The event was going to be a huge success. Claire could feel it. And she had an instinct for these things. The wine was flowing freely and the artist was charming. Women would be falling over themselves to transfer money. Already, he’d sold three paintings. His artistic style was conservative. The kind an older woman would want displayed in her home. Not too trendy and not the kind that would have shock value.

A few new people had come in that Claire needed to greet.

As she watched, a group of four split, leaving one standing alone as she approached.

Her heart tripped up a notch as she approached him. He stood staring at a painting with splashes of purple and red. Claire’s favorite out of the ones the artist had contributed. He stood with his hands behind his back, his legs a few inches apart. Dark hair curled at his collar.

She stood next to him. Stared into his handsome face. How was it possible he had gotten more handsome than he was at eighteen? He was in his prime now, she admitted, her lips twitching up.

“I wonder why he named it Fireworks,” he said.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

He shrugged, shifted his attention to her. Studied her as though she, too, were a thing to admire. “It wasn’t hard.”

“You like art?” she asked.

“I admire anything with beauty. Where did you go, Claire?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” she said, feeling the lump in her throat. “Why did you disappear?”

“I was in the Air Force. You knew where I was.”

“Not even once,” she said. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. Not even once.”

The pain she felt saying those words out loud were reflected in his own features. “Of course I did.”

“No,” she said. “I would have known. I was right here. Waiting.”

“Claire,” he said. “I called you every chance I got. The calls were refused. Every time.”

“No,” she said.

“I called collect. I didn’t have any other way to call you.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond. Why would he say that? Grayson had never been one to lie.

“Did you read my letters?” He asked. “I sent you information on how to contact me. But you didn’t.”

“What letters?”

“I wrote you letters and mailed them, mostly every week, at first anyway.”

“Real letters?”

He scoffed. “Real letters. With stamps.”

“You must have had the wrong address.”

He recited her parents’ home address. Claire felt a little light-headed. She needed to sit down, but instead, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I never got them,” she breathed.

“Claire,” he said. He almost reached for her, but instead, put his hands in his pockets.

“I have to… um…” She glanced around. “I have to see to my guests.”

She had to think. And she couldn’t think with him staring at her that way. Like he wanted to pull her to him and kiss all the years away.

She turned and walked across the room, keeping her head high. Her imagination was a thing to keep a tight leash on. At least where Grayson Moore was concerned. She put a smile on her face as she approached two middle-aged women standing in front of a very expensive painting.

Weekly etiquette classes for the last years of high school had taught her nothing if not how to hide her emotions. Miss Baker’s voice still resonated in Claire’s head. Never let them see you sweat. Or cry. Or have uncontrollable laughter. In fact, always be in control.

Emotional control was so ingrained in Claire’s psyche, she wasn’t sure she could be any other way.

By the time the evening was winding down, only one painting was left unsold. It was Claire’s favorite – the purple and red one. The one the artist had named Fireworks.

The artist, Maine D’Court, was ecstatic. They had agreed that he would receive a small percentage of sales, but mostly he was trying to establish a name for himself. If tonight was any indication, he was well on his way to success.

The members of the Enrich American Minds Foundation were also elated. With the money earned tonight, they would be able to pick five high school students, mentor them through graduation, guide them into college, and provide tuition support.

Now the hard work started. Claire had to hire ten new mentors, two of whom would follow each student who was chosen.

Because of tonight, five students who never would have set foot on a college campus would now have the opportunity to become college educated, productive members of society.

Claire walked around the gallery, reminding her committee members about their meeting Monday afternoon. She stopped in front of the Fireworks painting and wondered why it hadn’t sold.

“Is this the only one left?” Grayson’s voice was like a familiar balm settling over her soul.

“Yes,” she said without turning around.

“I like it.”

She turned then and looked into those blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. “It’s curious that no one bought it.”

“How much?”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“How much for the painting?”

“You don’t want to buy it,” she said turning back toward the painting, though her heart was racing and every cell was tuned towards Grayson’s presence.

“How much?” he asked again.

“You can’t afford it.”

She counted to ten before turning back to him.

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” he said.

She smiled. That was an understatement. Very well. She’d play along. She quoted him a figure.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook.

She was pleased that she managed to keep her jaw from dropping.

Grayson prided himself on not flinching. There went two months’ salary. This was retirement money, but still…

He’d heard Claire tell three different people that this was her favorite painting by this artist. She hadn’t said that about any of the others, so he felt confident that it was the truth.

As he wrote out the check, he wondered if that was why no one had bought it. Perhaps no one had the heart to buy it out from under her.

Grayson wasn’t buying it out from under her. He was giving her a one hundred percent success rate tonight.

And he planned to give the painting to her when the time was right.

“Is this where you work?” he asked as he handed her the check. Surely he’d earned a bit of information by donating.

“Yes,” she said. “My office is upstairs.”

“Nice,” he said, sweeping his gaze around the spacious, modern, gallery. A wide staircase led upstairs to an open area. Offices, he assumed and meeting space. It was impressive.

“Thank you,” she said, a smile settling over her features. He liked the smile better than her consternation.

