Months passed, and my book tour came and went. Even the holidays were long ago, and the flowers were blossoming in the spring air. Despite rewrite after rewrite, the piece on Andrew Sawyer and the Meraki never felt right. Something was missing, something I had yet to discover.

Enough time had passed that I didn't think of the Meraki each day, but I thought of Charlie. I was never lonely until I walked away from Charlie. Now it was my constant companion. Blind dates were short. I knew in an instant if it would work or not and didn't feel the need to entertain anyone that didn't stand a chance.

"You have to get out of the house, Jess," my mom continued to press on the phone.

"Why? There's nothing to do out there anyway," I grumbled.

"Didn't you tell me you got invited to some art opening tomorrow night?" She pressed.

"Yeah, but I am pretty sure that is Bernie's subtle way of reminding him that I still owe him a piece on Andrew Sawyer," I conjectured.

"Ugh, if I hear the name Andrew Sawyer ever again, it will be too soon. Nothing good came of that visit. You have been such a recluse since then," my mom complained.

"Mom, I went on an entire New England book tour for two months. I have hardly been a recluse," I countered.

"That's work, Jess. It doesn't count," my mom argued.

"Well, it was exhausting, so it should," I protested.

"Come on; I could use a night on the town. We could go together. We'll make a day of it. We can go buy new dresses, get our hair and nails done, and then cap off the day with fancy appetizers and free champagne... please?" My mom pleaded.

I let out a sigh and then reluctantly agreed.

There is nothing worse than spending the day preparing for an event you have no desire to attend. Still, I tried to make the best of it. I tried on a number of dresses before choosing one that accentuated my décolletage. It made me think of Charlie.

My mind wandered to him again as we got our nails done. What would these nail stylists would have done with his calloused hands that always seemed to be splattered with paint? I let out an audible lack, eliciting a glare from my mother.

"Sorry, I just thought of something funny," I offered.

The museum was packed with fancy-dressed, well-to-dos mingling and chatting about how wonderful everything was. I was not feeling their vibe. The art was fine. The passed hors d'oeuvres were cold when they should be hot and warm when they should be cold, and they had nothing but Champagne, which I did not like.

"Jess, there is the most handsome man eyeing us," my mom enthused.

"Mom, can we have just one night where it's just us girls, and you are not trying to set me up?" I begged.

"Set you up? I'm single too, honey," my mom announced.

"Mom," I chided in full shock.

"Fine, we will be two old maids out on the town," she reluctantly agreed as she took up my arm, and we continued to circle the exhibit.

"She looks like you," my mom teased as we approached one piece.

"It's interesting," I admitted. "There is something familiar about it."

"I'm not kidding. She really looks like you. The color of the hair, and something about the shape of the neck," my mom continued.

It was an alluring piece of work. A woman with her back to the view as she overlooked the ocean. But she was quite clear. It was as though the salt air was stinging your eyes, causing her to stay just out of focus. Still, it wasn't the image that felt so familiar. There was a texture to the painting and something about the brush strokes.

"What is it called?" I asked my mom.

But before she could answer, a smooth voice responded with, "Forever for Her."

"That's the man that was staring," my mom whispered before I even turned around.

"I know," I offered.

I straightened my back and turned to face Charlie.

"Hello, Jess. I see you got my invitation." He smiled pleasantly.

"Hello, Charlie," I offered back.

"You know him. Wait, did you say Charlie?" My mom peppered my ears.

"Yes. Mom, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is my mother," I introduced.

"A pleasure," Charlie offered as he extended a hand to her.

"Charlie Rapt." My mom's voice sounded like it was coming on the crest of one of the waves from the picture.

"I was sorry to hear of the loss of your husband. He was a good man. He took excellent care of a very dear friend of mine," Charlie explained.

"Oh, I know. I have heard all about it," my mom offered.

"Ah, well, I don't mean to intrude." He bowed slightly before stepping away. I watched him as he paced into the crowd. I wished he was wearing his usual outfit of tattered jeans and a flannel. The formality of a tux warred with my memory of him.

"Jess, go after him. He invited you here," my mom prodded.

"Mom, leave it alone," I asked.

My eyes darted to the painting info card. There it was, Forever for Her by Charles Rapt. It was the final piece to the puzzle, and I chided myself for not realizing it sooner. No one spoke of Andrew Sawyer's artistic ability because no one knew about it until after his death. No one knew about it until after his death because Andrew Sawyer didn't paint the Meraki. Charlie, with his paint-splattered hands, was the artist. The words echoed in my brain as though they were mocking me; 'I like to get my hands dirty.'

