't worry about your clothes, I have a smock you can wear. I'll give you a quick tutorial." She offered him a small smile. "Just try it."

He stared at the grinning woman for a few seconds, trying to process her motivation. Fuck it, no reason to be home early and stare at the walls. "All right, you're on."

She squealed, bounced in place, and clapped her hands together. "Oh, good."

"Still, you should let me pay for--"

"We'll figure that out later." She grabbed his hand and pulled him forward... and since he was both amused and intrigued, Blake let her.

#

He gazed at the colored canvas. "Blech."

Rosemary shook her head. "It's a great first effort."

"That's a very polite way of saying it's dog shit."

"Didn't Malcolm Gladwell say it takes ten thousand hours to master a task? How many hours have you been painting?"

"Uh, less than four."

"Exactly, so quit being so hard on yourself." She patted his shoulder and Blake shivered at her touch. "Besides, let me ask the important question: did you enjoy doing it?"

"It was nice to lose myself in something and not think about the outside world." He stared at the simple picture. "I'm not sure oil painting is for me, though."

"Blake, look at me."

He faced her, again noting the earnestness of her expression. Blake realized that look was always there, whether she was ebullient or serious, Rosemary never came across as anything but scrupulously honest.

She took his hands in hers. Her fingers were again warm, and just as paint-dotted as his.

Rosemary looked him in the eye. "You don't have to be a master to love something. There's nothing wrong with trying to get better at something but if it feels good on your soul, don't worry about being good. Just enjoy it."

"Easy for you to say. You're a great artist."

"But I'm lousy at playing the guitar. Hector is an excellent guitarist and Lorena sings very well. I always wanted to copy them but I am legitimately bad as a musician and singer. Did I stop playing and singing just because I sound like a cat being cooked over slow coals? No, because I love doing both." She made a slight grimace and looked away. "I just do it where no one else can hear now."

Blake chuckled.

Rosemary faced him again. "The point is, you find the thing you love and do it, no matter what. That thing doesn't have to be oil painting. If you don't know what it is, you keep trying things until you find it. Okay?"

"Okay."

She released Blake's hands and patted his shoulders. "Good, I'm glad we got that settled." She rapidly turned away, with the spin of her dress he'd gotten used to seeing. She pushed the wealth of her coppery hair behind her ear, glanced over her right shoulder, smiled, and returned to her own painting.

Something stirred deep in his soul. Blake blinked, shook his head, and looked away.

He sat with her while she continued to work on a painting, which depicted a ship against a setting sun, and closely matched the stock photo she had printed and clipped above the working canvas. As before, Rosemary maintained an endless string of conversation on a variety of subjects--some relevant to art and some not. After a few minutes, Blake discovered he was happy to just sit with her and listen. That was followed by the realization that the Sunday afternoon had been the most relaxing and peaceful he'd had in a long time.

An afternoon just... painting. Who would have known?

Rosemary revealed that her parents owned the studio building but let her run it as she saw fit. She stated that more than half of the art in the foyer belonged to other local artists and that she just rented the display space to them. "Because every local artist has such a unique style. I'm able to market a lot of variety during tourist season," she said between brush strokes, "which means that something here appeals to almost everyone who comes in."

"Makes sense."

"And the guests can visit here and work. I teach some classes during the summer. Sometimes, people like to do what you did. They'll just come in for a single session. You know, something they can take home with them. Most of the time, they aren't very good."

"Worse than me?"

"Most of the time. Many or even the majority will never try to paint again. But that's not why they come here. They drop in so they can make something with their own hands. They have it and put it on the wall of their living room, knowing they made it. It's not about feeding their talent, but feeding their soul."

"That also makes sense."

She tossed her hair. "I always make sense."

Blake resisted the urge to laugh. "Really?"

She winked. "No, not really."

They talked more. Naturally, Blake drifted into talking about his situation with Nia, his father, and the rest. He knew he'd already covered it with Rosemary once and feared looking like an obsessed weirdo. But she asked questions and appeared genuinely interested. When he told her about the wife of his father's associate hitting on him at the bar, she laughed and said, "Maybe you just have that effect on women, Mister Blake."

"I don't think that's it."

Rosemary smiled and lowered her eyes but said nothing.

Blake smiled to himself. The longer he talked with her, the more comfortable he felt. Rosemary had such a unique energy that he had never felt before. They fell into a back-and-forth of low-key banter that felt not only natural but as if he'd been prepping for it all his life.

It was close to five o'clock when he reluctantly stated he needed to head back to the city. "Work tomorrow."

Rosemary gestured toward his canvas. "I'll get that wrapped up for you."

"No, that's fine. Leave it here as a warning sign for future students and tourists." He lowered his voice. " 'Pay attention to your instruction. Don't be this guy.' I will take that other painting, though--the one I originally came for. And I will pay you for it, for your time. You can keep mine."

Rosemary shook her head. "We don't store half-finished artwork here. Gallery policy."

"As of when?"

She beamed. "Thirty seconds ago. That means you'll have to come back and finish it."

"I... don't know when I can get away again." Blake pondered his schedule. Between a sixty-hour work week and wedding plans that would take up more and more of his time, the possibility seemed minimal. "Let's just call it finished. Offer it as a door prize during a seasonal promotional, or something."

She shrugged, as if the matter was unimportant. "I'll wrap the river painting while you clean up."

Blake ducked into the restroom and spent a few minutes scrubbing the paint from his hands. While there, he checked his phone and grimaced. Nia had texted, asking how he was doing. He fired off a quick response, saying he was fine and hoping her shopping trip to Boston was going well. Before he could even get the phone in his pocket, she answered, saying it was.

His hostess was waiting when he emerged. "Well, thank you for the afternoon, Rosemary. I really appreciate it."

"I hope you got to relax."

"I did."

"Good. I'll walk you out." At the door, she paused. "I should thank you too. I really enjoyed having someone here to talk to."

"I'm sure you've got lots of friends and admirers who'd be happy to listen."

"Sometimes but it rarely goes both ways." Rosemary held the door open. "Thank you again, Mister Blake."

He stepped outside and halted.

A pair of wrapped packages leaned against his car, each the size and shape of a canvas. He knew in an instant what they were. Blake turned but Rosemary had already closed the door. He knocked. "Hey, I said I would pay for that--for both of them."

"Sorry," she yelled from within, "we're closed."

Blake smiled, accepting defeat. He packed the paintings in his backseat and drove home.

He knew the perfect place to hang them.

#

"What is that?"

Blake did not look up from his skillet. "That, Julia, is called artwork."

"No, smart guy, the one of the river is artwork." His sister gestured toward his own painting. "This one is hideous. Why did you hang it on your wall?"

He flipped the scallops one by one. Butter sizzled and popped, and the scents of garlic wafted past his nose. "Because I painted it."

"You did? Since when did you show an interest in painting?"

"I don't know. It was a project, something fun to try."

"It's ugly."

He started to snark back, with something along the lines of, "Let's see you do better." Rather, he smiled, recalling how much fun he's had bantering with Rosemary and simply unplugging from everything. He said, "I had fun. I enjoyed the process. It was something for me to relax."

"Well, well. The mighty Blake Pennington finally shows his human side."

"Don't get used to it."

Blake finally glanced away from his cooking. The older of his two younger sisters stood in the entry of the kitchen, clutching her wine glass. Her lustrous brown hair--the same shade as Blake's--fell to her shoulders in soft waves. Julia wore a fashionable blouse and skirt that highlighted her trim form. High-quality jewelry, that was expensive without being ostentatious, decorated her wrists and neck. Her outfit wouldn't have been out of place in a high-class lounge... which is where Blake was certain she was headed after dinner.

She's a perfect representative of the upper-class socialite, Blake thought. Both of them are.

