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I dress myself to go to the Piedmont Park Arts Festival in a strappy linen-colored cotton sundress. It’s my favorite. I twist around in front of the mirror in my bedroom, my mind on the upcoming event and a smile on my face.

The festival will be mostly outdoors in the park, with lots of individual artists’ booths set up in a sprawling array. It’s something that I would attend anyway, but this time I have a real reason to go.

I chew my lip as I try to decide on a jacket, since it’ll be cool outside this early in the morning. A smile curves my lips up as I pick a light denim jacket, pairing it with light brown leather ankle boots.

I look in the mirror, and my expression twists. A pale redhead peers back at me, her blue eyes anxious.

Do I really look like that?

I need emotional support today, someone to lean on. I pick up my phone and scroll through the contacts. I almost call Diane, the first number in my recent calls, but I stop myself. Why the hell would I call her? A heavy sigh leaves me as I close my eyes and remember how she reacted when I showed her my art before. Fuck that. I am not calling Diane. I can almost hear her picking apart all the artists now.

Ugh, can you believe these people make art? she’d say. It’s unbelievable.

I can see the faces she’d make; she isn’t capable of being the kind of support I need today. I shake my head, then thumb upward to Charlie’s number.

I hesitate, but hit dial before I can overthink it. It’s just a phone call. I hold my breath for a second, wondering if he’ll even pick up. He’s probably steering clear of me now. I would be, if I were in his shoes.

Except he does pick up, on the third ring.

“Hello?” he says. His voice sounds scratchy, like I woke him up.

“Hey! Am I calling you too early?” I lean against the doorframe of my closet, staring at my comforter and waiting to hear what he’s going to say.

“Nah. I was just getting going. What’s up?”

My lips twist again, but this time it’s a smile.

“I’m going to this… this outdoor festival,” I say. “I was wondering, if you aren’t too busy… if you’d like to go.”

“A festival?”

“Yeah. Piedmont Park Arts Festival. It’s kind of an apology, for being so wretched the other night.”

“You already apologized, and I forgave you.”

“Okay. Well… still.”

“I’m assuming this is happening now?” he asks.

“It’s all day today, but I was planning on going early.”

He’s quiet for a second, ruminating. “Will there be coffee?”

I laugh, and it eases something inside of me. “I can bring coffee... if you want.” I sag against the door, turning my back to it as my tense muscles relax.

“I’m game, then. I can meet you at the entrance to the park in… I don’t know, forty minutes? An hour, if you want me to shower.”

I blush as I think about Charlie naked, dripping with water as he emerges from the shower. The very thought makes me… thirsty. I lick my lips, trying to keep the thoughts at bay.

“Um, maybe you should shower,” I manage.

“Alright. See you in an hour then.”

He hangs up without another word. I blink at my phone in my hand, then push off the wall. I have a date. Sort of. It’s more of an apology date… maybe a makeup date. I let out a deep sigh, hoping this wasn’t all a mistake.

The chill in the air is more refreshing than cold. I’m busy looking at my phone. My doctor’s office emailed me a bunch of information about IVF and how to find a donor. My eyes widen as I look through it all. There are a ton of big numbers -- ten thousand dollars, forty thousand unique donors.

It’s too much for me to try to take in right now, especially if I’m supposed to be on this date. I put away my phone as I stand at the entrance to the park, waiting for Charlie.

When I see him walking my way, I notice, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his biceps bulging. I try not to stare at him as I hand him an iced coffee, but his green eyes are all over me.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes roving down my figure. “You look… nice.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, blushing as I play off the compliment. I swear, when Charlie’s around, my cheeks are a permanent shade of tomato red, made even more apparent because of my fair ginger complexion.

“Shall we?” he says, nodding toward the park.

“Sure.” I have to hold onto my coffee with both hands to keep from reaching out for his with one of mine.

I sip my iced coffee, ignoring the feeling that something’s different between us as we stroll down one of the paths, under a banner declaring this the Piedmont Park Arts Festival. Each side of the path is dotted with individual artists’ booths or larger showcases like Amy’s, which take up several tents measuring twelve by twelve feet each.