“Does Danielle still live at home?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

She was making him ask. “Do you have other children?”

“No, just Danielle.”

There was no one else within earshot. He had so many questions but he couldn’t tell if he was making her uncomfortable or not. But she was still standing there, so he could only assume she was willing to talk with him. Claire had always been good at keeping her emotions in check. He knew she’d been schooled to do that. She was the rich girl. The one with every possible door of opportunity in front of her. He had been just a regular guy. Joining the Air Force to serve his country.

He’d often wondered if she was part of what drove him to keep bettering himself. He knew she was the reason he never married. He’d had girlfriends, sure, even lived with one of them, but none of them had ever been marriage material for Grayson. Claire had ruined that for him. She had been the only one.

“Do you have children?” She asked, running her fingers along his check.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Really? You wanted four.”

I wanted four with you. “Things change,” he said, the smile dropping from his lips. It was definitely better to talk about her. “And you wanted two.”

“Things change,” she said. Perhaps telling her about the letters, though she apparently hadn’t gotten them, was helping to keep her here talking to him.

Maine D’Court approached, “Claire,” he said, his voice silky.

“Maine,” Claire said, shifting to include him in their conversation. “We just sold the last of your paintings,” she nodded toward Grayson.

Grayson scowled. Had he really just given this man money? This slim man with a ponytail of all things. The military man in him cringed.

“Is that so?” Maine said. “Well, I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Grayson said, stretching to his full height of six feet. Maine was at least four inches shorter.

“I’ll have your check for you early next week,” Claire said, turning away slightly. Grayson gave her points for gracefully dismissing the man.

“Great,” Maine said. “Let me know when you’re ready to get out of here.”

“Get out?” she echoed.

“Yeah. You owe me a drink, remember?”

Grayson saw the flash of panic shoot through her eyes. She didn’t want to go with him.

She looked directly at him, a smile on her lips. “Not tonight, Maine.”

“You promised.”

She shook her head. “I already have plans,” she said.

Grayson felt his muscles tense. It had been a few years since he’d been in a fight. Might feel good.

“You promised,” he said, shoving a finger at her.

“Hey,” Grayson said, stepping in front of Claire. “The lady said no. When a lady says no, she means no.”

“We had plans,” Maine said, trying to reach behind Grayson for Claire’s hand. She stepped back before he could touch her.

“No,” Grayson said, stepping front of Claire. “The lady is with me.”

Maine glared at him, then at Claire, before, muttering, he walked away.

“He sure knows how to win friends,” Grayson said.

“Thank you,” she said, turning her gaze to Grayson.

“He has some nerve, doesn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so,” Claire said. “But I think he’s harmless.”

Maine, however, didn’t leave. He said on the stairs leading up to Claire’s office. And watched them, his expression surly.

“I hope you’re right,” Grayson said. The gallery was nearly empty now. “If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around until you get to your car.”

“I don’t mind. I have to go up to my office for a few minutes before I leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” Grayson said. He was relieved that she wasn’t one of those women who didn’t want protection from men. Grayson never understood that. What those women didn’t understand was that they may be smarter than most men, but they would never have the testosterone to match. It was like a man who thought he could go up bare handed against a lion. The lion would always win.

Claire was smart though. The smartest woman Grayson had ever known.

Maine watched them, said nothing as they went upstairs to her office. Grayson stood outside her door, bodyguard style while she gathered up what she needed to take with her.

Claire tossed papers into her briefcase. She planned to work from home this weekend, but she was having trouble thinking about what she need to take with her.

She was having trouble thinking about anything other than Grayson Moore standing outside her office door ready to protect her from an ardent admirer with an inflated self-esteem.

Had she been too friendly with Maine D’Court? She had promised to have a drink with him after the showing, but she hadn’t meant right after on the same night. It had been intended as discouragement. Like sure, we’ll get together sometime and catch up when both people knew that would never happen.

Claire tapped her fingers on the desk as she considered how she was going to get Maine D’Court out of her gallery without making a scene. It was because of him that tonight had been so successful. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But it had been a business arrangement. He’d made a lot of money. Sold paintings he never would have sold. It was a win-win.

She was mostly cross with him because he was disrupting her thought process about Grayson. Grayson was the one she wanted to be thinking about. Not a narcissistic artist.

She gathered up her handbag and drew it over her shoulders. She was thankful Grayson was here tonight. She wasn’t sure what she would have done about Maine D’Court. His persistence bordered on stalking.

Would she have to be afraid now? And afraid for Danielle?

As they walked back downstairs, side by side, Claire was struck by the familiarity of walking next to Grayson. He was a full head taller than she was. And, she readily admitted, she felt safe with him at her side.

Maine D’Court, however, was nowhere in sight. They did a quick search, but the building was empty.

Claire locked up with Grayson keeping watch. Their cars were the only two cars left in the parking lot. Maine D’Court, it seemed, had decided to go his own way.

Nonetheless, Grayson walked around her BMW and peeked through the glass into the backseat.

“Were you deployed?” she asked.

“You could say that. All in all, I spent about ten years overseas.”

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“I went to college here, though, at Stanford.”

“Impressive.”

“That’s where you went, right?”

