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amused…self-deprecating.
    Megan’s eyebrows rose in speculation as she moved over toward the other end of the couch from where he sat. “ Were you a jerk earlier?”
    He nodded slowly. “People tend to act like asses when they’re insecure about things. I’m not too secure about my writing—or my career—at this point in my life.”
    “ Why?”
    He leaned his head back on the couch and raked his fingers through his burnished hair restlessly. “I want to make a change in…what I write, but it’s hard to change what’s been a success. People keep demanding I do the same thing over and over again but it’s old and it’s dried up and I’m sick to death of it.”
    At the last, his facial muscles tensed noticeably.
    Megan didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, the tension in his body lessened with an exhaling sigh. He seemed a little defeated, if resolute.
    “ I feel like I’m disappointing people who I care about, especially one person. I feel like I’m betraying him. But I just can’t keep doing what he’s asking of me. I won’t,” he added with a fierce glance.
    Megan empathized with the pain and conflict she saw on his face. “Creativity is like that,” she said softly. “Once a vein has been mined until there nothing of worth left, you have to abandon it and let your spirit prospect elsewhere. To keep going at the old source is not only useless, it’s somehow hurtful…harmful to yourself…” She trailed off, deep in thought.
    “ But you have to find a way that takes into account both your creativity and the important people in your life,” she continued after a moment. “Some compromise.”
    She realized that Christian watched her with eyes as sharp as drilling blue diamonds.
    “ I’m not much of a compromiser.”
    “ Oh.” Megan shrugged uncertainly.
    “ It’s happened to you, hasn’t it?”
    Megan hesitated before she answered. Were they talking about the same thing? Megan doubted that she’d ever fully plumbed the depths of her own creativity or passion in the way that Christian had. Although she didn’t know him that well, she intuitively understood that he was the type of man that had lived life fully and without restraint. Maybe the only thing that they had in common as artists, and as human beings, was that they both felt like a change was in the offing, threatening terrible uncertainty, promising untold riches…
    “ Probably not. I’m speaking more from a teacher’s point of view than from someone who has actually traveled the tortuous pathway of the artist,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But I know what it’s like to care deeply for those around you, to hold dear the organizations, the routines, the established relationships that have taken years or lifetimes to build…and at the same time…to want to shatter those structures, too, so that you can make a whole new mold for yourself.”
    “ Spoken like a true sculptor.”
    She returned his smile.
    He brought his knee up onto the couch and turned toward her. He took her hand. Megan glanced over at him in surprise. His movements had been minimal, but suddenly the couch seemed smaller and the space between them had shrunk. The rough pad of his thumb stroked her inner wrist gently.
    “ What would your new mold be like?”
    Her body sprung to life at the rumbling, intimate quality of is voice. She laughed to cover her uncertainty.
    “ I don’t know. Maybe I’d be a little freer, less doubtful about myself, less unsure.” When Christian didn’t immediately reply, she added. “I know that’s not very original. Most people would probably say the same thing.”
    “ I don’t know. I think I understand the gist of your meaning, not just from your words, from what I’ve learned about you so far. You know I’m not very convinced that you see everything from the cold, passionless position of the teacher’s podium.”
    “ No?” she murmured, her stare fixed on his chest. A languorous spell