As if reading his mind, Maisey appeared from the other room. Though Maisey was two inches taller, the resemblance between the two sisters was hard to miss. A similar half-filled glass dangled from Maisey's fingers. "Are we about ready?"

"If by 'we,' you mean 'me.' then yes, Brat, it's close. It'll be done when it's done."

Maisey glowered at Blake's childhood name for her, as she always did. She flounced out of the kitchen and back to Blake's living room.

Julia chuckled. "She hates that name."

"Then she should be more patient. It will only be a few more minutes. You two all are already getting a free home-cooked meal and swilling my wine before you head out on the town."

She smiled. "Jealous that you can't go trolling for women these days--that the old ball and chain might object?"

"She's not my ball and chain yet."

Something in his voice caught Julia's attention. She set her glass on the counter. "What's going on with you and Nia, anyway?"

"Nothing, why?"

"You're a bad liar." Julia crossed her arms. "She's been complaining to Mom and her mom that you've been distant. Mom says you're just nervous but it's more than that, isn't it? Talk to me, Blake. We're all worried about you. Mom and Dad too."

Blake sighed. What am I supposed to say to her? I guess I'm surprised she even noticed. Shit, Mom the other day at the party kind of hinted at it too. Maybe they all understood all along.

Unbidden, Rosemary's smiling face floated through his mind. Her voice reverberated in his head, whispering, "Honesty, always..."

Sorry, Rosemary. "I very much doubt Dad is worried about me, unless it's that I might not show up to work, or somehow blow the merger and tarnish the Pennington name or something... and Mom would disown me in a heartbeat if I did."

To her credit, Julia didn't deny it.

Blake rolled his shoulders and started plating the scallops alongside the steamed broccoli and rice. "Let's not talk about that. Tell Brat dinner's ready. We have--" His eyes flicked to the clock on the stove. "--about an hour."

They sat and ate. Despite his misgivings and overall malaise, banter with his siblings recharged Blake's spirits. Both ribbed him over his painting, though Blake knew it was in a good-natured way. They laughed and teased each other over dinner, then helped Blake clean up before departing. Blake escorted them downstairs, where their father's driver waited for them. "So where are my two darling baby sisters heading out tonight?"

"Absinthe."

"That place is a meat market."

"I know but it's the closest place we can dance a little and not have to worry about getting our drinks spiked." Maisey made a face. "Daddy's expecting us home at a 'decent' hour, so we have to be good little girls."

"Family rep, Brat. We all have to maintain it."

His sisters gave him a kiss on the cheek and departed, passing right by Lucas as he strolled through the entrance. He smiled and spread his arms. "Ladies, so glad to see my favorite soon-to-be-sisters-in-law. Can I get a hug?"

Maisey laughed and hugged him. Julia eyed the man. "Are you going to keep your hands to yourself this time?"

"Of course! My generosity and desire to please knows no bounds."

Julia gave him a quick embrace--and then squealed when he tickled her midsection. She swatted at Lucas, gave a harumph, and stalked out, with a giggling Maisey following. Lucas's stare fixed on Blake. "Bro! You're already down. Ready to go?"

Blake sighed. "Sure."

#

Blake gazed at his computer monitor. He'd pulled up Rosemary's website, which he'd only found because of the web address printed on her business card. He'd scrolled through a long gallery of her artistic projects, growing increasingly amazed at the breadth and depth of her talent. Another tab listed a series of art classes being held at Rosemary's shop and some clips of instructional videos. The "About Me" section of the website featured a smiling Rosemary leaning against a tree. He'd already heard most of her bio during her nonstop chatter.

Blake smiled. Even through the picture on her website, Rosemary exuded a simple joy of life. He could almost picture the stray springs of her hair dancing in the wind.

His smile faded. Blake... what are you doing, man?

Attraction to the young woman was unmistakable; Blake didn't even try to deny it. At the same time, he'd interacted with literally dozens of women in his life to whom he had felt some degree of interest. He'd always been able to ignore such allure or forget about those women entirely.

Blake had always stressed being honest about such feelings with Nia. Early in their courtship, one of Nia's friends had hinted at being available if Blake was interested. He'd shut that down hard and when that friend tried to paint him as the bad guy, Nia had not believed her. His penchant for honesty had worked for him.

It won't this time.

He knew he should forget about Rosemary. He knew he just had to concentrate on his upcoming marriage and the merger between their families on both a personal and corporate level.

But the vision of a red-headed free spirit had lodged itself in his head and for the first time, no matter what he tried, he couldn't dislodge it.

This is stupid. I can't keep doing this. I'm engaged... and I have to get back to this. A quick click of the finger minimized the window. Blake shook his head, focused on the pile of work on his desk, and tried to concentrate.

The paperwork for the merger seemed endless. He'd been working on just his section for the first four days of the week and wasn't even close to being done. An entire parade of federal and state agencies needed to be appeased--or bought off, he thought sourly. From things he'd both heard and seen, he had no doubt Silas Walsh would let mere financial regulations stand in his way. The man boasted of contacts in the FTC and SEC, and claimed "people owe me favors... powerful people."

Blake sighed, dropped his pen, and rubbed his eyes. At the very least, it was already Thursday and no matter what his father wanted, Blake wasn't prepared to give up his weekend, since that was about all that was keeping him sane.

"Blake?"

Speak of the devil. He lifted his head and hid the grimace before he stood. "Hey, Dad."

Al Pennington entered his office and closed the door.

Blake groaned.

He only does that when he's about to read me the riot act for something. Blake felt a momentary surge of gratitude that his father at least spared his dignity by shutting the door... then quashed it. He was certain his coworkers knew perfectly well what was going on inside the office.

His father sat across from him and mentally preparing for his browbeating, Blake also sat. "What's up?"

Al gazed at him for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was strangely guarded. "Blake, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. Just stress from the wedding and all."

"Don't give me that. Something's bothering you, Son, and it's not the wedding."

Blake blinked. His father rarely called him "Son."

Al rubbed his chin. "I know you had concerns about the merger but we've been over this."

"I know."

"Are you and Nia having problems?"

He shifted in his seat. "No."

"Why won't you talk to me?"

Annoyance flared. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I'm worried about you. Your mother is too."

"Really?" Blake laughed. "Since when?"

His father frowned. "We've always worried about you. Why would you think otherwise?"

He shook his head again, trying to absorb the surreal nature of the conversation. His father wore an earnest expression, though it seemed ill-suited for his face, as if he was out of practice. Blake couldn't figure out his father's angle. He doubted Al was trying to ease into a more difficult conversation; the man tended to bull his way through trying situations. He didn't do subtle. Blake said, "Oh, I can't imagine why."

"We've been over this. You know how important this all is, right?"

His dad's expression didn't change. Blake sighed, suddenly defeated. "Look, I'm going to go through with the wedding. I'm going to do what I need to do... 'do my duty,' as you and Mom keep reminding me. Hell, even Julia and Maisey have been warning me not to botch it. None of you need to worry. I'll stand at the altar at Trinity Church, say my vows, enjoy my marriage to my pretty socialite wife, and crank out heirs to the Walsh and Pennington fortunes. As long as I do that, there should be no problems, right?"

"You make it sound like a death sentence."

He stayed silent. There seemed nothing left to say.

Al waited for a moment. When Blake didn't speak, he sighed, shook his shoulders, and glanced at his watch. "I have a phone call in a few minutes."

"Ishihara Group again." Blake knew the investment firm was interested in doing business--even more so as news of the imminent merger swirled.

"Yeah." Al wiped his hands on his pant legs. "I'll talk to you later."

Blake waited.

His father stood and headed away. He paused at the door, turned, and stared at Blake, as if he wanted to say something. Then he shook his head a second time and left.

Great, Blake thought. Fucking fantastic. He waited a few minutes until the top of the hour, then called his father's assistant.

Vera answered on the first ring. "You okay, Blake?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your father came down there. I was waiting to see if there was going to be a yelling fit."

