“
Yes
.
” He
said, and Saffron added, “Dylan Gwen MacGowan.”
Hearing they named their daughter, my sister, after my mom was the last straw for me. I dropped into the chair behind me, lowered my head to the bed, and let the tears that had been threatening fall.
“
Lark?”
I turned from my spot at the window in our apartment just off Columbia's campus to see Bastian leaning up against the door jamb and I couldn't help the smile. “Hi.”
“
There's somewhere I'd like to take you. Do you have time now?”
“
Sure.”
He moved from the door and came to stand just in front of me, his hands moving up my arms to my neck where they lingered, sending little jolts of heat along my skin. “I have a surprise for you
.
” He
said playfully.
“
I love surprises.”
His lips caressed mine and the taste of him on my tongue made me sigh. It was a taste I would never ever grow tired of.
***
It had been a couple of months since we returned from Maine to start our fall semester at Columbia. As we drove through the campus, I enjoyed the beauty of it. We were allowed to live off campus as freshmen, because we were engaged. Though our apartment was small, it was filled with my paintings and sketches and a large drafting table for Bastian to work on his designs, many of which were for the house he was planning. There was even a painting from my dad, one of Bastian and me. I remembered the print of my favorite sculpture of David's I had had in my room, but Logan's painting took that honor now. And not just because it so beautifully captured Bastian and me but because it had been done so by my dad.
Caden, who had his GED, had been encouraged by the Wrights to continue his education and so with a few tutoring classes, and Mr. Wright pulling some strings, Caden was enrolled in NYU along with Poppy. They lived on campus in the same dorm and we saw them all the time, which I really liked. Sophia was at Berkeley and from her emails, she was really digging the West Coast.
The Rosses had been quiet, but that was probably only because my dad decided to use the land he bought out from under them to build a satellite office of MacGowan LTD, and with it he would be creating an influx of new jobs. This made both the town council and townspeople really happy. It also meant my dad needed to find himself a place in the area so he could come down from Harrington as frequently as needed to oversee the expansion and if those visits included coming into the city to see Bastian and me, to take us to dinner or a game, well, so be it.
Saffron was not yet traveling; though Dylan was almost five months old, she had reflux and car rides tended to make her vomit even more—airplanes probably wouldn't be any better—but they would both be coming for the show in a few weeks. Yes, I was having my very first art show of my works shown alongside my dad's. When the art world learned that Logan MacGowan and David Cambre were one and the same, the tickets for the show sold out in under a day.
The place Bastian wanted to take me was our high school. It was Saturday, so there were no students as we made our way inside.
“
What are we doing here?”
“
It's a secret.”
We walked along the deserted halls, Bastian had gotten the janitor to let us in, and I couldn't help the flood of emotions. The sight of my locker brought memories of seeing Bastian leaning up against it waiting for me. Memories of the cafeteria where we shared countless lunches and even the art room, where more than one of my dreams came true, filled my thoughts. But we weren't heading to any of those places. Instead we were going right to our English literature class.
The desks were arranged exactly as they had been when we occupied the room. We walked passed the desk where Bastian had sat that very first day and I couldn't help running my fingers over the top as memories flooded me. He pulled me to my desk and waited for me to sit before he took the desk next to me, and like he had done before, he moved it so we were only inches apart.
“
It all started in this room
.
” He
said.
“
Seeing you that first day of school, I'll never forget what it felt like to just look at you.” The memory of that day was so fresh in my mind.
“
And you, sitting back here trying to be invisible but failing miserably because you were just too damn beautiful to be invisible. But it was the smile, the wicked smile that cracked over your face that sunk me. What was it you were smiling about that first day?”
I held his tender gaze. “I was thinking how Larkspur Ross sounded really good and how you and I would make beautiful children together.”
He said nothing, but affection washed over his face and made my heart flutter. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a few folded sheets of paper. He unfolded them and placed them on the desks. They were the designs for our house.
“
You finished them?”
“
I did and I thought it only fitting that you see them here where it all started.”
I looked down at the designs as my fingers traced the lines of his sketch. “It's beautiful. Show me all of it.
”
A smile spread over his face before he did just that.
***
I didn't remember a time in my life where I was as nervous as I was the night of my first professional art show. All of my friends and family were there, including Uncle Eddie and the girls.
In the months that followed Aunt Kim's death, the three of them were picking up the pieces together. As expected, it was hard on the girls, but they had such a strong rock in their dad that I knew they would all get through it.
“
Lark? Are you ready?” My dad asked. He, like me, was dressed in all black and when I looked up into his face, a face that looked so much like my own, it amazed me I hadn't seen it immediately. In my defense he had resembled Bigfoot during the earlier part of our acquaintance. I exhaled, then smiled, “Yes, I think so.”
My dad and I walked hand in hand out into the spotlight.
***
After the show we all returned to the Wrights' house to await the critics' reviews and I was so nervous I couldn't stand still. The show had been a success and the praise I had received from the guests had been, well, I never expected it, but it was the critics' opinions that could make or break me.
I was outside. The cool evening air helped to calm me as I looked up at the stars. I felt Bastian before I heard him. He slipped his arms around me and pulled me back against him.
