“Why didn’t you tell me we were going to Wellshire? I didn’t bring my boinkers!” Ally looped her arm through Roscoe’s as they headed across the parking lot toward the entrance.

They’d been dating for more than a month, spending almost every free moment together, yet Roscoe’s insatiable appetite for surprises showed no signs of slowing down.

“We’re not here to play bingo,” he said. “And it’s for a good cause, so you can’t say no.”

“But how do I know if I’m prepared?”

“Ally. I’m not taking you up Mount Everest. You don’t need gear or a permit for this date. Only a smock, which I’m told will be provided for us upon entry.”

“A smock?” Ally glanced down at her pale green blouse and gauzy white skirt. “Am I dressed appropriately for this?”

“You…” Roscoe pulled her against his chest, sweeping the hair back off her face and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. “…are absolutely stunning, as always. But…”

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to follow a compliment with a but?”

“She would agree with me on this but, which is to say that you are a total pain in my butt. But you’re also adorable and sexy and highly talented in ways that I’ll never mention in front of my mother or anyone else’s, so I’ve decided to keep you around for now.” He flashed that dimpled grin that never failed to disarm her, and opened the door to the building. “Now let’s go—they’re waiting for us.”

They headed inside and down to the community room, where they were immediately greeted with cheers by the ladies of Wellshire, who’d grown attached to Ally these past few weeks. She and Roscoe had been back for bingo and card games twice since their first date, both times joined by Walker and his fiancée, Eva. Ally was growing pretty attached to them, too—Eva had even hired Reggie to babysit her daughter Grace last weekend.

It was still so unreal. Ally had arrived in Buffalo two months ago, putting on a brave face and going through the motions, trying to set up their house and get into the groove at work, keep things moving forward for Reggie’s sake. She hadn’t imagined how quickly new friends would come into their lives. How much she’d enjoy the company of other people again.

How much she’d come to care for a man whose touch, whose kiss, whose charming smile had the power to make her feel light and happy.

It wasn’t that long ago when Ally had assumed those feelings were forever out of reach for her, tucked away on a shelf like so many distant memories, dusty and forgotten.

She blinked away tears of gratitude, taking in the sight before her.

The community room had been utterly transformed. Tables that usually held bingo cards and boinkers were now covered with plastic tablecloths, each of them set with tabletop easels and white canvases. Over every chair, the promised smocks hung in waiting. The stage that typically held the bingo machine was now set up with two large easels, one holding a blank canvas, the other a finished painting.

Overhead, a huge banner proclaimed:

Candy’s Canvases: Paint Your Heart Out!

“We’re painting?” Ally unlinked her arm from Roscoe’s, turning slowly to take in the full scene. The room was already packed with people, most of them clustered around the bar, others finding their places at the table and putting on their smocks.

Roscoe nodded, gently cupping her chin. “I know you said art doesn’t have a place in your life right now—and maybe you’re right, as far as your career goes. But I thought you might enjoy a little trip down memory lane.” Then, leaning in close and lowering his voice, “If canvas doesn’t work for you, we can always go home and paint you a new tattoo. I’ve already got a spot in mind.”

“I’m sure you do.” Ally smacked him on the chest. The butterflies were dancing around inside her stomach again, happy and excited. She couldn’t remember the last time she did anything even remotely artistic, but suddenly her fingers were itching to hold a paintbrush again, her mind already envisioning the colors swirling onto the canvas. “I can’t believe you brought me to paint night!”

“Did I overstep?”

“Are you kidding me?” She looped her arms around his neck and grinned, big and bright, standing up on her tiptoes for a kiss. She lingered there, enjoying the softness of his lips, the feel of his strong hands as they curled around her waist.

“It’s perfect,” she said, finally pulling back. How the hell had she gotten so lucky? “You’re perfect.”

“I’ll remember you said that.” He pressed another kiss to her lips and groaned softly, the smooth vibration sending a ripple of desire down her spine. As much as she wanted to paint, another minute of his seductive touch and Ally would drag him back to the staff room for a different kind of trip down memory lane…

“Since you two are busy getting busy,” Paulette proclaimed loudly, “Lorraine and I will go get drinks.”

