“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.”

Hs leaned over, stretching across the counter, so his lips could meet mine. His tongue licked my lips and tangled with my own. “You were spectacular tonight.”

“It was amazing.”

“The greatest moment in your life, I imagine.”

I smiled as I linked our fingers.

“No, not the greatest, it was great, fantastic even, but not the greatest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have a few really great moments that rank higher than tonight.”

“Like?”

“Finding my dad, that was a really great moment. And seeing you for the first time is definitely one.”

His fingers tightened on mine. “What else?”

“Our first near kiss in the art room and definitely our first kiss by the river.”

“Both of those are way up on my list. And?”

“There are several others but the top two are when you asked me to marry you and the day you took me to the future site of our home. You were so excited and seeing how sure you were, how ready you were for us to start our lives together, that was the greatest moment of my life.”

He walked around the counter to pull me into his arms for a kiss which left me tingling from head to toe. There was such intensity and love looking back at me that it had my heart doing a long, slow roll.

“My greatest moment was the day you kissed my palm in English class.”

“Really? Why?” I asked.

“Because I knew then that you were totally into me.” He teased.

“Clown.” I muttered.

He chuckled as he pulled me closer. “Seriously, it was the day of the state art show and seeing your sketch of me. I already knew how you felt about me and there it was in black and white for everyone else to see.” He leaned over and brushed his lips over my ear. “I think you like me.”

“There's no think about it.”

His tongue ran along the curve of my ear. “I know.”

He saw me back to my stool before he continued on with making our milk. I knew that in fifty years the sight of him doing something as simple as heating milk was still going to warm my heart and put a smile on my face.

I sighed, happily, as I listened to the silence because everyone that I loved was under this roof, including my dad.

Bastian handed me my milk and as we made our way back to our room he wrapped his hand firmly around mine. I pressed myself against his side and smiled because it wasn't just me anymore.

Epilogue