"I have to..." I didn't finish my sentence. I just followed after Charlie.

"Yeah, you do." I could hear the smile in my mom's words.

"Charlie," I called out to him as he immediately paused his pace. "Charlie," I called again, causing him to turn and face me.

"Hello, again."

"You are the painter. You painted the Meraki," I blurted out like it was a poison I had to dispel.

"I am pleased you would call me a painter. It's an honor," Charlie offered.

"Don't do that. Don't do the riddles. You wanted me to know. You invited me here to show me," I challenged.

"Fine, I painted the Meraki painting," he admitted.

"But why?" I asked.

"The Sawyers were wonderful people, but A's death destroyed them. They didn't have a lot of means, but they had a lot of pride. It was easy for me to mimic A's signature; we had been forging each other's names for years. I told them they were A's and that my family wanted to buy them to preserve Andrew's legacy. They were so happy, and it provided them with more than enough to start again," he explained.

"So, why are you revealing it to me now?" I pressed.

"I only suspected you would draw the conclusion," he admitted.

"Then why did you invite me?" I prodded.

"I invited you here because I missed your face. I didn't know if I would even speak to you or if you would even see my piece. I wasn't even sure you would come," he explained.

I let out a sigh. "I wasn't going to, but my mom made me," I childishly admitted.

He let out a laugh at my admission. "She seems like a lovely woman," he then added. "You look incredible, by the way."

"Don't do that. You walked away from me, Charlie Rapt. So, do be all... you."

"All me? Big words from such a talented writer," he teased.

"Remember when you said Eric was annoying because he fancies himself a comedian?" I shot.

"Noted," he laughed. "And yes, I walked away. I had a chance that last morning. I was there," he explained.

"I know. I saw you on the bench, but you decided not to stop me," I reminded him.

"Well, perhaps I am trying to orchestrate another chance?" He offered.

My heart immediately started to pound in my ears. "What makes you think I will give you another chance? What makes you think I am even single?"

"I apologize," Charlie candidly offered. "When you arrived with your mother, I just assumed."

"Well, I am single," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean that anything is different," I continued.

"But some things are different," he offered.

"Some things are?" I asked.

He held out a hand to me, just as I had for him all those months ago.

"Yes, some things are different, but some are the same. For instance, you are still the most captivating woman I have ever seen. This dress," he added as his eyes washed over my décolletage.

I clutched his outstretched hand and twisted slightly so he could fully admire my dress.

"Stunning," he murmured again before pulling me into his arms.

Our hearts beat against each other as I gazed up into his deep brown eyes.

"How long, Charlie?"

"I haven't had a drop since that last night," he admitted.

"How has it been?" I asked.

"Excruciated at best, far worse for most of the days, but then a few months ago, something changed. The thought of drinking didn't consume me. It seemed to release the full hold it had on my brain. It is still present, and I still have to be careful, but I am more confident," Charlie explained.

"I'm so proud of you," I murmured as I wrapped my arms around his neck and let my head tuck into him.

"I would love to pretend I was strong enough to do it for myself, but I would never have done this if not for you. You pushed me," he admitted.

"I didn't mean to push. I just... I was so scared by what I saw," I admitted.

"I know," he soothed as his calloused hand coursed over my hair. "I don't want to scare you. I don't want to scare anyone."

I pulled away and inspected his face. He was just as handsome as he had been each night in my dreams. His deep brown eyes now had a sharper clarity to them, a spark I hadn't seen before.

"Jess, will you please come home with me?" He whispered.

"I can't," I murmured back.

I felt his shoulder drop in defeat.

"I understand," he agreed. "I wish you nothing but the best, Jess. I truly mean that," he offered before dropping his grasp on me.

"Charlie," I giggled as hope flared in his eyes. "I can't go home with you because I drove my mom here. We'd have to drop her off. And, given where we are, I'd suggest that you should come home with me."

"Really?" I could see Charlie holding his breath as he waited for my answer.

"Yes, under one very important condition," I began.

"I'm listening," he prodded.

"Please tell me you packed your jeans and flannels? This tux is just not you," I teased.

"What? I think I like quite dashing," he challenged.

"But I like a man who likes to get his hands dirty," I teased.

"Well then, I think I know someone perfect for you."