"No, it was calm. Weird but calm. Dad... look, never mind. Has anything been added to the schedule for tomorrow?"

"No, nothing. Same old, same old. Do you need another day off?"

"I think so."

"I'll cover for you."

Blake smiled at that. If there was anyone other than his mother that really knew how to work his father, it was Vera. "Thanks." He disconnected and stared at his monitor for a moment before he brought up the minimized window. He paged to the tab featuring classes.

When he saw one for the next day, Blake reclined against the back of his chair, closed his eyes, and for the first time that day, a sense of relaxation spread over both mind and body.

#

No matter how much he tried, Blake couldn't dampen his enthusiasm for returning to New Baltimore. He told himself that it was only because he was happy at another chance to escape the city. He almost believed that.

Of course, Maisey had gotten wind that he had a day off and called to harangue him until he'd given her a bland, blanket reassurance that everything was fine and hung up on her while she was still peppering him with questions. He knew that word would get back to Nia and that he would have to answer questions without hanging up.

Deal with that when you have to.

Unlike his previous visit to Imagination Studio, when the parking lot was empty, Blake had to park at the perimeter of the gravel patch. Various cars crowded the lot, ranging from beaters as old as Rosemary's to those of the Mercedes and Lexus persuasion. He even spotted a Jaguar.

She waited by the door, smiling when she saw him. As always, she wore a flowing blouse and long skirt, with a painter's apron across them. "Well, well. Mr. Blake. I was surprised when I saw your name on the list."

"Were you?"

"Very." She thrust her hand out.

"What?"

"The class is forty dollars." She paused and lowered her voice. "For materials, basically."

"Oh, right." He fumbled for his wallet. "I guess I didn't even think about that."

He passed her two twenties, which she folded and tucked in a pocket. "Is that enough, or do I owe you for the other week?"

"Nope, first lesson's free."

"Are we still talking about painting?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She placed a sign on the store, indicating a class was in session, then crooked her finger at him, beckoning him toward the back. "This way, Mr. Blake. Everyone's waiting."

Ten people of various ages crowded the back room, each of them standing at a paint-splattered easel topped by a snowy white canvas. Most of the students dressed modestly but Blake picked out a pair of women in their sixties that exuded money and status. Bored and rich. No doubt, looking for something to break up their ennui. Of course, if that's the case, what does that make me?

He glanced at Rosemary and quickly looked away.

The class was similar to the solo instruction she'd given Blake, with the same subject matter, though he was able to refine a bit of his technique from the previous session. The other students were attentive and all produced paintings of various quality.

To her credit, Rosemary circled the students, offering encouragement and advice where applicable. Blake noted her veiled criticism was delivered in such a positive manner that her students all smiled and nodded. She blitzed past his with scarcely a glance. "Good second effort."

"Thanks."

As the class wound down around eleven, Rosemary subtly informed the attendees that taking their receipt to Baltimore Coffee would result in a discount on lunch. They packed up their paintings and filed out.

Blake lingered behind, waiting until they were the only ones left in the studio. "That was smooth."

"What was?"

"Directing them to your mother's cafe for lunch."

Rosemary grinned. "Lorena appreciates the business. Besides, these folk want the full small-town experience."

"What do you mean?"

"Blake, do you know why all those folks came here for class today?"

"Tell me."

"They were like you when I met you that first day at the park by the river. They were looking for something they couldn't even identify. It's usually just an itch--a chance to do something outside their normal routines. They're the same folks who go on a wilderness retreat and learn about yoga for a weekend, or go deep sea fishing once, or anything like that. They leave the city for a day or two. They stay somewhere new, see something they normally don't. They return feeling refreshed and ready to plunge back into their lives."

"That sounds cynical, like you're humoring them."

"Not at all. Most of them aren't really looking to completely turn their day-to-day inside out. They only need a little break, to spread their wings. I'm glad they come to do something like this rather than take up gambling or start an affair or something. If this brings them peace, I'm glad to help."

"What about the ones who are looking to overhaul their lives?"

Her lip caught between her teeth. "Those are the dangerous ones."

He stepped closer. "How so?"

"Because many of them are misplaced. They're unhappy but they think a massive change--like ditching a steady career and taking up art--is going to fix what's wrong. Most of the time, they haven't identified the real problem in their lives."

Blake flinched. Her statement had been more accurate than what she had probably intended. He thought for a moment. "What happens when they identify the real problem?"

Her voice was just a whisper. "Then at that point, I guess we see what we see." She shook herself and moved away, taking her hand from his. "I was wrong, by the way. Your painting style certainly needs more work. Can you come back tomorrow and do another one?"

"I think so." He thought of his plans and wrinkled his nose. "I have to go back to the city tonight."

"Tomorrow, then." She flipped her fingers. "All right, shoo."

Blake walked out, laughing to himself.

#

The Fifth Avenue Taphouse was quiet, as it always was around eight on a Friday night. Blake knew it wouldn't start picking up until eleven, so finding spaces at the bar for himself and Lucas was no issue.

Wayne greeted them with professional warmth and was already pouring their drinks before their rears hit the leather surface of the stools. Blake reached for his card but Lucas beat him to it. "Nah, man, it's on me tonight."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing."

Wayne served their drinks and moved off. Blake sipped his, letting his mind wander. As it always did lately, his thoughts built the image of a young woman with wild red hair framing deep hazel eyes and creamy cheeks dotted with freckles. He smiled, imagining Rosemary at work on a canvas, jabbering and laughing as she did.

A nudge at his side tore him from his daydream. Blake blinked. "What?"

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "I said, you look like you're a million miles away, and I heard you took another day off today."

"How'd you know that?"

"Maisey."

Blake grimaced. "Brat's got a big mouth. It was nothing, really. Stress. Just a lot on my mind."

"You sure that's all it is?"

"What do you mean?"

Lucas drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the bar. Without being called, Wayne glided past, removing the finished drink and replacing it with a fresh one. Lucas hefted it, swishing the ice cubes. "Dude, you've been walking around like a zombie for the last couple of months and it seems like it's getting worse. Nia's really worried about you."

"I'm sure she's not the only one."

"Only one that matters."

"Yeah." Blake swiveled his stool. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's the story with you and your dad?"

Lucas shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

"The other week at your folks' get-together. Nia steered me over to your guys. She said your dad wouldn't bother me there and he didn't."

'I don't know what she's talking about."

"Come on, man..."

Lucas said nothing for a moment. When he did speak, his voice carried an unusually somber and introspective note. "My relationship with my dad has never been all that great. I'm sure Nia told you that."

Blake nodded.

"I never fit in the Walsh mold, you know? I had no desire to be a banker or some Wall Street clown, counting every penny like pre-ghost Scrooge." The smile he threw at Blake was thin and loaded with sarcasm. "No offense."

"I know."

"I was willing to leave everything behind--the money, the prestige, all of it. I really just wanted to live my life on my own and for my dad to stop climbing my ass over everything I did. I know you can relate to that last bit."

Blake nodded again. More than you know.

Lucas sighed. "But letting things go is not how Silas Walsh does things, so we fought. A lot. I blustered a lot, he threatened to send me to prep school. Back and forth, back and forth." His hand waved side to side, sloshing his drink. "Until one night when I was about sixteen. I walked in on him fucking one of his office assistants."

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah. He had her bent over his desk and was plowing away. She was married too. Still is, as far as I know."

Blake thought back to a few weeks earlier, when Lucy Comstock had propositioned him, about two seats over from where he currently sat. Jesus Christ, is anyone faithful anymore?

Lucas grinned to himself. "So, being a smart kid, what did I do? I whipped out my phone and started recording, sending it straight to a cloud server. Dad was so into it, he didn't even notice me for two minutes... at which point, he fell over backwards. I'll give his partner credit; she had enough presence of mind not to scream, which would have drawn a lot of attention. She grabbed her clothes and hid in his washroom."