“
You're amazing. How you see things, how you translate that onto the canvas. I don't give a damn what any critic says, you are incredibly talented.”
Resting my head against his chest, I snuggled more closely to him
.
“And coming from you, that means the world to me.”
We stood there pleasantly silent, which was interrupted when Bastian said something that surprised me. “Your dad is a good man. I hope I am half as good a man and father as he is.
”
Turning to him, I saw the seriousness in his expression and knew he was thinking of his own father.
“
He gave you life but that's all he gave you. You will be a wonderful father and if you stumble, I'll be there to help pick you up just as you've been there for me.”
He lifted my hand to kiss his ring.
“
It's in
.
” Saffron's voice pulled Bastian and me from our moment. The review of the show from the art critic for the
New York Times
. My heart started to pound.
“
I'll stand out here with you for as long as you need, Lark.”
Love swelled in me for this boy as I skimmed my lips over his. “Thanks, but I think I'm ready.”
He wrapped his strong hand around mine as we walked
into the house.
“
Stay at my side
.
” I whispered.
“
Always.”
As soon as we entered, Caden and Poppy greeted us at the threshold. Poppy hugged me, “It was an amazing show, regardless of whatever the critics say.
”
Caden leaned over and kissed my cheek and though he didn't say anything, he didn't have to.
I looked into the room, which was nearly filled to capacity, and teasingly said to Dr. Wright, “I think you may have actually succeeded in filling every one of your rooms.”
She and Mr. Wright laughed but it was strained and I knew it was because they were almost as nervous as me. My dad was on the sofa with his iPad. I sat down next to him and pulled Bastian down with me. My hold on his hand tightened.
My dad asked
.
“You ready?”
“
Yeah.
”
I, like most in the art community, held on with hope to the rumors that have circulated since his disappearance that David Cambre wasn't really dead. When just over five months ago those rumors were proven true, it was a humbling moment having one of the greatest artists of our time, the greatest in my opinion, back from the dead.
When it was announced that a joint show of Mr. MacGowan's work was to be shown with that of his teenage daughter, it was said by all that the daughter was riding on the coattails of her famous father.
I attended the showing this evening, a star-studded event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art with standing room only. I walked through the exhibits and discovered that Mr. MacGowan still has the touch to create something positively magnificent. In this case, it isn't
a painting or a sculpture but his daughter, nineteen-year-old Larkspur O'Bannion
.
This young artist does not need to ride her father's
coattails. Her paintings and charcoal sketches, in particular, have a depth of character that is rare in one so young. The emotions of the young artist completely translate into every piece she creates which not only brings her art to life, but allows the viewer a glimpse into her mind and her imagination making the experience a personal one.
Larkspur O'Bannion
is not just exceedingly gifted, but I do believe that given time Miss O'Bannion
will even surpass her father in talent.
Thank you, Mr. MacGowan, for introducing us to your daughter. She is, in my humble opinion,your finest work.
***
Later that night, Bastian and I whispered like school kids breaking curfew as we left our room and headed down the hall to the kitchen. We had planned to grab some blankets to sneak outside, but it was just too cold and so we moved onto our backup plan—warm milk and a movie. I didn't even really like warm milk, but I loved the meaning behind it.
I settled on a stool just as Bastian pressed a kiss to my temple before he made his way to the refrigerator. My gaze trailed over the ink on his arms and the tail of the dragon. He looked at me from over his shoulder, caught me ogling, and closed the refrigerator before he walked back to stand opposite me across the island, his hip leaning up against it.
“
If I remember correctly there was another time you were ogling me like that
.
” He
said.
“
Who me? Never.”
He leaned over to rest his elbows on the granite. “I believe it was the third day of school and as I sat in the front of class, I felt a warmth burning down my spine. Truth be told, it was so hot it damn near sizzled my nerve endings and when I turned my head, you were looking, staring is a more accurate description. In fact, I think it would be safe to say you were undressing me with your eyes right there in English class.” His grin was wicked.
I rolled my eyes
.
“I've no idea what you're talking about.”
“
Um, I'm sure. Well, I have a confession
.
” He
declared.
“
Really?” I dropped my elbows on the counter as I leaned into him. “Do tell.”
“
Weren't you ever curious why I didn't talk to you in the beginning?”
“
Yes.”
“
You rendered me mute; those eyes and that face, but it was more the feeling that swept through me whenever you were near.”
Anticipation for his answer had me leaning closer to him. “What feeling?”
“
Belonging.
”
I understood the sentiment because I had felt similarly around him. Reaching across the counter, I ran my finger over his arm, over his siren, before I lifted my gaze to his. “Imagine if you hadn't switched schools?”
“
Won't even go there.”
“
I have a confession too.”
He raised his eyebrow in reply.
“
I saw you before English class.”
“
When?”
“
When you drove into the parking lot that morning, I actually stopped and stared. I saw your arms first and I thought your tattoos were beautiful, but I was intrigued more by the story they told about you. You then parked right in the front, to the dismay of the “populars”, and I thought I could really like that boy.”