“I like that,” he says, pointing out a piece. It’s mostly just colors on a canvas, but there’s a pleasing vibe to it.

“Yeah?” I ask.

He turns to look at me, his green eyes holding a question as we keep walking. “You don’t like it?”

I shrug. “It’s not my style.”

“Ohh, I see. It needs to be your style,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t know you had a style.” I love the hint of a tease in his voice, and the way he smiles when he says it.

“I prefer portraits,” I say as we walk. “Like… oh, like that one.”

I point to a portrait of a young man as we walk past it. It’s kind of elaborate, with a very formal background, but I like the concentration I can see on the model’s face. The emotions come through, and that’s what I love about portraits.

“Mmm. Fancy,” he says. His tone is still teasing.

I raise my head and straighten my shoulders, refusing to let him get the better of me.

“Well, it’s different than colored blobs on a canvas,” I say.

“What? I liked the colored blobs,” he says good-humoredly.

I sip my iced coffee, but I can’t help smiling.

“Must be a Yankee thing,” I say.

“Yankee my ass! My family settled here in 1803, I’ll have you know,” he says, grinning.

“Really?” I ask him.

“Really. We came from France, or so I’ve been told.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Where are you from?” he asks me.

“Doesn’t my hair give it away? I’m as Irish as the day is long.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Do you have a bunch of brothers and sisters running around?”

“Just a little sister,” I say. “She’s super cool, into fashion and design and stuff. She lives in New York now.”

“And your mom and your dad? What do they do?”

“Is this an interview now?” I ask, returning that teasing tone as we step through the grass and my shoulder nudges against his.

“Just curious,” he says with a shrug.

“Well, it’s just my mom now. My dad died in a car crash when I was little.” I talk easily, but stare at the grass as we climb up a bit of a hill.

“I’m sorry.” I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look back.

“It’s not a big deal. My parents were both engineers, if you would believe it. My mom made plenty of money without my dad around.”

“And yet her daughters are both in design,” Charlie says. “Interesting.”

I smile up at Charlie. “Yeah, funny how it happens like that,” I joke. “What about your family?”

“Dad’s a pilot. Ma’s a homemaker. And you’ve met her and one of my sisters.”

“That I have.” I can feel my eyebrows raise up, remembering Ali. She hasn’t messaged me yet, and I don’t feel comfortable messaging her. I move the cold coffee cup to my other hand, wiping the water off on my jacket before taking another sip.

“What’s Ali do?”

“She’s a nurse. Just graduated two years ago.”

I turn to look at him as we walk to the top of the hill and pause there, “And your other sister?”

“Cheryl’s a homemaker, like my ma. She has a fancy English degree, which is now going to waste.”

“Is she happy?”

He looks at me, his expression meditative.

“I think so. They have a baby now, so she’s adjusting to being at home and all that.”

The mention of a baby makes my heart flip. My lips part to ask him more about his sister, but my eyes catch sight of exactly what I was looking for. I start walking, because I found Amy’s booths; they're only a few feet away. Her paintings, odd interpretations of celebrities, are unmistakable. My hands go clammy as I wonder what Charlie’s going to think of them.

“Listen, Charlie—” I begin, trying to find the words to tell him that my work is on display.

Not only that, but In Rapture is on display… a work that he may or may not have inspired. My heart beats faster, feeling the insecurity rise up.

“Gracccceeee!” shouts Amy. She explodes like a shot from the side of her displayed work. I nearly fall backward as she hugs me. A smile creeps onto my face, and some of the nerves are put to ease as I hug her back just as fiercely. I miss her so damn much. She’s tall and willowy, with long brown hair that’s intricately braided. Her colorful caftan dress blows with the slight breeze, the walking definition of free love.

“Hey, Amy,” I say into her shoulder.

She releases me, beaming.

“I’m so glad you came! Your paintings are really garnering a lot of interest, sister!” Her eyes dart over to Charlie. “Is this your gentleman friend?”

Charlie looks at me, and I blush.