"Damn."

"It got real tense then. I kinda knew it wasn't his first affair, or even his fifth. Dad's had a string of women, married and not, for decades. But this was the first time I had proof, and proof he couldn't touch. I pretty much told him to back off and leave me alone, or I would show it to my mother."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, he backed right the fuck off." Lucas smirked. "The irony is that I figured out that mom was doing the same thing."

Blake blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, her personal trainer at that time, as if that's not big enough of a cliché. I got the same proof on her too, though I had to work to get it. When I confronted her, she gave me the same litany of warnings, pleas, and attempted bribes that Dad did."

"Dude... I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Lucas laughed and tilted his head back, slamming his drink. "Of course you didn't. Don't worry, man, it's a deep dark family secret. Since you're going to be in the family, you may as well know the truth. It's a fucked-up situation anyway. Both my parents are cheating their asses off on a monthly basis, neither knows the other is doing it, and both think I am holding something over their heads. It's more like mutually-assured destruction than anything. As long as I say nothing to either one, both Mom and Dad basically leave me alone. I'll never take Dad's job at Winchester or have any real responsibility for the family business. But they don't try to dictate my life anymore. They're afraid to push me too hard. Of course, if they ever called my bluff, I don't know what I would do. If I wrecked their marriage, it would probably wreck my life too... and Nia's."

Blake's head swam. "Does Nia know about your folks?"

"Not that I know of. I have threatened both of them when they've leaned on her a few times. Nia's always surprised how little pressure they put on me but she just thinks I'm the favored son or something."

"Lucas, you know I can't keep this from her."

"It's fine. I don't even care anymore. I'm tired of all the lies. Besides, she deserves to know, and that's not on you. If you want me to talk to her about it, I will."

"Why didn't you ever tell her?"

His shrug was an almost imperceptible twitch of his shoulders. "Wanted to protect her, I guess? She's still on good terms with Mom and Dad, and I didn't want to ruin that for her." Lucas swiveled his head, gazing at Blake. "You know she's not at all like that, right? Nia's as faithful and loyal as the day is long."

"I know, I never thought otherwise."

"Good." Lucas broke Blake's gaze, turned his chair, and motioned to Wayne for a refill.

Blake leaned against the bar, trying to absorb what he had just heard. Well, I think that explains a lot. He'd always wondered how Lucas so openly defied his father's wishes without being cut off or cast out. It also explained Lucas's complete indifference to pursuing relationships and his indulgence in short-term flings and one-night stands. It's not indifference. He's afraid of ending up in the same situation, and I can't blame him. I wonder when Silas and Mary stopped loving each other--or if they ever did.

An unpleasant thought bolted through his head. I don't love Nia. Not the way she deserves. I know she loves me--for now--but what happens when I can't fake it any longer? Is that what our future holds? The two of us screwing people on the side and coexisting for the big financial and social picture? And we'll be expected to bring kids into this? I guess I have my own dark secrets. Warmth that had nothing to do with the bar's temperature seeped into his brain. This isn't even about... other possibilities. This is just about me and her.

A nudge startled him from his musings. Blake blinked and glanced at Lucas. "What?"

"What's going on with you and Nia, anyway?"

Blake hesitated.

"Don't do that, man." Lucas scowled and placed his untouched drink on the bar. "Something's bothering you. If you can't talk to your handsome and charming future brother-in-law, who can you talk to? Besides, I just opened up to you."

"I..." He closed his mouth. How could I even begin to explain this?

"You don't love her, do you?"

"I... no."

A thin smile, full of sardonic bitterness, appeared on the other man's face. "There's someone else?"

Blake sighed, defeated. "Yes, but no. Not exactly. I don't even know if it's anything. All I know is... this is wrong."

He laid it out. All of the details of his angst, his father's pressure, his own self-loathing at going into a marriage for all the wrong reasons, his guilt at not returning Nia's love, and even meeting Rosemary, though he excluded her name. He cycled through two more drinks as he did.

Through it all, Lucas sat silently, absorbing it all. He raised his eyebrows at several points in the story but said nothing.

When he was done, Blake took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I suppose you'd like to kick my ass now."

Lucas stared at him. "Should I?"

"I probably deserve it, for stringing Nia along."

Blake left unsaid that he knew Lucas had been doing mixed martial arts for almost ten years. Lucas would never headline a UFC match or anything but Blake didn't like his chances if things went south. He braced for it, wondering if he'd lose any teeth.

In his own mind, he got lucky. Lucas only sighed. "Maybe but I'm not going to. Dude, I knew from the beginning that this wasn't going to work."

"You knew?"

"Maybe 'suspected' is more accurate. I think Nia suspects as much, too."

Blake flinched. "You think so?"

"It's pretty obvious that she's way more into you than you are into her. Hell, I think everyone recognizes it. Our folks don't say anything, because it's what they wanted in the first place. I know Julia and Maisey are aware of it, because they said so."

"They did?"

"Like I said, it's not exactly a secret."

Blake sighed. Embarrassment crept into his thoughts. "Jesus. I thought I hadn't been so transparent."

"Well, you failed at that. But who fucking cares. None of them matter here." Lucas paused, taking another drink. "The only person I'm really concerned about in this situation is Nia."

"Yeah."

"She hasn't said it directly but I get the feeling she's holding on hope that you're going to settle down on the idea and start being happy with her. I know better but she hasn't asked me my opinion, because she already knows what I'd say. Blake... you gotta tell her."

Dread inched up his neck.

"She deserves your honesty. I mean, if you lay it all out there and you two decide to go through with the marriage, at least you will both know what you're getting into. But don't start it all off with a lie." His expression hardened. "If you're not honest with her, that's the day you and I will have words."

Blake nodded, though compared to that conversation, a fistfight with Lucas was low down the list of his worries. He pictured himself telling her, and Nia's smiling, upbeat face shattering into tears and crying as she heard the words.

He's right, though. One hundred percent right. I can't go on like this. One way or the other, she has to know. "God, I really fucked this up, didn't I?"

"We're all fuckups, bro--every single one of us. We all just have to decide at what point we stop being one."

"Ironic."

"Coming from me, I know. But you and Nia are cut from a different cloth than me, my folks, yours, or even your sisters. That's the real irony, that you two are the only ones in these fucking families with any true integrity. Don't piss that away, Blake. Be straight with her."

Blake said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

"And if you're interested in this other mystery girl, you damn well owe it to both of them to break off things with Nia cleanly before you start with the new one."

Goddamn it, he's absolutely right about that too.

Lucas drained his drink again and glanced around the bar. "Okay, speaking of girls, I need to work off some of this angst. See that brunette over there, in the corner? Have Wayne send my drinks over there. Oh, by the way, I changed my mind. You're paying tonight. Therapist fee, for me listening to your bullshit."

He chuckled. "Sure, Lucas. Thanks."

The man stood and clapped Blake on the shoulder. He didn't speak but his eyes repeated the message: You know what you have to do.

Blake took a deep breath. Yeah. I do.

#

He pulled into the riverside park with his coffee, turned off the car, exited, and collapsed on the bench. The faint breeze of early Saturday morning tickled the hair around his ears and cool air washed over his neck. Blake sighed.

Not a wasted trip altogether.

He'd driven back to New Baltimore, hoping to catch Rosemary at her studio again. The CLOSED sign had been an almost physical disappointment. Since he was already in town, Blake had picked up a coffee from Lorena, who had laughed and said that her daughter had originally wanted to post a sign for the store hours that read, "Whenever the hell I want to be open," but had been dissuaded by her father into settling for listing the weekends as "Maybe." He'd smiled, recalling noting that very thing at the studio.

Blake had thanked Lorena, purchased a coffee and a croissant, and returned to the river park to relax. As soon as he did, a certain comfortable lassitude settled over him. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.

