The local art supply store had exploded in my sunroom, from an easel to canvases of every size, and paints galore. I had even splurged on more brushes than I could possibly ever use. Even the cashier giving me a total sum that rivaled a mortgage payment hadn’t squashed my high.

Art had always been my one true passion. Being ever pragmatic, I had chosen teaching as my career in college. Not even as an art teacher, because art was the first thing that got cut during budget crunches. I chose to earn a degree in teaching elementary school, because the jobs were more plentiful and safer. Even then, I used every last elective I had for art courses and had once even tried to get a summer residency at a local art studio.

Then, everything changed with Jacob’s death, and I was forced to be completely true to my pragmatic self by taking the maximum allowed courses at my university over the summer I was pregnant, and adding another two from the local community college as transfer credits. It had been rough, but I had managed to graduate on time, even while taking a semester off for the birth of my beautiful son.

It had all been worth it, knowing that I had been able to grant my son the start my own omega-father had not been able to give me. I made sure Jake never went without. Sure, there had been lean times, but we never had to worry about where the next meal would come from or which utility to pay that month, the way my dad had.

Now, here I was, nineteen years later, picking my dream back up and dusting it off like an old hat.

A quick look online, and I was signed up for a painting class at the local community college. Easy peasy, awesome. I could do this.

Putting my first canvas on the easel, I closed my eyes and waited for inspiration to hit.

Once upon a time, I had been shocked to learn that most other students in my classes in undergrad didn’t work this way, since it had always been my method. Close my eyes. Take three deep breaths. Allow my mind to go blank and then when something popped back in, I painted it.

Moody.

That was probably the best way to describe the pictures I had first painted as a teen. The paintings were rough as far as technique, but people swore they could feel my emotions just by looking at them. At first, that had made me very self-conscious. After I sold a few at a local art fair, though, I let go of my insecurities and just let the ideas come to me.

Three deep breaths and a less than a minute later, I pulled out the correct paints and brushes for the image in my mind. Hours passed by as I painted and painted, the colors flowing as beautifully on the canvas as they had in my head. I may not have picked up a brush for anything other than walls in years, but my fingers acted as if it had been but a day.

I should have been painting all along.

As the sun began to set, my lighting became less than optimal, and I decided to quit for the night, adding new lighting to my mental shopping list. Because a guy has to keep painting when the inspiration strikes, right?

I was almost finished cleaning up when the phone startled me, and I responded with a smile when the caller ID came into view.

Jake, my dear, sweet Jake. It had taken every last ounce of my will power not to call Jake every night this week, but I had done it and was proud of myself.

“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady so I wouldn’t give away how much I needed the phone call. There was no point in putting pressure on Jake like that. Not when he was finally spreading his wings.

“Hey, Dad.” It was so good to hear his voice. “I was calling to see if you were still coming for lunch tomorrow.”

As my appeasement for not following Jake to his apartment on move-in day and allowing him to just “be an adult,” Jake had invited me to lunch over the weekend. That tiny offer meant so much to me. Not only did it show that Jake was going to try to stay close even as he found his footing as an adult, but also that I’d raised him to be both compassionate and intuitive, two skills that would benefit him throughout life.

I couldn’t be prouder.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. How was your orientation today?” I grabbed my dirty brushes and plopped them into a jar of cleaning solution.

“Paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork.” Jake sighed as he spoke, but his smile could be heard through the phone.

It had been a good day, then, and I smiled too.

“Adulting tends to be like that.” I double-checked all of my paints were sealed before picking up the jar and placing it in the utility sink in the adjacent laundry room.

“You do know I’m sticking my tongue out at you, right?”

I barked out a laugh. Yes, I did know exactly how my son would respond, and the vision of Jake making such a goofy face helped to ease some of my worry. After all, I knew I needed to let Jake go, but it didn’t make it easy.

Talk about adulting.

“And I’m rolling my eyes, so all is well,” I teased as I stripped out of my shirt and placed it beside the jar of brushes. I was a messy painter, always had been, and the last thing I needed was to get paint on my couch or walls.

“How are you, Dad?” Jake’s voice turned on a dime. He had been just as worried as I had been. In some ways, Jake was so much like his alpha-father, but in this, he was the spitting image of me.