“I didn’t go,” she said.

“Oh,” he said.

“I got married and started my business.”

He gazed around, then pinned those blue eyes to hers. He was standing close now. So close, she could see the little lines around his eyes. Little lines that weren’t there twenty years ago. “You never married?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, dreading the answer.

“Nope. Hard to meet anyone when you’re rarely home.”

“Well, you were living overseas, right? And then college. Sounds like ample opportunity. A lot of soldiers get married while they’re on tour of duty.”

“I’m only interested in American girls. And college students were babies by the time I got there.”

“Do you still see them that way?” she asked.

“Even more.”

“That’s probably a good thing since you’re surrounded by college students all day long.”

“Children,” he said. “Are you going straight home?”

“I usually do.”

“I’d ask if you wanted to get a dinner, but you already shot one guy down tonight.”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s a little late for dinner, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” he said, never taking his eyes off hers. “I hadn’t noticed. I’m surely not going to ask you for drink.”

She laughed. “Too bad,” she said. “I would have gone.” She slipped into her car and he closed the door.

She smiled as she drove away, enjoying the astounded expression on his face.

It took a full ten minutes for her heart rate to go back to a normal rhythm.

She’d never in a million years expected Grayson Moore to still be single after all these years. He must have women throwing themselves at him constantly. No one could look that good and be that gentlemanly and not have women after him.

He must have found out about her fundraiser through UCLA. Too late, she realized she should have asked. Ah well. Chances were good she wouldn’t see him again unless she happened to run into him in Danielle’s psychology building.

She had accounts to work on this weekend. And thank you letters to write. There was no time to dwell on the past. What was done was done.

Grayson watched Claire drive out of the parking lot and resisted the urge to follow her. Maine D’Court was probably harmless. More bravado than any actual threat. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for her to be vigilant until she was out of his crosshairs.

But mostly, he stood there, letting her words echo through his mind, sending little shock waves of unexpected pleasure. I would have gone.

And then he’d let her slip right through his fingers again. He had called her. Not right away and then once he was in Germany, using the phone became even more difficult. He mused that her consistent lack of response was most effective.

It had worked just like he taught in class. In fact, he sometimes used the example of trying to reach an old girlfriend as an example of extinction in his intro psychology classes. If she’d wanted to extinguish his attempts, she had certainly done it the right way. Absolutely no response. Not even once. However, just like he taught, he’d had spontaneous recovery. In textbook reaction, he’d shown up on her doorstep the day he got back from Germany. Her mother had told him she wasn’t home. And suggested he not come back.

It had worked. He’d finally gotten the message. When a lady says no, she meant no. Still, there remained lingering doubt through the years. Doubt because he’d never actually spoken to Claire.

When his mother sent him the newspaper clipping of Claire’s marriage to Noah Worthington, something in his heart had cracked. She could have at least told him.

Even though he moved on, he never found anyone he wanted to commit his life to. Claire had been it for him. His soul mate.

He’d come close a time or two, but something always interfered. When he didn’t feel like blaming his lack of desire for marriage on Claire, he blamed it on the things he’d seen in Iraq and Afghanistan. Even without a diagnosis of PTSD, he knew it was normal to have difficulty with attachments.

Grayson hadn’t even gone looking for Claire later on Facebook. If she was happily married, he certainly didn’t want to be the one to create any doubt in her mind.

Now that he’d run across her and she was single again, all bets were off.

He drove the thirty minutes to his apartment near the university and went inside. He couldn’t help imagining how Claire might see his place. It was clean, but a little cluttered. He had the basics – TV, sofa, small dining room table. The apartment had come furnished, so he hadn’t had any input into the décor. It hadn’t seemed to matter. Until now.

He grabbed a bottle of water and settled on his sofa with his computer. He logged into the university website and typed in Danielle Worthington. It was so very easy to find Claire’s address. It’s not stalking. He just needed her address so he could send her the painting. After he wrote down her address, he exercised self-restraint. For all of three minutes.

Then he typed the address in google maps. Nice neighborhood. Lots of trees and space. And not so very far from the university. He estimated he could be there in fifteen minutes if she needed him.

He logged out of the university website and laughed at himself. Even if she needed him, she had no way to get in touch with him. His phone number wasn’t on his check. He even had doubts that he would see her again. He’d found her easily enough just by googling her name. She was well-known in the fundraising community. It looked like she’d done well adding art to her method. He was impressed that she’d branched out from the usual charities to one that was personally near and dear to his heart – higher education. Higher education often got lost in the shuffle, but what she was doing was awe inspiring.

It was funny, he mused, how their minds had converged so many years after they’d disconnected. He was teaching college and she was raising money for students to attend. He was surprised she hadn’t gone to college. She’d planned on it. But, marriage, it seemed, had taken precedence. There was no way to figure it out. He would have to talk with her to solve the mystery of her life.

She wouldn’t have dinner with him, but she would have gone to have a drink with him. If he’d asked.

Claire had always been a mystery to him.

He had to tread carefully. He didn’t want to repeat whatever mistake he’d made twenty years ago that had scared her away.

He’d start slowly.

He’d start with the painting.