He'd left New York before the sun had risen and made the leisurely drive. Nia had cited a meeting with wedding planners for the morning and said she wanted to see him that afternoon to go over it. He still had enough time to make it home for lunch, if need be.

A sigh rippled from him. Nia had to know that he'd been off the day before--without him telling her--and her tone on the call had been tense and guarded.

His phone buzzed. Blake glanced at it, seeing it was Nia, and returned the phone to his pocket.

Nia. This isn't fair to her. She loves me, I know she does. The longer I let this go, the more it's going to hurt. There's only one way forward.

He gazed at the crystalline flow of the Hudson River meandering past and made a decision. The moment he did, half the pressure on his soul evaporated.

The high-pitched whine of an engine broke his reverie. Blake blinked as a familiar car skidded to a halt in the gravel and in spite of everything, his spirits rose.

Rosemary boiled from the car with the enthusiasm of a tidal wave, already smiling. She dressed much the same as she had before. "Hey there, my semi-artistic friend. I thought I'd find you here."

"Why did you even think I'd be here?"

"I forgot that you said you were coming back today. I was doing some on-site painting up in Catskill. Lorena called and said you'd come through, which reminded me, so I packed up and drove back."

"She shouldn't have done that. I didn't want to bother you while you were working."

She grinned and stood in front of him, her hands extended. Blake took them, once again marveling at the warmth in her skin. Rough-skinned fingers, he thought. She's been an earth girl her whole life.

Rosemary pulled him to his feet. "Haven't you figured it out by now?"

"What's that?"

"I don't consider you a bother." Arms outstretched, she whirled the two of them in a circle. The hem of her long skirt spun with her.

Blake glanced down. "I think you only own one kind of outfit."

"You're lucky I wear clothes at all. I prefer to go without."

His loins pulsed. Blake gave her a sharp look, though Rosemary wore the same innocent expression she always had. That makes me lucky? Does she have any idea what she's doing to me? She has to.

"Unfortunately, polite society tends to frown on that, so I have to wear something--at least in public. Loose blouses and skirts are the most comfortable. But never mind that." She raised an eyebrow. "Did you come back to paint some more, or not?"

"I didn't but since my esteemed teacher said I needed more practice, I could do a little."

"She did in fact tell you that. Would you like to work here? Do the park and river together?"

"That sounds good but like I said, I don't want to tear you away from something else."

"Consider me torn. Let's paint." She dropped her hands and ran to the car. Within moments, she had two easels erected with canvases clipped to each one and an array of paint tunes spread across the bench. "Let's see what you can do. I expect improvement over yesterday, Mr. Blake."

"Don't expect miracles."

Rosemary shook her hair and bound it up. She grinned. "We'll see."

Blake began applying paints in broad swaths. He tried to remember what Rosemary had taught the class the day before, about the strength and width of his strokes. After a few moments, he grew aware that she hovered at his elbow. "What? Am I doing something wrong?"

"Nope, I'm just watching." She edged closer until her shoulder brushed against his.

"Don't you have your own canvas to work on?"

"Does it bother you that I'm watching?"

"Uh..."

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport." She turned away. Her breasts brushed against his arm as she took the three steps to her own easel. Blake eyed her. The perky points of her nipples stood rigid against the thin fabric of her peasant blouse.

She caught him staring. "Whatcha see?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Hmmm. I thought maybe you were staring at my chest."

Blake fixed his eyes on his canvas. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to be disrespectful."

Rosemary shrugged, causing a lot of bounce that he just couldn't avoid noticing. "I don't mind. You're a man--a straight man, I assume, since you told me you were marrying a woman. You're going to look at breasts. It's natural."

"It's not that." Blake set his jaw. "For one, it's disrespectful to my fiancee. I wouldn't perv on another woman in front of her, and I shouldn't do it just because she's not here. Second, it's not respectful to you. You've been very kind to me. How creepy would I be to just reduce you to a sexual object?"

She was at his side again. "Blake."

He hesitated, then turned to face her. "What?"

Rosemary placed her hands on his chest and stared into his eyes. Her voice was soft. Try as he might, Blake couldn't tear his gaze away. She said, "Don't worry about that, okay? I never thought you were reducing me to anything. You've been a perfect gentleman every step of the way.

"And as far as your fiancee? I'd agree with you if you had told me you loved her, or if you had even given me the hint that you did. But you've pretty clear this is a marriage of convenience. You might have to maintain the facade in the city... but up here with me, you can be honest."

He covered her hands with his. "How honest?"

"Completely, like I told you before."

Blake stared. His heart hammered against his ribs. What am I doing? This is crazy. Fucking crazy.

Rosemary abruptly withdrew her hands and lowered her face. "But I have to be honest too."

"I'm sorry?"

She smiled. "I feel it too, Blake. I did the first time I saw you."

"So you were flirting with me from the beginning?"

"Yes, but none of it was an act. What you saw--what you see now--is what you get, the real me. It always is. I could tell you were in pain but even through that, your good soul shone through. You were vulnerable for a moment, and I liked what I saw. Then you came back and painted the other week, then again yesterday." She smiled and touched his chin. "You should have seen the intent look on your face while you were painting. The life, the... joy that was absent in our first meeting was there, throbbing like a beacon in the night. I don't think it was just from making art. I think it was from your soul being free of the burden it carried. And maybe a little was because of me, and that made me happy. Your painting yesterday was the best in the class. Why do you think I wanted you to come back today?"

He stared at her.

Pink stained her cheeks. Rosemary lowered her eyes. "Call it fate, call it destiny... call it pheromones sinking into my bloodstream and revving up my libido. Whatever it is, like I said, I felt it between us right from the beginning."

Blake's heart hammered in his chest. The beginnings of a smile curled the corner of his mouth.

"But..."

His grin froze.

She raised her head and met his gaze once again. Sadness warred with hope deep in her eyes. "But the fact is, you are committed. You've given your word and you are too good a man to break your word."

"I know."

"And no matter what I feel, I refuse to be a side-piece. All right?"

Blake gazed at her, unsure what to say.

"You know what? I should go." She spun away from him and unclipped her canvas from the easel.

"You don't have to leave."

"It's okay." She broke down her easel and packed both that and her canvas in her car. When Blake moved to help her stow the paints, she shook her head. "No, you keep these for now. When you finish your painting, bring them back to me."

Blake nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Rosemary put the rest of her stuff away. Just before she climbed inside, she said, "Don't rush into anything. Don't make a rash decision."

"I--"

She held up her hand and he quieted. "Please, let me finish. If you have any doubt at all about what you're doing, don't make me your hopeful place for a soft landing or rebound, okay? You need to get your own head straight and take some time--even if it's six months or a year. Do that before you drive up to show me your finished painting, all right?"

Blake thought back to the decision he had made before she even pulled in and smiled. "I can do that."

"Good." She entered her car, closed the door, and was gone.

#

Blake paced toward the front door of the Walsh manor. His stomach flopped but sheer willpower drove him forward.

There was simply no other way.

Clive, the Walsh's prim-and-proper manservant, admitted him into the foyer and said he would fetch "Miss Virginia," as he always put it. Blake nodded absently. He shifted his weight back and forth and tried to think of what he was going to say.

Before Nia appeared, another door opened and Lucas stepped into view. Despite it being before nine in the morning, the man already clutched a mixed drink in one hand.

"Lucas? What are you doing?"

"Drinking. Dear beloved Momsy and Daddy are at church, putting on a good show of fake piety, like they do every Sunday. So it was safe for me to emerge before noon. What's up with you?"

Blake took a deep breath. "Nia and I need to talk."

Lucas's carefree manner vanished. He gave Blake a long, flat look before at last saying, "Try not to be a dick about it, all right? This is going to hurt her enough."

"I know, man, and I'm sorry."

