"Did you see what those stupid fucking news articles were commenting about me?" Abby screeched down the phone. As she'd been doing for the last ten minutes. "Accusing me of cheating on Flynn. Claiming I don't deserve the last name Lahey because I'm a common hoe?"

I lifted a throw pillow on the couch and dropped it again when it didn't reveal my keys. They were hiding somewhere in this apartment.

"Abby, who cares? Flynn knows you aren't cheating on him."

"That's not the point. These assholes could ruin families. Lives. The photos were on a damn set for fucks sakes."

"Wait, what? There are photos?"

"I was doing a shoot. I had to cuddle Luis. He's tall and handsome but he's in love with his freaking husband."

I sighed and found the keys in the fruit bowl.
"Look I know it's bullshit that these articles can spill lies and all of that. But it's the nature of the industry. This isn't the first time it's happened and it won't be the last."

"Well it doesn't happen to you. Even Lucas doesn't get it as bad."

"It'd be pretty hard to frame Lucas for cheating when he posts photos of Milly every other night and tags it queen of cream."

"He's such a dick."

"She does it too."

"They're going to turn into one of those NSFW accounts. And I'll have to pour bleach over my own eyes."

I laughed and left the apartment with a coat on. It was cold this morning. Not freezing but fall was sweeping in.

It was Saturday morning and I didn't have work but I did have a plan to head on over to Delgado's to see if Amalia was around.

She was at the tattoo parlour during the week but I knew she helped her Dad around the studio during the weekend.

"Talk to Mom about the journalist thing. She'll know what to do," I suggested.

She was right. It didn't happen to me all that often because I kept on the down low and didn't lead a very scandalous or public life. There isn't much to write about a person who goes to a nine to five office job.

"The last time Mom and Dad got hit with a cheating rumour scandal, Dad posted a video of them in the bath together, drinking wine and there was a vibrator in the background. That's not the kind of advice I need."

"That must be where Lucas gets it from."

"Flynn would never go for it."

"That's a shame."

I was quietly relieved. I did not need anyone else in my family oversharing their sex lives.

"Well I guess I should go," she sighed. "I'm going back to bed for a nap. Done with this day already."

"Sleep well. Talk tonight? After Lucas' game. All three of us?"

"Yeah. Mom and Dad will be there too. They're going to the game."

"Sweet," I said and hailed a cab when I was out on the footpath.

We ended the phone call and I sat back in the leather seats of the cab, nervous but excited to see Amalia again.

I'd decided to be open and honest about what I was feeling. Perhaps I was getting wound up for no reason.

She might not have interest in going on a date at all. If that was the case, at least I would know and there would be no more stress.

The cab left me a few stores down from Delgado's. I smiled at the footpath as I approached. It had been painted with handprints. All sizes and colours. Under each one was a name and date. It had been done two days ago.

Inside the studio there were new paintings. The sale prices were gone - new price cards sat beside each canvas.

"Hello?" The space was vacant. No sign of Amalia. No sign of Elias.

There was one woman admiring a painting of a beach in Sa Calobra in Mallorca. I stood beside her as she chewed on her glasses.

"You don't happen to know where the owner is?" I asked.

She looked at me and shook her head with a polite smile. "No I don't. He said he would be out in a minute but it's been a while."

"I hope he's alright," I looked over at the staff door and saw a shadow move in the gap of the door. Whoever it was, was on the phone.

"I'm going to Spain soon," the woman said. She put her glasses on again and pushed her brown hair back. "I mean, I hope to. I come in here a lot and look at the photos. These places are so beautiful."

"That's a remote beach in Sa Colobra," I pointed at the picture. "This beach has been the inspiration for artists all over the world.  The pebble beaches and the colossal cliffs. I'd love to see it some day. In person."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. Mallorca is a major destination for resorts and beaches. It's stunning. And Sa Calobra, a village, is hugely popular destination for cyclists."

"Huh," her brows raised in surprise.

"You can only get into the Village by a winding road that was opened in 1933. Lots of hair pin bends and a spiral bridge. It was said that it was as close as one could get to the perfect Motorsport road. But it was actually engineered for tourists funnily enough."

She nodded with interest. "Wh—" her phone began to ring. "Sorry."

I stood there admiring the painting after she'd left, her greeting echoed from the walls and bounced off the stone floor.

The colours on this canvas were outstanding. The deep blues. The earth shades in the cliff but the attention to detail. Wow. Each brush stroke was done with perfection.

"Max," Elias called and I turned around to find him approaching me with an enthusiastic smile. "Max, Max, Max. You know I am asombrado with the knowledge. You know so much. You should work for me."

I stared at him and wondered if I'd heard him wrong.

"Max. You work here. Have a job. I can't afford much but you have charisma. Charm with the customers. She will buy the painting. Guaranteed."

I stammered. "Sir, I have a job. One that takes up a lot of time. I deeply appreciate the offer but I wouldn't be able to commit the way you need."

He waved his hand in dismissal. "I am not asking you to marry me. I'm offering a job."

