I press my hands into my thighs, nervous as hell, trying to keep my palms as dry as possible.

“Beck?”

I stand and offer my hand to Mr. Ryan, Rylee’s father. “Mr. Ryan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is mine. When Zoey told us about you wanting to sell art in our gallery, I was more than interested to have a different style represented.” He smiles, his eyes lighting up like Rylee’s when she’s excited. “You can only have so many lighthouses for sale until you start to lose your mind.”

I chuckle. “Hey, I like a good lighthouse picture, but I get it.” I grab my portfolio from the ground and sling it over my shoulder. “I really appreciate you giving me the time to show you my portfolio.”

“Of course, of course. Come on back. Mrs. Ryan is finishing up a drink-and-paint class and will be with us shortly.”

“Drink and paint?”

Mr. Ryan laughs and shakes his head. “It’s all the rage. Drink some wine and paint a picture. It’s very big with the tourists, but instead of doing all the same picture, we have a collection of pictures with attached instructions customers can follow. So if you come with a family member, you don’t have two of the same picture.”

“Oh, that’s smart. I like it.”

“Mrs. Ryan liked it at first, but I believe she’s getting a little worn out with the demand, and coming up with new pictures to be painted.”

Hmm . . . I know someone who can help out with that. I will put that little tidbit in my back pocket for now.

“Understandable.” I lay my portfolio on the table as Mrs. Ryan walks through the door. Holy shit. Rylee may have her dad’s eyes, but she looks just like her mom, from her petite frame to her long black hair, to her feminine bone structure. “You must be Mrs. Ryan.”

She takes my hand warmly and gives it a light squeeze. “Beck Wilder, nice to meet you. Please take a seat.” She releases my hand and sits next to her husband, and that’s when I see it. True, time-tested love. They even still hold hands under the table. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No apology necessary. How was the class?”

“Charming.” She nods and presses her palm to her forehead, pushing her hair away. “Tiring. Those tourists sure can give me a run for my money.”

“I bet, but what an awesome idea.”

“Thank you. It’s brought in a lot of great business.” She waves to my portfolio. “Zoey said you were a very talented artist. Please share with us; we’re always looking for new talent.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself, because I’ve learned recently that being honest and open about my situation brings trust.” Rylee’s parents exchange glances. Not the best way to start an “interview” but after talking with Cal about my grand plan, he said with such big life changes, the best thing I can do for myself is be open and honest. So I’m taking that chunk of advice and running with it.

Clearing my throat, I clasp my palms on the table in front of me and speak directly to Rylee’s parents. “Eight years ago, I got behind the wheel of my car, drunk, angry, and on a mission to get as far away from my life as possible.” I take a deep breath, my throat already tightening on me. These are Rylee’s parents. “I was a lost man, searching for solace, for any kind of peace. I searched for it at the bottom of a liquor bottle.” I shake my head. “That night, I ran a red light, driving my car right into another, killing a woman on the spot.” I swallow hard now. “She was . . . she was going to pick up her son from a slumber party he was too scared to stay at. Rightfully so, I spent six years in prison, sobering up, and changing my life. I learned my passion for art while I was there and read every inspirational book I could get my hands on. When I was in prison, I vowed to make a change, to make a difference in this world. A positive one. And that’s what I strive to do every day. I’m often a guest speaker at AA meetings, sharing my story. I talk to high school kids about the risks of drinking and driving, and I also run a non-profit organization to assist families in need.” My palms sweat, my leg itching to bounce. “I’m telling you this because I want you to know me, my motivation for my art, and where my inspiration stems from.”

Mr. Ryan nods. Both are quiet, and my nerves start to paralyze me as I try not to focus on what must be passing through their minds, what they must be thinking about me.

I flip open my portfolio and turn the photographs of my art toward them to study. They both lean forward and take in the vivid colors and stroke lines. “I’m currently a muralist for some of the zoos and museums in Los Angeles. I work on a contract basis, so I’m very familiar with painting landscapes of all different environments, but my true passion is portraits.” They flip through my pictures, the back of my neck heating with each pass of their hands over the pages. Is this what Rylee feels every time she submits work to her editor and publisher? Like she’s giving away a part of her soul? “Every portrait in this book is of a victim of alcohol abuse. Their story accompanies every face on the back of the pictures. Since these are photographs, you can’t quite see the brushstrokes all too well, but I do use a heavy hand with my oils to form movement in the features.”