Lucas nodded and departed.

Movement at the stairs drew his attention.

Nia descended from the second floor. Her eyes locked on Blake and lit up. "Hey! Where have you been?" She jumped from the last step and all but bounced into his arms. Her lips sought his.

Blake turned his head. "Nia... we need to talk."

Her smile faded, as did the light from her eyes. She gazed at him a moment before saying, "Come in the dining room, then." Without another word, Nia slipped from his grasp, spun, and walked to the double doors to the left.

Feeling a death-row prisoner walking the last hundred yards of his life, Blake trudged after.

Nia waited until he had entered the cavernous dining room before shutting the doors behind them. She gestured at the table. "I guess we should sit."

"Yeah." On instinct, Blake held the chair for him. Nia sat, flashing him a strange, wistful grin when she did... and then he knew.

She already knows what I'm going to say. She smiled because she's cataloging my last acts of kindness toward her--stashing them away for memory.

He started to scoot her in but Nia shook her head. "No, let me face you."

"Okay." He turned his own chair toward her and sat. Nia waited, her hands crossed in her lap. As he'd always thought, her presentation was impeccable: styled hair, understated makeup, stylish clothes tailored to fit her trim form. Any man would be happy to have her on his arm.

Any man but me, it seems. "Nia, I..."

She smiled again, sadly this time. "It's over, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I knew this was coming."

"I'm sorry."

"I've been waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass, Blake. Well, maybe not 'waiting' but 'dreading.' "

He sighed. "Nia, I never wanted to hurt you."

His ex-fiancee touched his cheek. "I know you didn't. You're not that kind of man. But you weren't fooling anyone, either. Your heart was never in this. I hung in there, hoping you would find some love for me." She hesitated. "Is... is there someone else?"

Blake didn't even consider lying. "There might be. I have no idea if it will turn into anything. More than that, though, talking to her made me face my own cowardice. Nia, you deserve to be loved by your husband and that just can't be me."

She lowered both her head and removed her hand from his cheek, wiping her eyes with it. Blake sat, holding her other hand while she wept quietly for a moment. When her tears tapered off, he offered her a handkerchief, which she took without looking at him.

After a moment, Nia raised her head. "What are you going to do about your father and the merger?"

"I don't know. He'll probably fire me and disown me. Your dad won't be too happy either."

"Lucas and I can handle my dad."

Blake grimaced. "About your dad--"

Nia snorted. "Lucas 'confessed' about blackmailing Mom and Dad and keeping that from me, which was a laugh. I already knew about both my parents and told him he was an idiot for thinking he was protecting me from something."

"I'm glad I'm not the only idiot in this house, then."

She chuckled. "No. Blake, you didn't think... I mean, you weren't worried that I was going to do the same thing to you, were you?"

"Nia, I didn't even know about your folks' affairs until Lucas told me Friday night."

"Good. I would hate for you to think that of me." She took a deep breath and shook out her shoulders. "I'll... I'll let my parents know tonight and we'll take care of canceling the wedding arrangements."

"If there's anything I can do to help..."

"It'll be fine." Nia took his other hand, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Blake, thank you for being honest."

"I know it sounds pathetic but I am sorry."

"I know. I would have been very happy with you but you wouldn't have been... and I care enough about you that I want you to be happy, even if it isn't with me."

Blake stared at the floor. Well, if I didn't already feel two inches tall, that would have done it.

"Actually," Nia said, "can I ask something of you?"

"Yes."

"Will you stay friends with Lucas?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You don't think that will be too awkward?"

"No. We don't have to be around each other for you and him to be friends. He really likes you and I actually think you're good for him. I know he's a lot to handle but since you two have been hanging out, he's been dropping hints that he wants to get himself together. You know Lucas, so know it's nothing direct, but little things... like saying maybe it's time to stop hooking up and start dating seriously, thinking about his future. Believe it or not, he looks up to you. If you can handle it, will you stay in touch with him?"

"I can do that."

Her voice was a whisper. "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long moment before she said, "Well, I guess I should let you go. I am sure you're going to walk into a shit show at home."

"I--"

"Blake, you should go."

Realization dawned. "All right." He stood. "I'm sorry, Nia, for everything. Take care of yourself."

She gave him a vague nod but would not meet his gaze. Her trembling lip told Blake his window for a safe exit was down to seconds. He quickly left the room and shut the doors behind him.

Lucas loitered in the hallway. His expression asked the unspoken question.

Blake sighed. "She's going to need some comfort."

"I figured. You want to hang out next Friday?"

"Sure."

"Cool. You better go on."

Blake left the mansion and pulled away from the Walsh estate for the last time.

#

SIX MONTHS LATER

#

The cool fall breeze swirled through the open window, ruffling his hair and bringing a slight chill to his skin. Blake recalled the first time he'd made the drive and the similarity brought a slight smile to his face. He glanced in the rearview mirror, making sure the car trailer was still attached to the truck's hitch. It was still there, bearing its aged and ugly load. He smiled further at the thought.

Okay, so maybe it's not exactly the same as the first drive.

The road sloped up, over a small rise. The rental truck responded accordingly, downshifting as it struggled up the hill. A BMW veered into the passing line from behind, honking the whole way. The driver extended one arm through the driver-side window and gave Blake the middle finger. Blake just smiled and waved.

Rude drivers certainly weren't going to bring him down. He spied the turn-off for New Baltimore and left the main highway.

His cell phone vibrated. Blake flicked his eyes at the caller, saw that it was his sister Julia, and ignored it.

No idea what's left to say there.

Describing his family's reaction to Blake announcing that he would not be marrying Nia as volcanic would have understated the issue--along the lines of comparing a firecracker to an artillery shell. His sisters had cried and begged him to change his mind. His mother had sobbed. His dad had ranted and raved, screamed, and threatened Blake with all sorts of ruin--reputational, financial, and physical--before finally grabbing Blake by the lapels of his shirt and trying to push him against the wall. Blake's temper had snapped at that point and he had thrown his father off, knocking him over a chair and spraining his shoulder. Blake's mother had screamed at him to get out, so he had.

After that, Blake had gone straight to his office, typed his resignation letter, cleaned out his office, left the letter and his security badges on Vera's desk--along with a personal letter of apology and thanks to his dad's longtime assistant for all her help--and left Pennington Holdings for the last time.

It had not taken long for the other shoe to drop. He'd found his bank accounts frozen and credit cards non-functional. Blake had half-expected his phone contract to be terminated but he'd had a little luck, and it hadn't been. It had only taken one phone call to Lucas before his accounts were "miraculously" restored a few hours later.

Blake grinned at the memory. Lucas's hold on his folks appeared no weaker than before. They'd continued hanging out once or twice a week, though Lucas stunned him by announcing that he had started steadily dating a woman he'd met at his gym--a middle school teacher named Cindy. Blake had been expecting a bimbo but on meeting her, had to admit to himself that Cindy was friendly, intelligent, and attractive without being gorgeous. She was also a year older than Lucas.

Nia's words on the day of their breakup echoed through his head. She said I was a good influence on him. I never saw it but whatever caused his outlook to change, I'm glad. He's a real one and Cindy's good for him. He clanked to a halt as a four-way stop sign, so nothing oncoming, and rumbled onward.

The thought of "real ones" caused his smile to recede. His phone buzzed a second time. A glance confirmed it was Julia again, and again, Blake ignored it.

Blake hadn't spoken to his parents since the day he'd walked out of the house. He'd called their house line but no one answered. His calls to their cell phones rang once and went to voicemail and he suspected he was blocked. That hurt but he'd kind of expected it, especially after reading that the merger between the Bank of Worcester and Pennington Holdings had been put on hold--"most likely, permanently," the article in the Wall Street Journal had noted, citing "anonymous sources." The article also predicted that both entities would continue their financial ascent, though the writer lamented what "could have been." No mention was made of his canceled engagement.

