He worked to shove away the frustration as Charlie returned with the china plates and mugs, one pastry split with her mother and a whole one for him. Francine truly looked as though she was in heaven as she took a delicate first bite.

“Oh my dear, I’ll never tire of these.” She closed her eyes in rapture. “Your father, God rest his soul, would have gotten fat, wouldn’t he, honey?”

Charlie laughed. “He probably would have.”

“So does that mean I’m going to get fat if I eat a whole one every time I come to see you?” Sebastian asked.

Charlie merely smiled at him and said, “You’ll work off that bun in no time.”

She was right. In fact, he’d already burned plenty of calories in the shower with her that morning...with more plans for tonight.

The same thought simmered in Charlie’s eyes and in her secret, sexy smile. “Come to think of it, maybe I should start working out more often too.”

Her mother tsked. “You take after me, honey.”

“That’s why she’s so gorgeous,” Sebastian said.

“You’re such a shameless flatterer,” her mother said with a roll of her eyes and a sweet smile.

When the plates were empty, Charlie put her hand on his arm. “Sebastian, I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”

Her tone was surprisingly serious for the mellow day they’d been having. “Anything for you.” They weren’t just empty words. It was a promise he planned to keep until the very end. He needed her to know that.

She stared at him for a long moment before rummaging in her enormous bag. Then she pulled out a sketchbook. He glanced from the pad to Charlie’s face, his breath tight in his chest. Was she really blindsiding him?

Guilt flickered across her face. But right behind it was determination.

And love.

“It would be great if you’d sketch Mom.” She held out the pad and one of his pencils, her hands the slightest bit shaky.

He stared at her offerings for several beats, a hint of anger swirling in his gut. No, not anger. Fear. The two emotions could so easily be mistaken for each other—but if he were totally honest with himself, he’d have to admit he wasn’t angry at Charlie.

He was simply scared.

“Oh, Sebastian.” Francine’s voice was warm and comforting. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“His drawings are amazing, Mom.”

They weren’t. He’d known it since his father had pointed out every flaw, every mistake, and laughed at the crap his kid had drawn, throwing all his sketches into the fire. Knowing Charlie believed in him despite those flaws was the only thing that kept Sebastian in his chair.

Francine put a hand to her cheek, her fingers bent, her skin mottled with age spots. “You can’t possibly want to draw an old woman like me. You should draw Charlie, instead.”

“I want to see you through Sebastian’s eyes, Mom.” She touched his arm again, smiling hopefully. “He has very special eyes.”

He couldn’t possibly decline. There was no choice. Francine needed this drawing, if only to show her that she was worthy of being seen. And he was so damn tired of listening to his father’s voice. He would not allow his fears to hurt this lovely woman. He would overcome them, if only for this moment.

And there was no question about it, Charlie was not only a brilliant diplomat—she was a master strategist. Especially when her actions came from pure love. However misguided she was about his talent, she’d never meant to hurt him.

He finally took the pad and pencil from her. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to hers, letting her know he wasn’t angry with her.

He tasted the relief on her lips, and hoped she could taste his love for her on his. Even if he’d never drawn in front of anyone before, and was honestly scared shitless. He could stand on a stage in front of tens of thousands of people, absolutely calm and in his element. But in this moment...

It felt like he was trying to walk the mile Francine had just walked.

“Drink your coffee,” he told them. “Have a chat. Don’t mind me.”

His voice sounded stronger, and more confident, than he actually felt. Then, with Charlie’s warm smile on him, he began to draw. She chatted with her mother about the new friends Francine had already made, told her all about the group home, the Mavericks, Susan, Bob, Noah, the kids working on the tile. She repeated the word family and by the fourth time, he was so glad to realize she’d felt like part of his family. Finally, she understood that she was a Maverick.

As the women talked and his pencil flashed across the page, he felt pretty good. For a while. But then...

His tension started to rise, higher by the second. The drawing wasn’t right. Wasn’t perfect. He could show off Francine’s bright eyes, her childlike delight, her enthusiasm, but something about her face didn’t hit the mark. He wanted to capture the webbing of fine lines, contrasting it with her sweet smile and illustrating the woman who was strong enough to endure. That was the real Francine, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t master any part of the sketch. Couldn’t do Francine justice.

You drew this crap? You drew all these pictures of me looking like shit? His father’s voice rang through his head as if Ian Montgomery had risen from the dead and was standing right in front of him. My stupid, worthless kid thinks he’s an artist. But he’s nothing. I’ll show you where your pictures belong, you little shit.

Sebastian erased the lines and started over. He would not let his father get the best of him. But when he tried once more, the voice he couldn’t get out of his head was even louder now, and he had to erase again.

“May we see?”

Charlie’s voice abruptly jolted him back to the present. To the garden at Francine’s nursing home—and the sketch he was all but erasing holes in.

He took a breath, silently counting to four before replying. “Let’s work on this drawing later.” He made himself smile for them both, feeling it stretch too far across his face until it resembled a grimace. “I can sketch your face from memory, Francine.”

But Francine was already holding out her hand. “Please, Sebastian,” she said with a sweet, appreciative smile, “don’t keep me in suspense.”

He couldn’t hurt Francine’s feelings, would never forgive himself if he did. So he handed over the sketch, hiding his reluctance. It was ten brutally long seconds—he counted each and every one of them—before she looked at him again.

“You’ve made me beautiful.”

“Of course I did. You’re very beautiful, Francine.”

“I’m old, Sebastian. Old people are usually completely invisible. But I’m not anymore. Not when I look at this wonderful picture you just drew. Look how marvelous this is, honey.”

He swallowed hard as Francine handed Charlie the sketchbook.

Whereas Francine had taken only ten seconds, Charlie had barely looked down at it when a sheen of tears swelled in her eyes. Her smile trembled. “This is beautiful.” She held the sketch to her chest, as if she needed it next to her heart. “The most beautiful drawing I’ve ever seen.”

* * *

Charlie had begged her mother to let her keep the drawing—and Sebastian had promised to do another of her very soon. It lay on Charlie’s lap as they drove back up Highway 880 to Sebastian’s mansion on the hill. She smoothed the edges with her fingers. “I’m going to frame it and hang it on the wall.”

“You’re going to frame it?” Sebastian got that panicked look she only ever saw when he was talking about his art—or his parents. “You’ve got to let me try again. I’ll make a better one.”

They’d stayed late at Magnolia Gardens and now traffic was gridlocked. But for once, Charlie appreciated it, because it meant Sebastian was her captive audience. “You can draw my mother as many times as you want, but you’re not getting this one back. It’s mine now.”

Sebastian was silent for a long moment. Long enough that she prayed he finally understood just how special his gift was.