"You must be Jess," a woman assessed as she pulled up beside me.

"Must I be?" I asked without pulling my eyes from the painting.

"We don't get many out-of-town visitors. Maggie let me know our painting may be getting one today or tomorrow, though," she explained.

"Yes, of course." I reluctantly ripped my eyes from the painting to meet my conversationalist.

"I'm Josey, the head librarian," she further explained.

Josey had a homey presence. She well styled her gray hair with a shortcut. The creases around her eyes and lips gave me the impression that her life had been happy, with many moments of laughter and smiles. She immediately felt like someone you would want to share a cozy afternoon over tea.

"You have a lovely library. The children's area is something I would have only dreamed existed as a child," I offered.

"Yes, I am very lucky to work in a town that cherishes the library. We have a few copies of your book on the shelves," she added with a knowing smile.

"Thank you for the support." I tried to smile at her, but my eyes diverted to the painting.

"They are quite popular, particularly the one on diners. I think it reminds people of good old Millie's." Her voice was so smooth that it reminded me of my favorite grade school teacher and the songs she would hum throughout the day.

"Josey, the door to the supply closet is sticking again. I almost got stuck in there getting more staples." A young woman jutted into my thoughts.

"Of course, it's summer on the coast," she giggled. "Can you give Charlie a call and see if he can sand down the door soon?"

"Of course," the woman nodded before walking away.

"Charlie? I think I just met him in the commons." My heart pounded at the mention of his name.

"Probably. That is one of his favorite spots. Nice to know he is close. We wouldn't want to lose anyone in that closet," she giggled.

I smiled back at her joke. "Can you tell me anything about this painting?"

"I think Maggie will be able to tell you more. It was given to us following Andy's passing. We needed to re-roof the building a few years back, and the Rapt Foundation bought it from us. Luckily, they were also willing to loan it back to us. It is a sublime entry to our little haven." As she spoke, a sigh crossed her lips as her eyes flickered up to the painting.

"Can you tell me anything about Andy?" I prodded.

"I think those questions are best for Maggie," Josey curtly shot.

It didn't matter. I wouldn't have been able to continue my line of questioning anything; he was near. I could feel my blood boiling in my veins and the hair on the back of my neck sticking up straight.

"We meet again," Charlie greeted as he paced into the library.

"Oh, Charlie. You're a lifesaver," Josey said as Charlie joined us from our viewing point of the Meraki.

"Always happy to help," he nodded, but his face dropped as the compliment of his help rubbed against his shy demeanor.

"Hello, again," I murmured.

"Enjoying the view," he whispered back.

"Yes. I think I like this one better than the Portland painting. It's calming. This one makes me feel like I can relax and breathe," I assessed.

Charlie nodded. "Well, enjoy. Josey, I'll have that door swinging again in no time," he added as he paced away.

"Such a giving person," Josey mumbled to herself as he paced away. "Anyway, I will leave you to your reflections; enjoy."

"Thank you," I mumbled as she left me to continue to gaze up at the painting.

Despite its calm presence, the keel of frustration began to swirl within me. No one was willing to speak about Andrew Sawyer or really even acknowledge him as an artist. Even within his obituary, there was no mention of his skill, simply his love of sailing. It began as a dull throb, but as I stewed beneath the piece, the pounding vibrated through my brain and down my neck.

I didn't even realize I was leaving until the bright sun stung my eyes, causing them to water. I sucked in a deep breath of salt-filled air and stumbled to sit on the warm, sun-beaten steps. All the questions that I couldn't find answers to assaulted my senses. Why was Andrew Sawyer a secret? Why was it so hard to learn about these publicly displayed pieces? What were they hiding? Deep within me, I knew the answer was at the heart of the Rapt Foundation. My mind began to spin wildly. What if Andrew Sawyer hadn't died in a sailing accident? What if he had been killed? No one would suspect his best friend. Jonathan Rapt certainly had the pull and the resources to cause each of my dead ends. My face fell to my hands as an audible mix of a frustrated groan and an insane laugh bubbled from my lips.

"Jess? Are you all right?" His voice was not quite as smooth as our past interaction, but the heat I felt sour through me announced Charlie's arrival.

"Yeah, just frustrated," I admitted before giving much thought to my answer.

He settled next to me on the steps and leaned casually back. Beneath the sun and the blue sky breathing in the scents of the sea, he seemed most at ease. I inspected his features closer as he gazed out over the street before us. He must have been a sailor in the previous life, perhaps a pirate of sorts. He had reckless freedom about him, but it had clearly been tempered by the years.

"My mother used to say that no hope was without a healthy dose of frustration, but the benefits of hope far outweigh the risk of frustration." He didn't adjust his eyes to me as he spoke. He just continued to watch a mother ushering her small child along the street. It was a fitting display as the young tot defiantly wanted to walk alone, but was still too young to do so without guidance.

"My father used to say that I would surely drown him in my questions." I sighed. "He was nearly right. I'm the one drowning in my questions," I assessed. I continued to watch the child teeter along, confident in the safety of his mother. It sent a deep surge of mourning for my father through me. I had no safety net any longer.

"What questions do you have that are so threatening?" Charlie asked as his deep brown eyes moved to me, pulling my pale blue eyes to greet them.

I had so many questions about Cedar Crest, Andrew Sawyer, the Meraki, and Jonathan Rapt, but at that moment, only one question fell from my lips. "Will you have dinner with me?" The moment the words left my lips, panic filled my face and weakened my limbs. What had I done? How had my words betrayed me so quickly?