His parents blocking him out hadn't been the hardest part. Getting shut out by his sisters hurt a lot worse.

Blake sighed and shook his head to clear such thoughts. Better to focus on the moment.

His spirits lifted as Baltimore's Best Coffee came into view. Blake guided the truck to a soft stop on the road shoulder before the narrow parking lot and killed the ignition.

Lorena glanced up as he entered. A single eyebrow raised. "Well, look who's here. Long time no see."

"Yeah."

"Coffee?"

"Sure, to go, please."

She poured a cup. "By 'to go,' I assume you have a certain place in mind to which you're heading."

"Maybe." Blake took a cautious sip. The coffee was as good as he remembered. "Do... uhm, do you think..."

"Yes, I think so."

"Has she..."

"Moved on?" Lorena smiled. "Not a chance. My daughter's flighty and her attention bounces around like a racquetball but when it comes to her heart, no one else will ever own it. She's never spoken about anyone like she talks about you."

"That's... I mean, we really haven't spent that much time together. This is crazy, isn't it?"

"The heart wants what it wants, Blake."

Blake nodded. "I guess I should get going."

"Yes, you should probably head over there right now. Ignore her sign."

"All right."

He made to hand her a ten-dollar bill but Lorena shook her head. "On the house."

"Thanks. Wish me luck?"

Lorena studied him for a moment, then chuckled. "You won't need it."

The parking lot at Imagination Studio was empty, save for a familiar beaten Volkswagen beetle. He parked on the side of the lot and pulled a cloth-wrapped canvas from the passenger seat. The CLOSED sign hung on the door. Blake took a deep breath and stepped inside.

She leaned on the counter, a pen in one hand and her brow scrunched in concentration as she gazed at a sheaf of stapled paperwork. As always, she wore a loose blouse--this one with drawstrings in the front--and a flowing ankle-length skirt. Her eyes flicked to Blake, then widened. She stood upright. The corners of her mouth tugged upward. "Mr. Blake. This is an unexpected surprise."

"I bet." He hefted the package. "I have it here."

"What?"

"The painting. You told me not to come back until I'd finished."

"Oh." Her face fell momentarily, then resumed its normal brightness. "Well, let's see it."

Blake tugged the canvas loose and placed it on a nearby easel.

Rosemary tilted her head and gazed at the painting with an appraising eye. "You definitely have the light and dark contrast down, I--" She paused and pointed. "What's that?"

Blake followed the line of her finger, then took her hand in his. "That is a mostly-black silhouette of two people kissing beneath the trees. I tried to capture just a few details in color at the edges, just so that the people on whom they are based would know themselves, without giving away much detail."

"L-Like the wisps of red hair on her?" Her voice shook.

"Yes."

Blake pulled on her arm, gently turning her toward him, and took hold of her other hand. She raised her eyes to match his.

He kept his voice soft. "You told me two things. One was to not come back until I had finished the painting. Do you remember what the other was?"

"Yes," she whispered. "To get your head clear and figure out what you want."

"Right."

"Have you? What about your fiancee?"

"We broke it off, the day after I last saw you. A lot more than that happened. I'll tell you all about it but know this: everything I own is out there in a rental truck and my new car--a modest Toyota--is being towed behind it. I have a little money in the bank but I'm not wealthy anymore. There's nothing back there--" He waved toward the south. "--for me. If you tell me your feelings have changed, I guess I'll keep driving until I figure it out."

He dropped her hand and touched her left cheek. Rosemary sighed and leaned into his touch. Blake said, "But I'd prefer to stay here."

"I..."

He leaned toward her and brushed his closed lips against hers. She stood perfectly still and he pulled his head back. Rosemary stared at him, her face unreadable. Despite Lorena's words, uncertainty seeped into his brain.

She flared her nostrils and her eyes narrowed. "Mister Blake, that is not going to do it."

Without warning, she launched herself at him, planting her lips against his. The momentum of her charge knocked him against the counter. On instinct, his hands wrapped around her back. Her tongue poked into his mouth, invading, probing and he matched her aggression with his own fervor, letting their lips duel. The smoldering embers of desire deep in his stomach grew into a blazing fire of lust. His cock responded, growing with painful speed. Rosemary wrapped her hands around the back of his head and held him with such force that he wondered if she expected him to try to escape.

After a moment, she came up for air. Blake said, "I guess that answers my question."

"Which question?"

"Whether or not you'd be a good kisser."

She snorted. "You had doubts?"

"Well..."

"Oh, no. You're not off the hook that easily."

"What do you mean?"

Her hungry look matched the thirst in his soul. "I mean I have waited for this for entirely too long. I burned out my favorite toy because of you."

He blinked. "What?"

Rosemary whirled toward the door and locked the deadbolt. She was back on him in a flash, pressing her face and lips against his again. Her hands grabbed at the edge of his tee shirt and fought to pull it up.

"Uhm, Rosemary," Blake said, trying to breathe, talk, and kiss her all at the same time. "You sure you want to... here?"

"Very sure." She peeled his shirt over his head and proceeded to his belt buckle.

"You don't waste time."

"What would be the point?" she asked between kisses. "I want you. I did right from the beginning. You want me too, right?"

"I do."

"Then don't fight it."

Blake stammered, "I... I guess I wanted it to be special."

Rosemary smiled. "It will be, this and every time. Now shut up and kiss me."

He did. His hands sought her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse. He gave each a gentle squeeze, feeling both surprised and aroused on finding them firmer and larger than he expected. Her erect nipples protruded through the linen. His thumbs caressed each of the nubs and Rosemary purred into his mouth.

She undid the clasp of his buckle, unzipped his fly, and dipped her hands inside. Blake gasped as five hot fingers edged between his belly and underpants and clamped down on his shaft. He turned his head and gasped. "Warm."

"You too."

He fumbled at the drawstrings in the front of her blouse, without progress. "How did you tie this thing?"

"Don't worry about it." She pinched the hem of her shirt, raised it over her head, and tossed it aside.

Blake wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her onto the counter, placing her breasts at the perfect level. He lowered his mouth to her milky skin, slurping one nipple between his lips. His hand caressed her other mound, kneading and tweaking.

Rosemary laced her fingers behind his head. Her breath came in pants as Blake tweaked her flesh with his teeth. A stuttering hiss escaped and her entire body writhed.

Blake switched to her other breast and continued his teasing. He kissed his way up the slope of her breast and into the cleft of her collarbone, then up to the soft skin of her neck, all the way to her chin.

Rosemary's insistent hands pressed against his chest. Blake took a step back and let her slide off the counter. He kicked his shoes off.

She knelt and tugged his pants and underwear down at once. His cock stood tall, throbbing with his desire. Rosemary pulled his pants off each of his feet and tossed the twisted garments to the side. She sprang to her feet and reached to the left side of her waist. Blake heard the pop of snaps as she shimmied out of her skirt and let it fall to her feet.

Blake gazed her up and down. Rosemary's hips were lithe and perfectly shaped, and her flat stomach tapered to a patch of soft auburn curls that stood in marked contrast to the creamy tone of her skin.

She didn't give him real time to enjoy the view. Rosemary stepped close and he again felt the warmth of her touch. Blake's heart thumped in his chest. "You're gorgeous."

"Is that all?"

"Gorgeous, beautiful, enchanting. Crazy, too. Don't forget that."

She grinned. "I want your crazy to match my crazy, Blake, in all things."

"Let's start with this."

Still kissing him, she hopped on the counter and wrapped her legs around him as he pushed himself against her. They embraced for a moment before she lay back on the counter, with bent knees and feet planted. Her wealth of red hair cascaded all about her head, creating a red halo around her smiling face.

"You look like an angel."

"But I'm not one, so get up here."