“Uhh… Amy, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Amy. Amy is an amazing painter who I went to college with.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Amy says, shaking his hand. “And I might be a professional, but this lady right here,” she says, throwing her arm around my shoulder and leading me over to my work. “She’s the one getting all the attention!”

We stop right in front of In Rapture. I blush to the roots of my hair. Charlie does a double take, seeing that the model in my picture looks very much like me. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. His brow raises as he also sees that the model is taking incredible pleasure in the oral sex that a man, who looks like him, is giving her.

“Oh, I’m sure that no one noticed me,” I protest. “What about your work? The Celine Dion one?”

I notice that Charlie is still staring at my painting. He moves a little closer, as if to affirm that it is me.

“Celine Dion Cadence is doing really well,” Amy admits. “But In Rapture really is catching everyone’s eye.”

“It’s yours?” Charlie asks, finally looking away. Unfortunately, he looks at me instead.

“Yeah,” is all I can manage. My heart is trying to climb up my throat and escape.

“How much?” he says. “To buy it, I mean.”

“Uhhh…” I did not expect that.

“Two hundred dollars,” Amy says. “At least that’s what I told the guys that were asking for a price tag earlier. They said they would be back with cash.”

I give Amy a startled look, and she shrugs. What the hell? She can’t be serious.

“What? He asked,” she says. “Oh, let me go talk to these people.” It’s only when she leaves us that I realize there are other people around us, and many looking at my painting.

When I look back at Charlie, he has his wallet out.

“I only have one hundred on me, but—” he starts. I put my hand over his, shaking my head.

“You’re not really going to buy that, are you?” I ask, my voice clearly showing my disbelief.

He looks me dead in the eye. “I am.”

It takes a moment for me to digest his reply. I stare at the painting, feeling so shocked. “I’ll just give it to you, if you like it that much.” I whisper the words. He doesn’t have to pay me. I don’t want him to.

“I do like it, but I’m going to pay you for it.”

“Where would you hang it?” I tease him, finally looking back at him. “In your bedroom?”

“Maybe I will.” He smirks at me and then leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe it’ll give me some inspiration,” he says, his eyes still on mine.

For a second, I can’t stop thinking about what it would inspire him to do. My body heats, igniting with desire as I bite my lip, and see his gaze drop to my lips. I suddenly realize that I want him to kiss me. No, need him to kiss me.

I lean in just a fraction, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him.

My body is on fire and part of its anxiety that he’s not feeling what I’m feeling. But as I close my eyes, his lips mold against mine. The touch is electric, filling my whole body with a restless energy. The kiss is slow, not pushing for anything more, but that just makes it all the sweeter.

When we pull away, my whole body is covered with goosebumps, my breathing labored. I look into his face, unable to pretend that I’m not having downright sinful thoughts about him.

What really gets me hot, though, is the fact that the same expression is on his face. Our eyes meet, and it’s so intense that I wimp out.

I look away and laugh, and the tension breaks.

“Was that part of your apology?” he asks mildly.

“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. I smile, although it’s a bit forced. “We should move on. There’s a lot more to see.”

Charlie looks around and sees that some of the items on the wall have a Post-it next to them, denoting their status as “SOLD.” He moves over to Amy and talks to her briefly. She makes eye contact with me, cocking her brow.

I don’t even care anymore about the damn painting; I’m just trying to settle down. He comes back to me, a cocky smile playing on his lips.

“Alright. I had to buy some art,” he says in a confident tone. “We can go now, though.”

“Is that so?” I ask him as he reaches for my hand. I have to look down as his fingers intertwine with mine.

“Yeah. Come on, I think I smell funnel cakes. I could use some sugar and lard to keep the coffee from eating through my stomach lining.” He leads the way, acting as if this is normal.

I laugh and follow him deeper into Piedmont Park.

On a date with my fake boyfriend.

A man who isn’t right for me, and I know it.

A man who doesn’t want the same things I want.

It’s stupid of me. I’m wasting time.

But I can’t help thinking he’s a man who’d make a cute baby…