The Ryans nod and continue to look through the pictures, one after another. I’m so damn nervous; my stomach is rolling on me. “Uh, my goal is to move to Port Snow, to possibly find some contract work in Augusta, Portland, and Orono. But I would love to sell my work to you exclusively.”

They nod their heads and continue to study my pictures until they get to the last page and gently close my portfolio, pushing it back toward me. I hold my breath, trying to read their faces.

Mr. Ryan clears his throat and pulls on his ear before he speaks. “You have a beautiful eye for color, Beck. Even from the photographs you can see the movement you create in your art.”

“Very unique aesthetic that you don’t see very often with those vivid colors,” Mrs. Ryan adds.

Why do I feel a but coming on?

“But . . .” and there it is. I hold my head firm, my eyes locked on them, not showing any signs of disappointment. I don’t want them to feel bad for me. I want them to make this decision honestly. “I can’t foresee being able to sell portraits here in the gallery.”

Mrs. Ryan nods. “I agree, unfortunately.”

Lips pressed together, I take a deep breath, and reach my hand out. “Well, thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity to show you my work.”

My heart is breaking in half. Hell, I knew this was a long shot, so I should be proud that I tried at least. I’m going to have to come up with another plan, maybe reach out to the museums and zoos in the area. At this point, I would work for a painting company just to be near Rylee.

Ignoring my hand, Mr. Ryan says, “We’re not done here.”

“Oh.” I take my hand back and settle into my seat.

“I see great talent and passion in you, Beck. I see enormous good in you, and I’ve always believed in second chances. I think you can be an asset to us.” Mrs. Ryan beams at her husband. “Give us a second to talk. We’ll be right back.”

Hope springs in my chest as I nod. I want what they have. Love. Devotion. Forever. But will they have anything that will keep me here near my girl?

* * *

How did it go?” Zoey asks as she sits across from me at The Lighthouse Restaurant. She sets her purse on the ground and props her hands on the table.

I can’t hold back the smile. “Really well.”

She slaps the table and then fist-pumps the air. “I knew it would be. Bruce and Carly are the best, aren’t they?”

“They’re pretty amazing, but I’m not quite doing what I expected.”

“What do you mean? Are you not selling your art there?”

I shake my head. “No, they uh, offered me a full-time job to run the gallery, the paint classes, and help with acquiring new artists in the area. They also hooked me up with a friend they have in Augusta who works with the museums, zoos, and aquariums in the state.”

“You’re kidding me.”

I shake my head. “Nope, they went above and beyond. Mr. Ryan said he wants to enjoy his retirement with his wife, he wants her to paint more, and he was waiting to find someone with enough knowledge to take over the day-to-day work.”

“Holy shit!” Zoey claps her hands and leans over the table knocking over the pepper to give me a hug. “That’s amazing, Beck. Do they know about Rylee?”

I smile. “When I was leaving, I stopped in the doorway, shaking their hands and told them I was in love with their daughter, and that my master plan is to get her to marry me one day . . . you know, further down the road.”

“Gah. What did they say?”

“They exchanged glances and said they knew the stranger in black had to have something to do with the mood swings their daughter has been having.”

Zoey laughs and grabs my water, taking a sip. “Oh, I love the Ryans.”

“They said a few weeks ago, they couldn’t believe how happy Rylee was, and they noticed something must have happened since she’s been really quiet lately. When they got the call from you, they knew something was up, but they reassured me the job was purely offered based off my portfolio and experience.”

“That’s so great, Beck.”

I scrub my jaw. “It really is. I can’t thank you enough for setting me up with everything.”

“Anytime.” She waves a hand at me. “And has Victoria been a pleasant hostess? She can get cranky very easily.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth? Victoria is awesome, but the rules she has for her household, I can’t keep them straight. I try not to touch anything unless absolutely necessary.

