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sweeping
hemline of a long, full skirt in the palest possible shade of ice blue swirled
around her shapely calves. She wore a matching silk blouse. A tiny blue belt
studded with small chunks of clear crystal encircled her trim waist. Her fiery
hair was held back off her face by a pale aqua scarf that had been folded to
form a narrow headband.
    People in the art world were supposed to wear black, Nick thought. Until
he'd met Octavia, he had always assumed it was a rule.
    As always, he felt his insides clench at the sight of her. He ought to be
getting used to this sensation, he thought. But the appearance of the Fairy
Queen never failed to steal his breath for a few seconds.
    When she met his gaze across the showroom, Nick could almost see the
familiar, concealing veil slip into place. But when she looked at Carson, she
was all smiles.
    "Good morning," she said, speaking more to the boy than the man.
    "Hi, Miss Brightwell." Carson blossomed in the warmth of her
smile. "I brought my pictures to show you."
    "You may have noticed that we're here a little early," Nick said
dryly. "And we came without coffee and muffins. Carson was in a
hurry."
    "We'll get you some coffee and a muffin right after you see my
pictures," Carson assured her, looking a little worried because of the
oversight.
    "I can't wait to see your pictures," Octavia said warmly.
    "I brought three." Carson tugged the rubber band off the roll of
drawings. "Dad said I should let you pick. But I'm pretty sure you'll like
the picture of Winston best. I added some extra fur."
    "Let's spread them out and take a look."
    Octavia led the way to a long white bench at the far side of the room. She
and Carson unrolled the drawings and arranged them side by side.
    Octavia studied each picture in turn with rapt attention, her expression
absorbed and serious—for all the world, Nick thought, as if she were
considering the pictures for a real, high-profile, career-making show such as
she had given Lillian a while back in Portland.
    "The house is very good," she said after a moment.
    "That's me and Dad inside," Carson said. "Dad's the big
one."
    Octavia gave Nick a fleeting glance. He could have sworn she turned a rosy
shade of pink before hastily returning her attention to the picture.
    She cleared her throat. "Yes, I can see that."
    "This is Dead Hand Cove," Carson said, pointing to the next
picture. "Aunt Lillian said I should include it, but I think landscapes
are boring. Just rocks and water. Take a look at Winston."
    Obediently Octavia moved to examine the furry gray blob with the pointy
ears.
    "You've certainly captured the essence of his personality very
well," she said.
    Carson was pleased. "I told Dad you'd like this one best. I brought my
crayon with me. I can add some more fur if you want."
    "No, I think he has precisely the right amount of fur," Octavia
said decisively. "I'll hang this one in the show."
    Carson bounced a little with excitement. "Will you frame it?"
    "Of course. I'm going to frame all of the pictures in the show."
She looked at him. "You forgot to sign it."
    "I'll do it now." Carson whipped out his crayon and went to work
inscribing his first name in large block letters in the right-hand corner of
the picture. "I almost forgot," he added, not looking up from the
task, "I promised Dad that if you liked my picture, I'd tell you that it
was okay to go out with him."
    A stunned hush enveloped the gallery. Nick looked at Octavia. Her veiled
expression never flickered, but he saw something that might have been
speculation in her eyes. Or was that just his imagination?
    Oblivious to the electricity he had just generated, Carson concentrated
intently on printing the last letters of his name.
    "Sorry about that," Nick muttered.
    "No problem," Octavia murmured.
    There was another short, extremely uncomfortable silence.
    "So?" Octavia said.
    He frowned. "So, what?"
    "So, are you going to ask me out again?"
    "Uh—" He hadn't been caught this far off guard since