Ally laughed, reluctantly breaking from Roscoe’s embrace.

“To be continued,” he promised with a wink, then led them to a table at the center of the room where Walker, Eva, and Mrs. Dunn were already seated.

Mrs. Dunn had her smock on backward, but other than that, she seemed to be doing well. Last time they’d come for bingo, she didn’t seem to remember meeting Ally, but now she greeted her by name, her smile mirroring Ally’s own.

Ally grabbed a spot across from them, letting Roscoe settle in next to Mrs. Dunn. She liked it better than sitting next to him—that way, she could look up and see that smile any time she wanted to.

“This was such a great idea,” Mrs. Dunn said. “Painting is even more fun than boinking.”

Roscoe choked back a laugh. “I’m not so sure I—“

“Lock it down, brother.” Walker shot him a warning glare. “That’s my mom you’re talking to, remember?”

“Please.” Mrs. Dunn swatted his arm. “You think I can’t appreciate a good sex pun?”

“Mom.”

“Where do you think you and your brothers came from—the baby tree?” She shook her head, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Before he turned into an asshole, your father and I used to—”

“Alrighty then!” Walker put his arm around his mother, pulling her into a hug. “As much as I’d love to follow this conversation right down the rabbit hole, I’m pretty sure I just died inside, so maybe we could wrap this thing up.”

Under his breath, Roscoe grumbled, “That’s what she said…”

“Ally?” Walker glanced at her across the table, his eyes pleading. “Help me out here. Tell Mr. Loverboy to keep his sex puns to himself.”

“Ally,” Roscoe said, “Tell Mr. Tightwad that sex puns are the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Speaking of giving…” Walker held up a menacing fist. “Guess what I’m giving you in about five seconds?”

“No way,” Roscoe said. “My girlfriend will leap across the table and kick your ass.”

Ally cracked up. Before she could respond, her phone buzzed—Clarissa, letting her know that she and Reggie were heading to the movies, and that Reggie wanted to stay the night.

No problem, Ally replied. Have fun!

You know we will! You okay? What does Mr. Ovary-melter have on the agenda tonight? ;-)

Ever since that day with the kids at Ally’s house a couple of weeks back, Clarissa had been warming up to Roscoe. More specifically, to the idea of Roscoe and Ally as a couple. She’d even eased up on him at work, complimenting him on how smoothly the clinic was running, asking for his input on some of her media ideas.

Ally smiled. They’d come a long way since June.

Raising the bar, as usual, Ally texted back now.

Lorraine and Paulette returned with the wine, joined now by John, all of them thrilled at the opportunity to paint. Now that they were all assembled, Ally stepped back and snapped a quick picture of the group, then sent it over to Clarissa. If anyone would understand how much something like this meant to Ally, it was her best friend.

Before she could check on Clarissa’s response, the event organizer made an announcement that it was time to get started. Dropping the phone back into her purse, Ally donned her smock.

Roscoe, who looked adorable in his, pushed the sleeves of his dark blue Henley up to his elbows, revealing his muscled forearms. “Ready?” he asked Ally, his eyes glittering.

“You have no idea.” Ally sipped her wine, then turned her full attention to the perky red-head on stage.

“I think we’re all in for some fun tonight,” the woman said. Her smile was infectious. “Am I right?”

“As long as the bar doesn’t run out of Chardonnay,” Lorraine shouted. Their table erupted in cheers.

“I see we’ve got our usual rowdy bunch in the house,” the woman up front said with a grin. “Just try to keep the paintings PG tonight, okay Lorraine?”

“No promises.” Nodding toward Roscoe and Walker, she said, “I’m feeling particularly inspired by the company tonight.”

Everyone laughed at that.

The woman continued. “For those of you who don’t know me—”

“And for those of us who don’t remember!” Mrs. Dunn called out. Walker frowned at her, but she and her friends laughed.