I'd only met Elias a few other times and he was always friendly but he was downright humming with excitement today. I wondered if he'd had too much coffee.

"I'm sorry, sir," I slipped my hands into my jean pockets and felt genuine regret. "I have a job."

"Come back if you change your mind. Sí?"

"Of course."

"I'm guessing you did not come to sell paintings today then?" He gestured at the back door. "Amalia is out there. Drawing. She makes me proud. Hers goes on skin. Mine goes on Canvas. But art is art. Beautiful."

He turned around and walked off, his attention turning to the woman who had just ended her phone call.

It was hard to grasp what had just happened. Still, I wandered over to the staff door, slipped through and out into the back garden that Amalia had designed herself.

She was sitting at the picnic bench in a thick warm zip up. She had hoop earrings in and her hair was in a disheveled knot. Her lip was drawn in between her teeth while she sketched on a pad and tilted her head to the side.

Beautiful. Truly. The passion in her expression could never be mistaken.

"Good morning," I wandered over and sat down at the opposite side, meeting her surprised smile. "How's it going?"

"Max, hey," she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. She had no make up on today. Her freckles were so prominent and I could have sat and counted them all morning. "What are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd come and see you," I said and looked down at her sketch pad. "Elias said you were designing."

She stared at me for a long pause, her lips parted a little before her eyes widened and she quickly looked down.

"Oh right. Yeah. Um it's a little something a client asked for. I'm attempting to make some sort of collage of Irish relics. Put them together in a cute sort of badge. I guess. I'm not sure. I'm toying around at the moment."

"What you've got looks great."

"Thanks," she grinned and closed the sketch pad. "You look really nice today."

I glanced down, surprised but flattered and assessed the black hooded coat. The collar came up and I was wearing dark blue jeans. "It's getting kind of cold."

"Today especially," she agreed.

"You look gorgeous as usual."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled. It was soft and humble but not disbelieving and that was the best part.

"Have you had breakfast?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Would you like to get breakfast with me?"

She narrowed her gaze into a playful stare. "Depends. What kind of breakfast are you into? Because some people prefer savoury breakfast. I'm a—"

"Sweet breakfast. Has to be. Waffles. Syrup, cream, blueberries—"

"Don't forget French toast, orange juice and muffins."

"Of course," I agreed.

So we went a block over to a place she chose. She was a frequent. The menu was huge and the aroma was mouthwatering. We sat across from each other at a small round table, coats on the back of the seats.

"This place is great," I complimented, a few bites into a stack of waffles.

She nodded, chewing on her muffin. Her lips were pouted and her cheeks full. "Mhmm," she swallowed. "I'm a habit person. I will try new things but I also love knowing there's somewhere I can go and I know what I want and I don't have to stare at the menu or risk getting something I don't like. Ya know?"

"It does make life easier having a solid option."

"Change isn't terrible," she said. "But neither is routine."

I laughed but had to agree.

"Balance."

"Exactly."

We ate for a bit. My heart was beating because all I could think about was the fact that I wanted to tell her how I felt and I was nervous as hell to do it.

"Your dad offered me a job," I changed course. Again.

Amalia paused with her fork in front of her face and smiled. "Did he?"

"Mhmm. I don't even know what the title was. He just told me to work for him."

"He's hilarious," she giggled and ate her French toast.

"I couldn't accept it. Ya know. Having a job and all. But it was really nice of him. I kind of wanted to take it."

"So do it," she shrugged, covering her mouth as she spoke and chewed. "You can quit the office gig. I mean, Dad won't pay as well. So there's that."

I gnawed on my lip and shrugged. "Routine."

She gave me a challenging smile. "Balance."

"Well, speaking of," I sat up straighter, throat thick and heart pounding. "This is a little out of my routine but like you said, balance. Um. . . I haven't dated since I lost Kyla. But it's kind of getting hard to ignore the fact that I would love to take you out on a date. A real date. With date strings tied to it."

"Date strings?"

"Oh shit," I stammered, realising how that might have sounded. "Not like— not sex. I mean, holding hands and— flirting. Ya know. Date stuff."

"Max," she giggled. "I've been flirting with you since you bought that painting from me."

I relaxed and exhaled a pent up breath of air from my nose. "Well me too. But I'm not that good at it."

"Lies," she shook her head with a cute grin. "I would love to go on a date, Max. With date strings."

I laughed and felt total relief. "So I just wanted to be clear though, I'm kind of struggling with the whole guilt thing. First time dating after Kyla. I'm just worried that I'll freak out and ya know. . . I don't want to hurt you."

She cut into her French toast, her hoop earrings swung beside her head. "You're honest Max. And it's good to know that you're feeling like that. If anything it just proves how loyal you are. I'm not afraid to go into something when all the cards are on the table. It's the reason I didn't beat your brother when he did what he did. He was honest too."

"I'm not like Lucas. Just to be clear about that."

"Oh I know," she nodded. "Or I wouldn't be going out with you."