“She’s been great. Very hospitable.”

Zoey studies me, her eyes never breaking contact. “Do you really want to lie to me, Beck? Is that what you want to do?”

I chuckle and let out a long breath. “Victoria is very particular, but I’m grateful for a free bed while I try to figure things out.”

“And she’s not putting the moves on you?”

“What?” My eyebrows shoot up. “No, not even a little.”

“Good.” Zoey crosses her arms over her chest. “I can see she has a little crush on you, just a small one, but I want to make sure she knows you’re taken.”

Oh Victoria.

“So maybe I shouldn’t let her show me the Amelia Earhart documentary every night?”

“Christ, no. Tell her one time is enough.” Zoey shakes her head and pulls out her phone. “That girl, I’m going to text her right now.”

I reach over and place my hand over Zoey’s to stop her. “Please don’t. I don’t want her to feel bad. I can handle the documentary. It’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and look ungrateful, because I’m really grateful for you guys right now.”

“We know. The fudge you bought us is thank you enough. Two pounds was really . . . a lot.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, I was unsure of what to get so I bought some of every flavors. I didn’t know they had that many flavors. Kind of impressive.”

“It’s one of the reasons people come to Port Snow. That and the lighthouses and small harbor-town feel. But Lobster Landing is the place to be when in Maine.”

“I could tell when I was in there.”

The waitress brings our food. Zoey ordered through me prior to her arrival so food would be here, ready for her to chow down. That’s how she put it.

Picking up her spoon and diving it into her lobster bisque, she asks, “So what’s your next plan?”

“Not sure, yet. I want to find my way around the gallery, and I’m waiting on a phone call from Cal, my sponsor.”

“What kind of call?”

I pick at my lobster mac and cheese but don’t make any real dent. “Well, given my background, I wanted to see if it was possible for me to be a foster parent. I’m not quite sure they let felons foster kids, or adopt kids for that matter.”

Yeah, that was a blow to my whole plan. When I spoke with Cal, he reminded me of the restrictions I have placed on my life, and foster care is most likely one of them.

Zoey slowly looks up at me. “I never even thought about that. Oh shit. So . . . what happens if you can’t foster or adopt kids?”

I lick my lips and tuck my fork under my bowl, leaning back in my chair. “Save a lot of money and find a surrogate. I’ll do anything to make Rylee happy. It can be some other dude’s so she doesn’t feel like the baby has more of a connection with me, if it helps.”

A small smile passes over Zoey’s lips. “Rylee will be able to help you save, if that’s what you really want.”

“I want whatever she wants.”

“So you’re really serious?”

I level with Zoey. “Do you think I would drop everything in my life, move across country, shack it up with a historian, and practically beg for a job in an art gallery for fun?” I shake my head. “I’m dead fucking serious about being with Rylee.”

“But you’ve only seen each other in person twice, not even in your own environments.”

That’s the same damn thing Chris said to me while he drove me to the airport, and I’m going to tell Zoey the same thing I told Chris.

“I’m not sure how you and Art met, but I’ve been with someone who made me feel like a lesser man, someone who brought me down to their level, someone who was so incredibly toxic for me that I broke. It took about six years to piece myself back together, and since then, I’ve been cautious when meeting women. Very cautious. Rylee is the first woman I’ve spoken to about my background. She’s the first woman to lift me up, to make me want to strive to be more, to be better than I already am. She’s a once-in-a-lifetime person, Zoey. Believe me, I’ve been through the gauntlet. She makes me happy and she gives me hope for a bright future. I want to hold on to that for as long as I live.”

“Well . . . damn.” Zoey pats at her eyes. “God, you’re a fucking catch. Not a dickhead after all.” She clears her throat and says, “Okay, so I know she’s seen you, but you’re going to have to talk to her eventually.”

“I know.” I take a big bite of my mac and cheese finally. “I want to have all my ducks in a row before I let it be known I’ve taken over her town.”

Zoey laughs. “Pretty sure she’s already aware.”

I’m coming for you, sweet Rylee. You’re mine forever. Mine.