“Yes, for you, too,” the woman said. “I’m Candy from Candy’s Canvases, and I’m your tour guide for tonight’s artistic adventure.” She was easily the most chipper woman Ally had ever encountered. “Now, last time this was all for fun, right? But the lovely staff here at Wellshire informed me that you’ve all decided to auction off tonight’s creations to raise money for Alzheimer’s and cancer research.”

More cheers and clapping. Ally beamed—it was such a cool idea. The surprise date was turning more incredible by the minute.

Leave it to Roscoe, Mr. Ovary-melter indeed.

“If you’ve never worked with acrylics before,” Candy continued, “don’t worry! We’ll go through this step by step, and by the time we’re done, you’ll feel like the next Georgia O’Keefe. Sound good?”

“I’d rather feel like the next Beyoncé, if you don’t mind,” Paulette shouted.

“You and me both, sister.” Candy laughed. “Okay. First we need to gather our paints.” She gestured to the finished painting on her easel. “I’m going to tell you the colors I used to achieve this look right here, but remember, you’re free to choose other colors. Don’t limit yourselves! This is your adventure. Embrace your inner artist! Or, as my girl Samantha Hart says, ‘Make your own magic!’”

Ally lit up inside. Could this night get any better? Not only was she painting, and doing it for a cause close to her heart, but the artist in charge was a You Glow, Girl! fan. It felt like fate, and she looked at Roscoe and smiled. Thank you, she mouthed.

Thank me later, he mouthed back. Naked.

Ally grabbed the plastic palette beneath her easel, then followed the others to a table set up with big plastic bottles of paint. As they moved down the line, Candy told them how many pumps they’d need from each color.

Paulette was ahead of Ally, loading up on black and white paint.

“No color? Ally asked.

“I’m having an existential crisis,” Paulette said. “All the color is gone from my soul.”

“That… sounds serious,” Ally said.

“My doctor put me on heart pills. Says I have to limit my physical activity for a few months.”

A flicker of fear touched Ally’s chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Paulette.”

“Not as sorry as John. We just discovered a new staff room,” she said with a sigh. “With a door lock.”

“Well.” Ally bit back a smile. As long as Paulette was still cracking jokes about her so-called side piece, Ally knew she’d be just fine. “I’m sure you’ll be back to your old self again soon.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, toots. In the mean time, I got him a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. Should hold him over until my ticker’s back in working order.”

“I hope so.” Ally didn’t want to ask whether she’d meant the book or the movie.

Once everyone had settled back in at their tables, Candy got started, leading them through the base coat and the basic shapes that would—for some of them, anyway—become a vase of highly stylized calla lilies.

“Oh, hell,” Paulette said suddenly, narrowing her eyes at John’s canvas. “Your flowers look like vaginas.”

“Flowers? I thought we were painting vaginas!” John glanced down at his palette. “Damn. I’m gonna need more paint.”

“What you need are better drugs,” she said, setting down her palette and brush. She went to stand behind Roscoe, checking out his progress. “What’s going on over here?”

Ally offered him a sympathetic smile. Poor guy was staring at his canvas as though he were willing it to combust.

“I really suck at this,” he said.

John pointed at Roscoe’s canvas. “His look like vaginas, too.”

“John!” Paulette rolled her eyes.

“What? I’m only calling it like I see it.”

“You’re calling it like a pervert.”

John winked and pointed his brush at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Last time I checked,” Walker said, stepping back and squinting at Roscoe’s painting, “Vaginas don’t have teeth Dude. What are you doing?”

“What? Those are dew drops.”

“It’s your technique.” Paulette reached for his hand, furrowing her brow. “You’ve gotta dab, not smear.”

“I am dabbing.”

“No, you’re attacking.” Glancing up at Ally, she said, “I hope he’s not this brutish in the bedroom. Unless you like that sort of thing, which is none of my business, but I’m a safe space if you ever want to chat about it. Preferably in detail.”

Ally laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Paulette.”

Roscoe glanced up and met Ally’s eyes, his own full of mischief as Paulette wrapped her hand around his.

“Light strokes,” Paulette said, guiding his hand over the canvas. “Like this.”

“That’s too much paint, Paulette,” Lorraine offered, but Roscoe was barely paying attention. His gaze was fixed on Ally, the dimple flashing in his cheek.