"Dinner?" The surprise was evident in the peak of his voice. "You would like to have dinner with me?"

The cat was out of the bag. There was nothing left to do but own it. "Yes, I would like to have dinner with you."

Charlie's face dropped as his eyes focused on his shoes, but for a brief moment, I was certain I saw the glimmer of a smile before he pursed it away.

"If you would like. I don't know many people here. I hear Millie's is good, or there is another place down the street." My incessant need to babble to fill the silence was consuming the space between us.

Charlie set a gentle hand on my knee. "Of course, I will have dinner with you. I know a marvelous place that I think you will enjoy based on our previous run-ins." His bit-back smile made me feel as though he knew a joke that I was not privy to yet. It was alluring and hypnotic. "Shall I pick you up at the inn?"

"Yes," the surprise cause my voice to crack.

"Does six work for you?" He continued.

"Yes, six is perfect," I eagerly agreed.

"Marvelous. Then I will see you tonight. In the meantime, I would recommend some for your, darling. You are far too pale for all this." He swirled his finger toward the sky to accent his tease.

I let out a childish giggle. "I suppose you are right," I acknowledged.

He gave a nod to his feet before he heaved himself up, collected his toolbox, and continued on his way.

In his wake, I let my mind wander away with him. Instead of pondering the throbbing mysteries of Andrew Sawyer, I finally examined the question so many had asked of me over the years. What's the trick of making me fall in love? What was I waiting for, or had it always been a who? Was this the moment that love, companionship, and lust finally combined into something meaningful? Something worthy of my time and energy?

I chuckled at my childish daydreams and pulled myself up from the steps. The creation of Charlie in my head was making a cozy home, while the reality was already gone. I had to temper my expectations of the evening, but I found it entirely consuming to do so. Entirely gone were the thoughts of the work at hand. It was a weird state. I didn't have any concept of how to exist within. So, I did the only thing I could think of; I called my mom.

"Jess, what's wrong?" My mom answered in a panic.

"Why would you answer the phone like that?" I laughed.

"Because in the decade that you have been traveling for your writing, you have never once called me from the road. Your father, oh sure, but me... not once. So, I will ask again, what's wrong?"

"Geez, Mom. Nothing is wrong. I just, well..." I stumbled over my words as I tried to soothe the smile stretching my cheeks.

"Well, what?" Annoyance saturated my mom's voice.

"I think I met someone," I murmured.

"Well, that happens when you go to new places. You meet new people," my mom absently spoke as I heard the distinctive click of the oven door. "I'm trying a new recipe for dinner tonight. It's a lamb shank. Your father loved lamb, but always wanted it with mint sauce. This is braised in a tomato-based sauce. I hope Bernie is hungry. It seems to have made much more than I anticipated."

"No, Mom. Listen to me. I think I met someone," I tried again.

"Jess, I am not your father. I don't speak in codes. What are you saying?" My mom grumbled through the phone, still overly preoccupied with her new recipe.

"A man, Mom. I met a man," I announced.

All I heard was an "oh" before the phone clearly fell from what I can only assume was a precarious spot between her ear and shoulder. I was confident that the clattering I heard was from the phone cracking across the wooden boards of her kitchen floor. A few seconds later, my ears were blasted with an onslaught of questions. "A man? What man? Where did you meet him? Did you meet a man in Maine? How did this happen?"

"Well, I actually met him back home over a year ago. He helped me out of a terrible blind date," I began.

"What? You met this man over a year ago and are just telling me now? Do you know how many sleepless nights I have spent worrying that you would die alone?" My mom scolded me like I was still a young child.

"Mom, in the best of circumstances, we die alone," I reminded her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" My mom challenged me.

"Would you like to die with others in some horrific accident or weather event? I think not. To die alone, peacefully, in your sleep, is the dream," I clarified.

"It is sick that you have given it this much, though," she dismissed.

"Well, you are the one always telling me that I should worry about dying alone," I reminded her.

"We are far off the point. You've met someone." I could hear the pleased smile in her voice. "Is he wonderful? Is he kind? Is he handsome? What does he do?"

"He is very kind and very handsome. I think he is the local handyman," I added as I pondered what Charlie may do that made him so accessible to the town's needs. Handyman seemed to fit. Still, his presence at the restaurant, all that time ago, warred with his life here as the town's Mr. Fix-it.

"A handyman?" Shock filled my mother's voice as annoyance filled me. The moment was short-lived because seconds later my mom added, "Bernie, you're here early."

"I am not, a quarter of on the dot," he protested.

"Quarter off? What? Oh no, the rolls!" My mom screeched before I heard a dull thud come through the phone.

"Hello?" Bernie asked.

"Hey, Bernie," I giggled.

"Oh, hey, Jess. How's the piece going?"

"Ugh. I am getting doors slammed in my face all up the coast. Who would have thought that a small-town artist would be so elusive?" I grumbled as the throb jarred my mind again.

"I'm confident you will be the one to crack the case finally," Bernie offered.

"I'll try.... Wait. Did you say 'to finally crack the case'? Bernie, have there been others?" I accused.

"Well, here's the thing... oh... what's that? Sorry, Jess. I have to go. There is a roll emergency. Have fun in Maine!"

Before I could get another word in, the line went dead. I sucked in an angry breath and felt my teeth grip in annoyance. I had been sent on a fool's errand, and for what? The answer knocked on my door just as the question rolled into my head.