watching Lena’s progress along the path. Two buildings past the fountain and the City Gallery, she turned into one of the many condominiums that lined the park. Expensive real estate. Must be true what Dr. Rutledge said. She spun money out of straw.
“Pack it up,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s about ten miles outta your league, man.”
He broke down the easel and cleaned off the palette. Sitting back down on the blanket, he cleaned the brushes. Those things were not cheap and he needed them to last as long as possible. After packing everything away for the long walk back home, he lay back down on the blanket to enjoy a bit more of the day and to let the canvas dry. His phone rang and he fished it out of his back pocket.
His mother. This couldn’t be good.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” he answered. Knowing she hated Mom and preferred Mother. Capital M.
The brief moment of silence was to chasten him for his word choice. “Nothing,” her frosty voice finally replied, “is ‘up,’ Charles. I am phoning to let you know that your father and I will be visiting Charleston in a few weeks. Your father has a business meeting. We will see you for dinner.”
He let his own silence play out. She knew he hated being called Charles. He also hated the way she told him he’d have dinner with them rather than asking. Nothing new, but he’d hoped that since he was over thirty years old now, she’d treat him somewhat like an adult. He sighed. Such was the life of the black sheep. If only he’d become a lawyer. Interned for some powerful senator who owed his father a favor, then moved on to a lucrative lobbying position, scamming people for the sake of a billionaire or two, then his parents might not treat him like a dirty secret.
“Sure, that’d be great. Just let me know the night so I can clear any plans I might have.”
“Your sister is having another baby.”
Ah. Moving right on to major disappointment number two. His two sisters were popping out the grandbabies left and right, but he, the only son, the only carrier of the Matthews family name, had thus far failed to produce a Charles Beaumont Matthews the Sixth.
“Awesome. Which one?”
“Susannah. She’s due in April.”
“Tell her and Biff I sent my congratulations.”
“His name is Bill.”
“Is Biff Charlotte’s husband? I get them mixed up.”
“You are being unpleasant. Goodbye.”
“Bye, Mom,” he said as she ended the call.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family. He just didn’t like them very much. Boring. Predictable. And so many damned rules.
He stood to gather his things when the phone rang again. He almost didn’t look, sure it was his father calling to yell at him for upsetting his mother. And his mother merely annoyed him. His father could push buttons that made him want to punch walls. But it was Eliot Rutledge. This was random.
“Dr. Rutledge, how are you?”
“Eliot, please, son. How many times do I have to ask?”
“Enough to overcome the ruthless teachings of several deportment for proper gentlemen classes, sir.”
Eliot laughed. “Yes. I have a daughter who was politely asked to leave several of those.”
“How may I help you?”
“I have an idea. Now, I understand you have a lot going on with your job at the hospital and your art career beginning to take off, so tell me no if you need to.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
Like he was going to tell his benefactor no. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too onerous.
“I do some volunteer work at the St. Toribio Mission out on John’s Island. Are you familiar with it?”
“Vaguely. They work with the migrant workers?”
“Yes. Primarily, but the doors are open to anyone needing help. I was thinking about creating an art-therapy program for the children. I see them there while their parents are getting medical or legal help and they have nothing to do but sit and wait. I thought an art room with supplies would be helpful.”
Matt nodded. “Actually, sir, that sounds like an amazing idea. I’m sure it would help them quite a bit. What are you thinking? Weekly sessions or just get it set up?”
“For now, getting it set up. We have plenty of volunteers who could watch the kids and keep the room and supplies in order.”
“Okay. I’m in. Just let me know when and where.”
“Very good. Thank you. I’ll be back in touch.”
Matt ended the call with a smile on his face. At least someone appreciated his art and his desire to use it to help others.
LENA STOOD IN the doorway of her walk-in closet. Sass wound her way around her ankles, getting cat hair on her still-damp and freshly shaved legs. “What do you think, Sass? Standard black? Or should we pull out all the stops and go with the red?”
As she moved into the closet, Sass dashed under the row of neatly hanging dresses, her tail trailing along the hems as she walked. Lena sighed. “I might as well just buy everything in Sass orange. It’d be cheaper than all the lint rollers.”
She’d always wanted a pet. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was a cat. Sass seemed interested in what she had to say, so that was all that mattered. Lena leaned down to scratch behind Sass’s ear. Lifting a dress from the rod, she turned to the mirror. “I’m going with the red. I shaved my legs for this.” She hooked a pair of shoes out of the shoe rack. Black stilettos with four-inch heels. “Let’s see what poor old Eduardo thinks about this.”
She slipped the dress on, careful not to smudge her makeup, and wiggled the zipper up. Oh, hell yes. She smoothed down the front. The dark red set off her hair and eyes and it clung to her curves like nothing else. Bonus, it actually came down to just above her knees so she didn’t have to worry about accidently flashing anyone.
Trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, she fluffed her hair and grabbed the shoes. “All right, Sass. It’s showtime.”
* * *
THE UBER DRIVER pulled up to the curb directly outside Hall’s Chophouse. Lena frowned. Eduardo was there, waiting. In rumpled khaki pants and a short-sleeved, blue plaid shirt. And was he wearing sneakers? For this, I shaved above the knee. She slipped her shoes back on and stepped out of the car.
He didn’t even notice. Just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring the wrong way down the street. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath. Shaking her head, she approached him. The clack of her heels on the sidewalk must have caught his attention because he turned in her direction.
“Oh, hi,” he said.
She
