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cleared her throat at how thin her voice sounded. She hoped her smile didn’t falter. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
    “Hello, again.” His mouth curled into a smile as he sat, and tugged at the top button of his shirt.
    Was he…undressing? Misty’s stomach knotted. “Grandma,” she whisper-hissed. “You said this was a still life class.”
    “I’m quite sure he’ll be very still.” Grandma held her brush up and out before her, toward where Cain stretched his muscular arms.
    Misty stood suddenly, her stool wobbling. “I’ll be right back.”
    Grandma touched her shaking hand. “Where are you going?”
    “I need a water fountain.” Misty backed toward the door. “I mean a drink. From the guitarist.” She turned to Grandma with a pasted smile-turned-grimace. “Be right back.” She left her grandmother sitting alone in front of her easel, and bolted out the door.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    Misty took a slow, cooling drink from the stainless steel water fountain. She heard a trickle of laughter coming from the art room. “Get a grip. Get a grip,” she chanted under her breath, and eased open the door.
    Subtle strains of guitar drifted from the crack in the doorway. She caught the familiar riff from the Gypsy Kings tune, “ Habla Me .” The emotion behind the music caught her off guard. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin. Misty leaned into the doorframe, the lure of the Spanish classical guitar pulling at her soul. Just when she longed for more, the song ended with a flourish.
    Bravos echoed and applause ensued. Taking step after hesitant step forward, she found her seat.
    He handed out colorful fliers to the bevy of doe-eyed grandmothers at their easels, including one to Grandma Nona. “I hope you can make it.” He spoke to Grandma, but his gaze weighed heavily upon her. “Friday’s going to be a lovely night for a concert under the stars.”
    “Thank you, Cain. Of course we’d be delighted to go.” Her grandmother’s hand found hers. “Won’t we, Misty?”
    “Sure. You play beautifully,” Misty admitted. Her face heated to the roots of her hair as she fell into his liquid gaze. She dragged her attention back to the center of the room.
    His guitar leaned by a still life scene of exotic looking fruits, sunflowers, and a multi-colored Spanish serape blanket, in a still life display.
    “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?” Grandma Nona asked, keeping her voice low. Her paintbrush danced over canvas, outlining her vision of the scene. “You always were a gullible thing.”
    “I was thirsty.” Misty cleared her throat.
    “You need to loosen up, kid.” Nona dipped into the purple, adding a swash of shadow to her outline of the guitar. “Maybe a nude painting class is just what the doctor ordered. There’s one on Thursdays. I might just sign us up.”
    “Grandma!”
    “I’m ready to try anything.” She shot her full attention. “You’ve been hiding in my house like a mouse for months. I practically forced you to ask that ridiculous Tabloid Todd of yours to send you the last of your things. I’m ready to start living again. Time you did the same.”
    Fuming, but knowing Grandma spoke the truth, Misty rolled her own brush over and again between her palms. “I’m not hiding.”
    Grandma’s grave look bit to the core. “Fine.” Misty blew at her bangs. “It’s true. I barely survived Todd. You know that. And yeah, I got my things back, but he didn’t send everything. There was a box missing.”
    “The letters?” Grandma’s look went grave. “My journals?”
    Misty blinked. Nodded. The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. Todd must have found them when he sent the others. He kept them. Lord only knows what he’s planning to do. It’s…unforgivable.” Her tone dripped venom.
    “Todd can have them. It’s not your fault, Misty, and it doesn’t matter. Nothing from those early days matters.