Blake climbed atop her and nestled between her legs. His cock sought her entrance and he gasped as the head poked into something hot and wet. Rosemary rolled her hips as he levered forward and his length sank in, all the way to his balls.

Blake groaned; she was tight, soaked, and fiery as a lava flow.

He wasn't alone in gasping. Rosemary quivered as a harsh exhale whistled past her lips. "God, you're so big."

"You don't have to flatter me."

"I'm not. Remember: honesty in all things. You're filling me up. It's good, so good."

Blake rocked his hips backward and slowly pushed forward again. She closed her eyes and shivered. "So good."

"Look at me, Rosemary."

She opened her eyes and caressed his face. "Whatever you want."

He fell into a steady rhythm. The warmth and friction shivered his spine and pulled at his very essence, drawing his soul from his body. Rosemary squeezed her pelvic muscles. Blake clenched his own, trying to stave off his climax; her grip had almost caused him to lose it early.

Rosemary rocked her hips in beat with his. Through it all, she continued to gaze at him and touch his face. Her eyes glowed with warmth and passion, and she made small squeals and grunts in time with every thrust. An orgasm rolled through her; her grip on his cock spasmed and pulsed. Rosemary shivered and closed her eyes. "Yes. Oh, yes!"

Dismay hit when Blake realized that his long, sexless engagement came with an unwanted consequence. He slowed and tried to concentrate.

Rosemary saw the look on his face. "What?"

"I'm... I'm getting close. Sorry."

"It's okay. It won't be our only chance. Just give yourself to me, Blake." She raised her head and kissed him. "Give me all that you are."

The surge rose. Cum frothed from the tip of cock. Blake moaned as he fired several long bursts deep inside her. The pulses tapered off and he slumped across her still-quivering body. Both of them fought for breath and neither spoke for several seconds. At last, he raised himself on his elbows.

Rosemary gazed at him, her lip caught between her teeth. She touched his cheek.

"Well," he said, "I guess at least we're sexually compatible."

Her voice was a whisper. "I never expected otherwise. I think I loved you from the first moment we spoke." Rosemary wriggled her body, mashing her breasts against his chest. "Even if I had never seen you again, you'd have always been a pleasant memory and fantasy. And now the fantasy is real."

"For me too." Blake lowered his face to hers and gently brushed his lips against hers. When they broke, he said, "This is insane, you know."

"Whatever it is, I want it."

"Me too."

A series of harsh knocks sounded from the front door. Blake froze, only to have his mouth fall open as he heard a familiar voice. "Rosemary, as soon as you're done, check the porch. I left you both lunch."

Rosemary raised her voice. "Okay, thanks!"

Blake stared at her. "That was Lorena."

"I know."

"She knew what we were doing."

She nodded. "I'm sure she heard us. I'm not exactly quiet in bed... or on a counter, or anywhere, to be honest. Don't worry, she won't tease us or judge us or anything. Like I told you, she and Hector are very open-minded."

Blake licked his lips, thinking it was a surreal conversation to be having while he was still buried in the warm folds of her flesh. "I-I guess that will take some getting used to. Do you want me to go see what she left us?"

Rosemary grabbed his shoulders. "Not yet. I want you right here inside of me, for as long as possible."

"That sounds good. But we'll probably want to eat at some point, so we can keep up our strength. We have six months of pent-up sexual tension to make up for."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "You better believe it."

#

Blake nudged open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. The door hinges squeaked, reminding him that he needed to apply a little lubricant.

I'll get to it. For now, I just want to savor the morning.

He inhaled, letting the cool, crisp air flood his lungs. Despite the cool, the morning sun rising on his left, into a cloudless sky, promised a pleasant day. Blake settled the porch swing, sipped his coffee, and stared over the land.

The cabin lay on a small rise, several miles to the west of New Baltimore. Not much moved in or around the sleepy town, and beyond, morning mist hung over the Hudson River.

Lorena told him the land had been a farm at one point but that several generations back, the owner had parceled the land into smaller plots and built cabins on them. Blake would have thought such a property was well out of his now-modest financial state but Hector had simply smiled and said that he and Lorena had bought it decades ago and that Blake was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.

Well, there was an unspoken condition there. He smiled. But I'm okay with that.

Blake hadn't been on the porch for more than five minutes when a naked flame-haired white form--even more ghostly in the pale dawn light--slipped out the door and all but jumped into his lap, facing him. Blake fought to avoid spilling his coffee while she rained kisses on his face. He laughed through the lip contact. "Good morning."

Rosemary tossed the mane of her coppery curls. "Every morning is a good one with you."

"You are such a flatterer." His hand slid around her bare back. "Aren't you cold?"

"Naw. Attitude and spunk keep me warm. And you, of course." She pressed her chest against his and her hand slipped into his pants. "Of course, I could be warmer."

Blake's cock began to grow. He set his coffee aside. "I bet you could."

Rosemary slid off his lap and stood in her naked glory. Blake allowed his eyes to roll over her body, taking in her full breasts, thin waist, and lithe hips. His gaze lingered on the slight bump on her belly, only just now beginning to show.

In five months, I'll be a father. I still can't believe it. It had to be that very first time, back in her shop. Or one of the other times that day.

His attention was ripped back to the present as she grabbed the hem of his sweats and pulled them down his legs, allowing his erection to wave tall and free. She was back on his lap in a flash. A half-second later, hot, slick folds engulfed him. He took a deep breath.

"You like?"

"Absolutely."

Rosemary held his face between her palms, her face suddenly serious. "I love you, Blake."

"I love you too."

Their coupling was brief, fast, and urgent. Rosemary ground her clit against his pubic bone as she rolled her hips and massaged his cock. Her eyes never left Blake's, even when her orgasm made her jerk and tremble. Ten seconds later, he exploded inside her.

"Great way to start the morning."

"I agree." She nipped the tip of his nose. "Any other day, I'd love to go for round two but I should probably get dressed."

"Yeah, they'll be here soon."

He watched with mild regret as she slid off him and sashayed inside. Blake raised his hips, pulled his pants up, and hefted his coffee again. Once that was finished, he headed to the kitchen to start their breakfast.

Rosemary reappeared just as he was plating it up. They ate and made small talk for a bit, cleaned up, then went to the porch to wait. She set up her easel and began painting, while Blake flipped open a sketch pad and tried some new colored pencils. He frowned, thinking he still preferred painting.

Right at nine, he spotted a familiar car turn off the highway and drive up their country lane. He said, "They're here."

"Yes, they are. Nervous?"

He stood and wrapped his arms around her waist. "With you at my side? Never."

"Good answer."

A few minutes later, the Audi pulled into the gravel driveway and glided to a halt. When the ignition died, a man popped out. He spotted Blake immediately. "Good, it's the right place."

"Hey, man, my directions are good." Blake descended, paced the fifteen steps to the car, and grabbed Lucas's hand. "Glad you made it, man." He glanced past his friend at the woman emerging from the passenger side. "Cindy, good to see you again."

She smiled. "Hi, Blake."

"Come on up to the house, meet Rosemary." He gestured at his love, who had come to the porch steps and leaned against the support column. She grinned and wiggled her fingers in a wave.

"Damn," Lucas said. He lowered his voice. "She's too hot for you, my friend. You got the second-best-looking woman in New York."

"Nice save," Cindy said as she glided alongside him and took Lucas's arm.

Blake watched as Rosemary descended the steps and grabbed both Lucas and Cindy in a big hug. She took them both by the hand and led them smiling up the steps.

He smiled to himself. She'll love them because I do, no questions asked. It's just who she is, and I love her for it.

An enormous sense of peace and tranquility settled across his shoulders. Blake smiled and followed the two women into the house, closing the door behind him.

END

The inspiration for this story came from the song, "Love Grows" by the one-hit wonder band Edison Lighthouse. It's a great tune that I wished more of the younger generations knew.

Thanks for reading!