“You two are bordering on disgusting,” Walker said to Roscoe.

Eva smacked him. “Oh, like we aren’t?”

“We’re a little more subtle,” he said.

Roscoe laughed. “Says the man who proposed at the end of a playoffs game in front of millions of fans, and then proceeded to dry hump his new fiancée on the ice?”

“To be fair,” Ally chimed in, “it was pretty romantic.”

“You saw it?” Roscoe asked.

“Reggie and I watched a video.” She smiled at Walker and Eva. “Though I might have to do a rewatch. I don’t remember any dry-humping.”

“That’s because there wasn’t any,” Walker said. “Just your boy and his wishful thinking.” Walker shook his head, then pointed his brush at Ally. “You’d better hope he pops the question in private.”

Ally felt her whole body heat up, her cheeks blushing. Pops the question?

Her eyes darted over to Roscoe, but thankfully Paulette had recaptured his attention, guiding him through the rest of his masterpiece.

Ally had already finished her painting. It looked a lot like the one on the stage, with just a few color variations. It was okay—some might even call it nice. But now that she was warmed up, Ally wanted to try something different.

She asked for another blank canvas, then headed back to the paint table, loading up her palette with all different colors. Before tonight, it’d been more than a decade since she’d done anything other than doodle on a piece of paper, but her body was buzzing with renewed creativity, a renewed sense of inspiration sparking up inside.

Back at the table, she let her brush wander across the canvas, painting a background of deep midnight that faded to lavender at the top of the canvas. She wasn’t even sure what she had in mind, only that she’d be taking full advantage of Candy’s “don’t limit yourselves!” advice.

Suddenly, the colors she had weren’t enough. She needed more. Different. She started mixing new shades—sunny marigold first, then a deep emerald green, a turquoise swirled with indigo, four different shades of lavender. Images took shape on her canvas, materializing from the tip of her brush. No longer constrained by flowers in the vase, Ally’s muse took flight, racing across the canvas. With every stroke, her heart expanded, filling her with a joy so unexpected it brought tears to her eyes.

Yet, as surprised as she felt, all of this was also familiar.

It was as if she’d just walked into the house of a very dear friend she hadn’t seen in decades, one she knew so intimately, so completely, it was as if no time had passed at all.

Ally dimly heard Candy explaining her shading techniques, but soon Ally was in her own world, swirling and mixing, dotting and stroking, adding layers and life to her painting as if an entire story was rushing out of her heart, dancing out from her fingertips onto the canvas. Ally was no longer just painting a picture—she was revealing it, slowly coaxing the secrets of her heart to life. Instead of flowers in a vase, her new canvas held a lush garden, a carpet of pale pink peonies, a glittering blue river flowing into infinity. When she ran out of room, she grabbed another blank canvas from an unoccupied easel and let the tangle of grapevine spill over, blossoming into another garden, midnight, its blooms and leaves tinged silvery blue by the full moon that hung in the night sky. Instead of a river, this time she painted a lake, clear and still. There on the shore a woman appeared, nude and utterly unselfconscious as she knelt before the water, scooping it into her hands.

Ally swore she could feel the cool water in her own hands, could taste the sweet purity of it on her lips as she added the finishing touches. Her heart banged inside her chest, her blood zipping through her veins, her entire body alive and on fire.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt this way, this—God, there was only one word for it. Alive.

Her midnight gardens complete, Ally stepped backward, slowly getting her bearings. Still perched on the stage, Candy was explaining the difference between highlights and mid-tones as the rest of the crowd tried to follow along, some working diligently on their canvases, others working diligently on their wine. Ally felt as if she’d just come out of a trance, and when she looked across the table, she found Roscoe watching her intently, his own painting efforts abandoned, his eyes full of something that looked a lot like wonder.

Extricating himself from his smock, he rounded the edge of the table and came to stand before Ally.

“Everything okay?” she asked with a smile, setting down her bush and palette.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered. Then, without a second thought for the packed community room, Roscoe took her face in his hands and kissed her.