“Were you writing all night?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep so I read someone else’s book.”
“You look tired.”
Gabe rubbed his hand along the stubble on his jaw. “I’ll survive. I thought you’d be painting by now.”
“I wanted to get some fresh air before I bury myself in my studio.” Natalie searched the stony shore of the lake. “Where’s Sherlock?”
“He’ll be here soon. He never goes far.”
“How did he end up living with you?”
Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets. “He belonged to a friend in the NYPD K-9 unit. When Michelle died, Sherlock came to live with me.”
A deep sadness clouded Gabe’s face. Natalie knew how devastating it was to lose someone you loved. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly.
“She was a great person.”
Natalie wanted to reach out, touch his arm and let him know she understood. But that would cross a line she needed to stay away from. “There’s a deep bond between you and Sherlock. I thought you must have raised him from when he was a pup.”
Gabe shook his head. “I spent lots of time with Michelle, but Sherlock was definitely her dog. They did everything together. When she died four years ago, Sherlock came to stay with me. It helped both of us.”
From between two trees, the big German Shepherd bounded toward them.
Natalie smiled. “He looks as though he enjoys living in Sapphire Bay.”
“He’s never had so much freedom. When he was on patrol his days were spent in Grand Central Station, the subway, or on the streets of New York City. Central Park was the closest we found to what you have here.”
Sherlock woofed, then sat quietly at Gabe’s side.
Natalie used her cell phone to take some pictures of him.
He lifted his head and looked straight at the camera.
“He’s a supermodel.” Natalie laughed at the comical expression on Sherlock’s face. “Why did your friend name him Sherlock?”
“Michelle read my first novel four years before it was published. My main character’s dog is called Sherlock. It stuck to this little guy when he arrived.”
Natalie knelt on the ground and rubbed Sherlock’s thick coat. “Your name suits you.”
Sherlock’s pink tongue licked the side of her face.
She laughed and moved out of his way. “As cute as you are, I don’t want your tongue anywhere near me. You can save your slobbery kisses for Gabe.”
She slipped her phone into her pocket and looked at her neighbor. For some reason, he seemed surprised. “I have to get back to the cottage. If you don’t see me for a few days, don’t worry. I’ll come up for air eventually.”
“You know where I am if you need me.”
Natalie smiled. “I do.” She gave Sherlock another pat before heading home.
She imagined the blank canvas sitting on her easel, waiting for the first brushstroke to bring it to life. Her mind was already racing over different possibilities, the twists and turns that would make the painting special.
By the end of the day, the image would be fully sketched and ready for the first layer of paint. From there, it was a matter of letting the painting tell its own story. A story that would be as unique as the man who was living next door to her.
