I didn't know how long we sat there. Callie was so engrossed in her play, she never once looked up at me. When I was done, I looked around the easel at her.
“Do you want to see it, Callie?”
She glanced up at me, but then her focus moved beyond me. I turned my head to see Broderick and Bastian, Logan and Saffron and two people I didn't recognize, but, based on the relief in their expressions, they had to be Callie's parents.
“That's exquisite.”
I tried not to gush too much at Logan's compliment. “Thank you.”
“The only other person I've ever seen sketch that effortlessly is Logan,” Broderick said. “You made that look as easy to do as drawing a stick figure.”
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“You were just starting on the hands.”
“Oh.” And I was so lost in the sketch I didn't even know it.
Saffron made the introductions. “Lark, this is Gwen, my best friend, and her husband, Mitch, Callie's parents.”
Honorary uncles—that made more sense. “Hi,” I said before I added with a grin, “If it helps, she ran away because she doesn't like shopping for boy stuff.”
Mitch laughed, but Gwen enveloped me in a hug.
“Thank you. When I couldn't find her, I went insane. Callie, say thank you to Lark.”
“But I want to see my sketch.” Callie said this as she started around the side of the easel, and I knew she wasn't expecting much since her reaction to my earlier work was lukewarm at best. As soon as she saw herself, her little jaw dropped. She turned those baby blues on me.
“It's me.”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
I lifted the sheet. “Would you like it?”
It was like I just offered her the moon.
“Can I?”
“Absolutely, but how about I let Mom hold it, since your dirty hands will smudge it.”
“Oh no, I don't want to smudge it, it's perfect.” She looked past me to her mom. “Can you carry it, Mommy?”
I turned to give the sketch to Gwen, but she hesitated in taking it. “Please, I'd like for you to have it.”
“It so beautifully captures Callie. Thank you.”
Mitch walked over and wrapped his arm around his wife's waist. “Thanks for watching our little wild weed and for the portrait. It really does capture Callie perfectly.”
“No problem.” I didn't realize Logan had come to stand at my side until he spoke. “Maybe tomorrow I can give you a tour of my studio?”
“I would really like that.”
“Thank you for what you did for Callie. Gwen was a wreck when she called the house. We were just organizing a search party with the sheriff when Broderick called.”
“She's a spunky kid, I like her.”
“Yeah, it's hard not to like Callie. I'll see you tomorrow.” He turned to Bastian, “Thank you, Bastian.”
“Sure thing.” Bastian said. Logan then followed his wife and the others away.
“We'll call it a day. I'll see you tomorrow at the site around nine?” Broderick said.
“I'll be there.”
Broderick moved away from us. “Good night, you two.”
Bastian linked our fingers, both of us looking at the group moving across the square. He whispered, “It's almost as if...”
He left the thought unfinished, which made me ask, “As if what?”
A smile touched his lips. “Nothing. Let's pack this up and have a cookout on the beach.”
“Oh, I like that idea.”
“We could even go swimming.” He suggested with hope.
“Swimming? It's a bit cold.”
“Skinny dipping.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
A surge of heat whipped through me. My voice sounded a bit husky in reply. “Skinny dipping with you, yeah, I don't think it's too cold for that.”
Bastian immediately released my hand and, with the speed of a superhero, started packing up my supplies. Five minutes later he reached for my hand again and pulled me toward Baby.
“In a hurry, Bastian?”
“To see you naked? Hell yes.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning Logan took me into his studio, where he showed me canvas after canvas. Most of his works were of landscapes, but his use of color and the compositions took my breath away. He said he didn't typically do portraits, but the few I saw could hold their own against the finest portrait artists ever.
We entered the kitchen for a drink and that's when I saw two additional pieces. One was of Saffron and an older gentleman—looking at each other and laughing: the affection between them was clear. The other painting was of Saffron standing behind a bar pouring a beer. I studied the portrait, the love that Logan had for Saffron was shown in every brush stroke. He stood silently at my side looking at the painting.
“I did that during a time when I wasn't with Saffron and I missed her so damn much.”
“You can see that, your love for her practically jumps off the canvas. I drew a sketch of Bastian right when we first started dating. When Ms. Whitney saw it, she told me my love for him was very evident. I guess, since it was mine, I didn't really see it, but I understand now what she was saying.” Turning slightly in his direction, I asked, “How long have you been offering this scholarship?”
“This is the second year. The last was an artist who focused on sculpting, but I wanted to concentrate on painting this year.”
“Lucky for me,” I said teasingly. He smiled in reply, but I watched as the smile faded.
“Lark, can I ask you something?”
I turned to face him and when our eyes locked he asked, “What was it like for you living with your uncle and aunt? I realize it's none of my business, but Saffron mentioned that you told her about your aunt kicking you out of the house. Was she always so intolerant of you?”
He was right, it wasn't any of his business and yet I found I didn't have a problem with sharing my personal life with him. And more, I didn't candy-coat it but told him exactly how it had been. “She ignored me and lied to my uncle to make it seem that I was disinterested in the family, when really she didn't want me anywhere near them.”
“And your mother?”
I was tempted to lower my head before his serious gaze, but I held it. “At the risk of making myself look less in your eyes, the truth is my mother died because she had too many vices and indulged in them recklessly. The time I spent with my uncle was like staying at a resort in comparison.”
“And your father?”
“Never knew him.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't get so personal.”
“It's fine. Sometimes I wonder who he is and if he even knows about me. In my room at home, I have a print of the sculpture, Mother and Child, by David Cambre. I used to pretend that he was my dad and that he had created the sculpture for me. It was easy to do since we looked so similar and shared a love of art. It was a childish fantasy, but also comforting. It made the concept of my dad seem more real. When David died, I actually mourned for him because it felt as if a little piece of me had died with him.”
Logan turned abruptly and walked toward the kitchen. “I'll get us some lemonade.” His voice had grown hoarse.
For the rest of the day I thought about Logan's reaction to what I had said about David. He had looked stricken. Was it simply sympathy for the girl who was unloved enough to have her own aunt kicking her out of the house, the same girl who pretended a familial connection to someone so far removed from her sphere, or was his reaction fueled by something more?
***
The following morning found me walking through town checking out the local shops. I stood outside the bakery eating a chocolate-covered cream donut when Saffron appeared and the way she eyed my donut made me nervous.
“You got any more of those?”
“Yeah, would you like one?”
“I'd give you my arm for one.”