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I smiled, thinking back. “It started when I was little. My mother had this tiny studio in the attic, mostly for her own hobby, but she let me play with her supplies. Painting became my escape. A place where I didn’t have to be the perfect daughter or worry about expectations. Just color and feeling.”

Richard nodded, listening intently. “That sounds like freedom. My childhood was… structured. Boarding schools, summers in the Hamptons, learning the family business before I could drive. My father believed time not spent building something was time wasted. But I had a secret sketchbook hidden in my desk drawer, mostly terrible drawings of cars and city skylines. Nothing like your work, I’m sure.”

“You drew?” I looked up at him, surprised and charmed. “I can’t picture Richard Kincaid sneaking sketches between finance classes.”

He chuckled softly. “A very short-lived phase. My father found it and suggested I channel that energy into something ‘useful.’ But I still appreciate art, especially when someone like you explains why a piece moves them. It makes me see things differently.”

We walked a little farther, the conversation easy, the tension between us simmering. Every shared glance made my pulse quicken.

He’s too good at this. Too perfect. Don’t fall too fast, Samantha.

Eventually, he checked his watch. “It’s getting late. Let me take you back.”

We walked back to his car. Richard held the door open for me, then slid in the driver’s seat. The ride to my condo was comfortable, filled with lighter conversation and lingering looks that made the silence feel charged.

At my condo, he walked me to the door. My pulse hadn’t settled since the gallery.

He stopped and turned to face me. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Samantha.”

“So did I,” I said softly. “More than I expected.”

Richard lifted a hand to my face, his fingers warm against my jaw. “I’d like to kiss you goodnight. May I?”

My breath caught.

Yes. No. God, why does he make me feel like this?

“Yes.”

He kissed me softly at first, then let the kiss deepen. It was hot, passionate, and perfect. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed my lower lip. “Next Saturday?”

“Yes,” I managed.

He smiled. “I’ll be counting the days.”

I watched him leave, pulse racing. I was determined not to be naïve or become another eager girl on his roster. I tried to resist his charm, but it was becoming more difficult.

I’d never felt anything like this before.

Chapter 6

Richard

“This is the one you were telling me about?”

Denise Ellis stood in front of Samantha’s painting with one hand wrapped around a glass of champagne, studying it closely enough that Samantha had stopped pretending not to be nervous.

I stayed a few feet behind them.

“Yes,” Samantha said. “I finished it last semester.”

Denise leaned closer to examine the lower corner of the canvas. “And you’ve never shown this anywhere?”

“Not outside of school.”

“Why?”

Samantha hesitated. “No one’s asked.”