“Sam, you try me.”
“I know, sorry.” I pointed to the stove…well, one of them. “Do you have a lot of parties that require the use of four ovens?”
“It’s just how it was built. I believe in the past there were many events here. I am not a host of any sort.”
I tapped the gleaming marble. “What’s your favorite food?”
His brow dipped minutely. “I’ll go with ice cream.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a dessert, and obviously that’s your favorite. But, like, if you’re able to have anything you want whenever you want—and let’s be honest, you are—what would be the one meal you’d want above all else?”
It was a simple question, really, but Lukas was noticeably struggling.
“Mine is tacos.” I smiled. “I could eat them all the time.”
“Yes, tacos are good.”
I didn’t know why the question was uncomfortable. It was one of those basic getting-to-know-you inquiries. I didn’t want him feeling uneasy in his own house, so I moved on.
“Art. You love it, huh?”
“I do.”
“Do you have a favorite piece in this gigantic place?”
He relaxed his stance; this was clearly an easier question. “I have a few. Hard to pick just one…but.” He motioned for me to follow him and naturally, I did.
We went into the study, and he walked over to the fireplace. On it was a glass ball. As I got closer, I realized something was inside it.
Lukas took it down and offered it to me. “I’m terrified to hold that.”
“You’ll be fine; just don’t run around the house with it.”
I bit my lip and, with more concentration than I probably needed, I tenderly accepted it.
“The artist isn’t known to anyone. She was never famous, never revered. You likely will never find her in any books or on the Internet. Her name was Naomi Sheridan. She loved glassblowing, but with this piece she transcended.”
He wasn’t kidding. Within the glass ball was a crystal town. Little people, trees, homes—it was stunning.
“It’s beautiful. Why doesn’t anyone know who she is?”
“She never accepted payment; all her art was given. She was a solitary woman who lived a quiet life in the mountains. She and I crossed paths, and I helped her out of a bind once. As a thank-you, before I moved away, she gifted this to me.”
“Does the piece have a name?”
“It doesn’t.”
“It should.”
The corner of his mouth curled up. “What would you name it?”
“Timeless Happiness.”
He glanced at me, then the ball. “Why Timeless Happiness?”
“It’s a moment in time that is frozen, a joyous memory, a photograph in 3D, of timeless happiness.”
He hummed. “Timeless Happiness is a good name for it.”
