"What's your normal muse?" he asked.

"Anything really, I guess. Anything I can sketch or paint."

"I've always envied artistic types. I'm strictly a stick figure man."

"Ha, just because you can't sketch doesn't mean you're not an artist. What you do at the camp takes a special touch. You're molding and changing lives and that means something," I said in rush.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, obviously touched at my words.

Our conversation took a more lighthearted turn from then on. I busted a gut when I found out he was a CW nut like me as we compared our favorite shows and characters.

"Don't get me wrong, the books are better, but I think the producers are doing a good job keeping the show interesting," he said as I teased him about liking Vampire Diaries.

"I think it's hilarious you read young adult books," I squeaked, holding back a laugh.

"What? They're great books," he defended himself.

"Hey, I'm not judging you. I just don't think I've ever met a guy who reads the same kind of books I read."

"Well, I didn't start off that way, but I got sucked in by Harry Potter when Mason was twelve, and I guess I've been reading similar stuff ever since. I try to stay away from the mushy romance or sparkly vampire ones though," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little sparkle," I said, defending my favorite books.

"I knew you were a Team Edward kind of girl."

"What!" I teased. "Twilight too?"

"Come on, is there a human being on the planet who doesn't know about Team Edward versus Team Jacob," he said laughing. "Anyway, I only know about them from the female population at the camp for the last three summers."

"Yeah, right," I said. My side was splitting from laughing so hard.

The rest of the drive passed quickly as we compared book titles. I was amazed at the amount of books he had read and took notes on some of his favorites. I made a mental note to allow more time for reading in the future. I enjoyed reading, but it had always taken a backseat to my art.

Rick pulled into the first gas station we ran across when we hit the foothills and I got out to stretch my legs. I was awestruck at the vastness of the mountains we had just left and wished I had the foresight to bring my sketchpad.

"Pretty amazing, right?" he asked, joining me.

"Most definitely. I wish I'd brought my sketchpad," I said wistfully.

"I'm sure we can get you one in there," he said, pointing to the large store hooked to the gas station.

"You think so?" I asked, doubtfully.

"Trust me, this store carries everything but the kitchen sink. We can grab some grub at the restaurant, and you can look out the window and sketch to your heart's content."

"You don't mind?" I asked, bouncing slightly in excitement.

He laughed at my enthusiasm. "Not at all. I need to catch up on some emails," he said, holding up his laptop. "Not having Internet at Camp UA makes it a little tough at times. I'm going to hit the bathroom while you look for a sketchpad. Do you mind holding this?" he asked, holding out his laptop.

"Sure."

A few minutes later, I met him outside the archway that connected the restaurant to the store.

"I found one," I said, holding up the pad gleefully. "And guess what else I found out? They do sell kitchen sinks," I teased.

"No shit?" he asked.

"Kidding," I said giggling as the hostess approached us.

"Two, Mary," he said.

"How's it going, Rick? We've missed seeing you around lately. You can always tell when it's summer time around here. It gets a lot quieter without our loudmouth boys," she said, shooting me a wink. "Speaking of which, what've you done with my boy?"

"Mason's up at the camp doing some last-minute stuff before the rowdy bunch arrives tomorrow."

"I see. I guess I understand that excuse, but you tell him I'm expecting a visit as soon as summer's over. So, who might this lovely lady be?" she asked, setting our menus down at a table next to a huge picturesque window with a breathtaking view of the mountains.

"This is my daughter," Rick said, throwing his arm across my shoulders.

"Ahh, so you decided to take my advice and adopt another one of them young'uns," she said, clucking happily as she set our napkin-wrapped silverware on the table.

I stiffened under Rick's arm. This was going to be everyone's assumption, and for some reason, it struck a sour chord in me. I was robbed of the opportunity of knowing him when I was younger, and it seemed unfair that it would trickle into adulthood, even after I found him.

"No, Kimberly is my biological daughter," he answered.

"Well, I'll be. I'm bettin' that's an interesting story," she said, obviously curious.

"Definitely intriguing," Rick answered glibly, shooting me a smile of reassurance.

Getting the hint, Mary took our drink orders before bustling away.

"Small towns," Rick said, noting my silence.

I nodded my head, pretending I got it, but in reality I didn't. Rick booted up his laptop while we waited for Mary to return with our drinks. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but a blanket of awkwardness covered us. Trying to take my mind off the sudden tension, I opened the sketchpad and rubbed my hand over the clean smooth surface. Opening a new pad was always a special ritual for me, knowing I would forever be changing it. I opened my oversized bag and rummaged around for my box of pencils that I never went anywhere without. The window at our table perfectly framed the view of the mountainside as my hand began the first sketches across the paper. I liked to sketch the overall picture in basic form first, and then go back to fill in all the details. Mary returned to the table with our drinks as I was sketching the broad mountain range.

"Oh my, you're an artist," she said breathlessly, in a way that didn't match her personality from earlier. Turning toward her, I could see she was enthralled by the way she was intently studying my drawing.

"Are you an artist?" I asked.

"Not like this, sweetheart," she said, indicating my sketch. "I like to dabble a little. A long time ago I had crazy ideas of running off to become an artist, but life took over and I didn't rediscover my passion for it until my husband passed away last year."

"Maybe if I have time before I fly home, I could look at some of your stuff," I said, smiling at her for the first time. My initial impression of her being overly nosy was eclipsed by the instant kinship I felt for a fellow artist. By the way she studied my drawing, it was obvious it really touched her. It just shows you can't always judge a book by its cover, I guess.

"Really?" she asked with shining eyes.

"Of course. I can tell by your passion that your work is most likely better than you give yourself credit for. Those that feel passion can create," I said, quoting my art teacher's favorite phrase.

"Oh sweetie, that would be so wonderful," she said with sudden bright eyes that were fighting to hold tears at bay.

She took our orders before scurrying off with a new bounce in her step through the large swinging door that separated the dining area from the kitchen. I couldn't help smiling at her happiness. Art was like a drug. It pulled you in and enticed you to forget everything else. Turning back toward our table, I discovered Rick studying me over the top of the laptop.