Afternoon rain showers rolled in from the ocean and she felt bad for making the big city businessman ride a salt-water rusted bike around sand dunes in his suit, especially during the heat of the day. By the time he stopped behind her, his hair gel had melted and his jacket was hanging from his waist. She slid her bike into the rack in front of the coffee shop and faced him. “Why on God’s sandy Earth do you want my image so bad that you’d ride through all that while wearing a suit?”

“Because it’s that good,” he said, huffing for breath.

Stunned, she took a step back.

“That being said,” he continued after a moment, “I’m not interested in an artist who paints pictures of ugly houses. If you’ve lost your edge, tell me now before I spend another minute chasing what I thought was a unicorn.”

“Unicorn?” She’d never been described as a unicorn before. “And if the unicorn exists, what exactly are you expecting? Fairy dust?” she asked.

Josh untied his coat from his waist and hung it over the handles of his bike. “I thought artistic girls like you believed in fairy tales.”

She toed the sand beneath her feet. She had, once, but then life showed her the truth. Magic and unicorns didn’t exist, just like true love. “Coffee?”

“In this heat?”

“I never said it had to be hot coffee. There’s this wonderful invention called ice. Maybe you’ve heard of it.” She winked.

He removed his tie completely, unbuttoned his top button, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. While his attire looked more befitting the beach in summer, his hair still looked like the leaning tower of bad hair gel. She reached up and ruffled his hair, messing with it until it looked more casual. “There, much better. Do you live in suits and perfect hair?”

“When I work, yes. I don’t usually ride bikes through sandy beaches in the heat of the summer for work,” Josh said with an edge to his voice.

Lily felt a little guilty, but she knew Connie wasn’t about to let a twenty thousand dollar commission go. She was just going to have to make sure Josh gave up first. “Yes, well, that’s how it’s done here.” She led the way up to the counter and ordered her coffee, then found a seat in the shade. Her sunscreen had probably sweated off, and who knew if he wore any.

He ordered a bottle of water and paid for both drinks before sitting at the table across from her. He was probably one of those men who only drank bottled water, worked out three hours a day, and had his brows waxed. “Tell me why you don’t want to sell the rights to your picture,” he said, twisting off the cap of his water. “It’s an opportunity to earn a lot of money, probably more than you’re making painting hideous portraits of gaudy mansions. I’m willing to go as high as thirty thousand.”

She swallowed at the lure of money. That sum could end her career of commissioned paintings, something she hated, allowing her to set up her own exhibit in New York, in a rental space anyway. But it was a matter of what she hated more, commissioned paintings or reliving the heartbreak of two years ago. Instead of answering, she said, “Tell me why you’re working so hard for that image.”

He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and laid it gingerly on the table, like it was something precious. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it? You drew it so you must. It screams of an emotional connection. An image like this makes people believe in romance and true love, of tomorrow with promise of happily-ever-after.”

“Josh,” the barista called out. He retrieved Lily’s coffee from the counter and set it in front of her. She swirled the liquid in the cup to allow her a second to get the lump out of her throat before she spoke again. “That’s crazy. It’s just an image.”

“You know it’s not. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at this that you put your soul into this drawing. But then you threw it out into the ocean. Why?”

“What does it matter?” Lily asked, her chest tightening at the memory of all her friends with their hopeful smiles. Dreaming of a hero who would carry them off into the sunset had seemed so futile to her. While her friends had happily thrown bottles into the sea like little girls wishing on dandelions, she stood there at the other end of the rainbow with nowhere to go. Her wish hadn’t been for the hero to appear, but the hope that the man she thought was her hero felt the same as she did.

“It doesn’t, I guess.” Josh picked up his water and gulped it down. “Tell me about your art, then,” he said after draining half the bottle. “How can the same girl who drew this paint that picture I saw back at your home?”

She shrugged, her usual answer.

“Are you going to answer anything I ask?”

She shrugged again and he sighed.

“What will it take to buy this artwork from you?” He leaned over the table and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “No more shrugging. You have a voice. Use it.”

She didn’t like the way her arms tingled at his touch, or how her mind clouded and her breath hitched. She told herself that his movement had surprised her, that was all.

“Are you washed up? A has-been?” he asked.

“What?” she shrieked.

He let go of her and sat back with a smile, the right side of his mouth curving a little higher than the left. She didn’t like the loss of touch even more than she didn’t like him touching her, a conundrum that only confused her. After two years of not even holding hands, her body craved physical touch. That had to be all it was.

“So, have you lost your muse or whatever it is artists need to create masterpieces?” He clasped his hands together, resting them on the table.

Her gaze followed them, assessing their form, color, texture. The way she subconsciously assessed everything she saw, her eyes seeking the beauty in the world around her. Pulling her gaze away, she glanced up at him. She didn’t like his question, maybe because she worried it was true. Stephon had been her muse, her inspiration that launched her art career, until he had betrayed her two years ago. Since then, everything she’d created seemed devoid of life. That was why she only accepted commissions of landscapes, pets, or even gaudy mansions, and rejected any requests for portraits or portrayals of romance. “No…”

“Okay, how long will it take for you to complete the artwork?”

She started to shrug, but stopped herself and glanced at him sheepishly.

He chuckled, dispelling the serious mood that hung over them. “You’re a fast learner.”

She shrugged, intentionally this time, and they both laughed. Customers with lobster-colored skin and bright Hawaiian-print shirts at the surrounding tables stared at them before turning their attention back to their iced coffees.

“Beautiful.” He unbuttoned the second button of his shirt then grabbed the stack of napkins from the table and dabbed at his forehead and back of his neck. Even in the shade, the heat was sweltering.

“What’s beautiful?”

“Your smile.”

Whoa. Was that a compliment? She traced the rim of her coffee lid, unsure of how to respond. When was the last time a man had complimented her on anything? She couldn’t remember Stephon ever doing so during their two and a half-year courtship. All he ever did was criticize her work. He was always more interested in the business side of her work than the beauty of it. Or should she say the financial side? Thieving jerk.

“This is where you say thank you.”

“What?”

Josh gave her that slightly crooked grin again. “You didn’t seem to know what to do with a compliment, so I was telling you.”

Momentarily stunned, she recovered quickly. “I don’t need a man to tell me what to do.” Then she stood, downed the rest of her coffee and march over to her bike. Pulling it from the rack, she hopped on and pedaled hard, desperate to get away from Josh and his boyish charm, away from the thought of recreating the piece of art that marked the demise of her relationship, her career, her life.