“Great. Why did you sound so worried when you asked me that?” It had probably been Jake’s intuitive nature, but I had to be sure I wasn’t sending my son guilt vibes unintentionally. My dad had done it to me for years before it all came to a head, and that was a fight I never wanted to have with my son.

“Dad, you’ve never lived alone.”

“I sort of did before you were born, you know.” I heard Jake sigh dramatically at my pathetic excuse. “Fine, I had to throw a party now that I had the freedom to do so.”

I had to pull the phone back as my son’s faux laughter filled the phone, almost causing me to respond in full-out, real laughter. Damn, how I missed Jake. I pulled my composure back together the best I could before responding. “What? That’s not funny. Dads need a life too, you know.”

“It kinda is, Dad, since you have two friends and one of them is in his sixties.”

“Sixty is the new forty.” Or so my friend Emilio reminded me often. Granted, Emilio was the one more likely to throw a huge party, and both Jake and I knew it.

“Whatever, Dad. So how was work today?” By work, Jake meant the crappy temp jobs I usually accepted in the summer, ever since summer school had been cut from the district’s budget.

“I told you, I had a party.” Grabbing the tea kettle, I filled it as I waited for the amusing response I knew Jake was forming.

“Fine, I’ll fill in the blanks, then,” Jake groused. “Work was work?”

“Actually, I practically did throw a party. I took a personal day and went to Creative Endeavors and made my bank account weep.” It wasn’t that much, but it had been pretty darn close.

I regretted nothing.

“Did you buy a painting?”

I had never told Jake how much I missed and loved art. I had a few straggled paintings from before the accident, but that was the extent of my sharing. It only made sense that Jake thought his father was buying one of the owner’s paintings.

So much for my clever reveal.

“Better!” I smiled at the squeal in my own voice. I was acting like a kid getting their first car, though in a way, this was just as symbolic. Cars equaled freedom, and this was allowing myself the freedom to follow my dreams. “I turned the sunroom into an art studio.”

“Really?” There was no skepticism in Jake’s voice, which relieved me. The last thing I wanted was for my son to think I was going through a midlife crisis in response to being an empty-nester for the first time. “That’s fantastic! I love the painting we have in our living room.”

Oh, damn.

I had never shared with Jake the true meaning of the picture in the living room, and it was something I vowed in that moment to change. It was an abstract piece I’d painted the night Jacob had announced his intentions to marry me. It wasn’t a proposal; far from it. It was more of him staking his claim on me.

The painting encapsulated the moment beautifully.

After my high-school sweetheart, Rhys, had moved away unexpectedly, I had been crushed and erected a wall around my heart to avoid future hurt. Even when I had started dating Jacob, whom I adored from the moment I met him, I had never let another alpha in. Until that moment. The one where Jacob promised me forever, whether I was on board or not. And after that moment, I slowly but surely let him in, until he completely owned my heart.

The painting was one I worked on immediately after he dropped me off at home. It had been my way of processing the conversation, and I looked at it often to remember how glad I was to take a chance on Jacob, even if he hadn’t turned out to be my happily ever after. Because during the rest of our time together, Jacob was my everything and that made the heartbreak worth it.

“Well, expect plenty more. I even enrolled in a painting class. Before long, you’ll be stuck with one of my pieces.” The tea kettle whistled, and I turned it off before pouring the water over my tea bag.

A cup of chamomile would do a world of good.

“At MCC?”

“Indeed.” I dunked the tea bag a few times before dropping it and jumping back. I had completely forgotten my half-naked status and managed to splash a drop of hot water on my chest. Brilliant. “I’ll be only ten minutes from you every Tuesday and Thursday evening from six to eight pm.”

“So if I play my cards right, I can parlay this into either an early or a late supper?”

I smiled. Honestly, I had been concerned that Jake would feel that I was stepping on toes by “following him” to the city, but thankfully, he saw it in a completely different light. Jake saw it as free dinner.

That would do quite nicely.

“Parlay away.” I grabbed my tea cup and wandered toward the bedroom. “See you soon.”

“Love you, Dad.”

“And I, you.” As I hung up and prepared for a shower, followed by a cuppa and a good read, I was practically cheering.

I was really doing this. I was following my dream, even if only for the summer.