Mel watched Pam's hand as she superimposed her version of the garden scene over the disproportionate one Mel had drawn. A series of lines and curves gradually took shape until the picture Mel had originally conceived in her mind was suddenly on the canvas in front of her. She could see the difference between her drawing and Pam's, and she sort of understood the lecture about proportion and perspective Pam delivered as she sketched, but Mel knew there was no way she'd be able to match Pam's talent. She must have some sort of spatial deficiency, but she didn't care. She could have watched Pam's fingers all day as they lightly gripped the pencil and effortlessly flew across the canvas. She wanted to toss the pencil aside and get those hands on her...

"Do you see what I did there?" Pam asked. Mel made a vaguely affirmative noise, hoping Pam hadn't expected a more detailed answer.

Apparently she didn't because she put the pencil on the table and walked over to the paints. She squeezed some paint on two palettes and spent a few minutes blending them without speaking. Then she demonstrated a couple of brushstrokes on the sky portion of Danny's canvas.

"This first time, don't worry about anything but getting a feel of putting paint on the canvas," she said as she handed Mel her palette covered with dollops of color. "If you don't like the tone, blend it with a little black or white to make it darker or lighter. Or just layer a new color over the top. Let yourselves experiment right now, and then we'll start to add technique."

Mel dipped her brush in some white paint and tentatively spread it on her canvas. She painstakingly outlined the edge of the boat, wincing each time her brush crossed the pencil line Pam had drawn.

She wanted to go out to the garage and get her painter's tape so she'd be able to paint a straight line, but she didn't think that would be what Pam considered experimenting. She smudged some gray paint over the white in an attempt to give the boat a weathered look and tried to concentrate on her efforts and ignore Danny's disparaging remarks about the gray blobs on her painting and his comments about how fulfilled and safe his surfers looked. The harder Mel tried to perfect her painting, the worse it seemed to get. She finally lowered her brush and opened her mouth to call Pam over to help.

She closed her mouth again without making a sound. Pam was at her easel, her palette balanced against her hip as if it were part of her body. Watching Pam, she could see what real concentration was.

Focus. Absorption. She had seen Pam painting once before, when she'd created the picture of the storm's aftermath on the beach, but this was different. There was a sense of calm this time. Pam's body and mind seemed to know what they were doing and had taken control without the struggle Mel had witnessed that afternoon. But Mel could see the same intensity on her face, in her posture, as if some vision in her head had turned into reality and had completely blotted out the world around her.

Mel had seen this expression before. When Pam leaned over her, about to kiss her, and looked at her as if she was something to be treasured, memorized. As if she mattered. But maybe that intensity was only something Mel had imagined, something she wanted to see.

She didn't interrupt Pam. Instead, she continued to stroke color on her canvas, some of her attention on her work and most of it on Pam.

Pam could sense when Mel's attention had turned on her, but she couldn't stop painting. She had covered her palette with bright colors, intending to doodle to give Danny and Mel some time to play with their paintings. But from the moment the medicinal smell of oils had hit her, the moment she had dabbed green and then yellow paint onto her canvas, she had been instantly drawn into the scene.

No need to sketch any guidelines or borders. She finished the smear of paint that was Danny's imagined kite, and she continued to fill the sky with swirls of color and movement, a chaos of tails and wings and flapping silk. She and Diane had taken Kevin to the kite festival the same year she had observed the little girl who now hung in Mel's dining room. She was recapturing the day, when she and Diane had shared a rare afternoon of closeness and freedom. When Kevin had laughed in delight at the riot of color streaming overhead.

But there were differences in this scene. The people Pam added to the painting were abstract, static dabs of color anch.o.r.ed by the flying kites. But the dark-haired boy holding the duck kite was definitely Danny. Mel clearly stood in the crowd of spectators and watched. In a moment of respite from her painting, Pam looked at the beach she had created, surprised to find Diane and Kevin weren't there. But she was.

Behind Mel, blending in the crowd but unmistakably her.

Usually when she finished a painting, it was the imposition of her memories onto the new image that disconcerted her. Today the lack of memory tugged at her mood, drawing her away from the euphoria of completion and into the depressed state she had come to expect with her art. She wanted to curl up and cry, fling the painting against a wall and destroy it, slash paint across its surface until the picture was no longer visible. But she wasn't alone.

Mel and Danny were standing by their easels, their own paintings finished. They were waiting for her to continue the lesson, and Pam surprised herself by shaking off her pain and walking over to them as if nothing were wrong. But everything was wrong. Blended, mixed up. Past and present, her old family and this new one to which she didn't even belong, memories that existed yet didn't exist.

She came to Danny's easel first. She was too disoriented, too shaken to continue the lesson. She needed to make an excuse and leave the studio, but Danny's picture and his smug-looking smile as he waited for her comments were somehow enough to distract her from her jumbled thoughts. Enough to ground her in the present again. Surprisingly, enough to make her want to laugh. She tried to take in the painting as a whole, but she couldn't stop staring at the surfers. "This is...well, you have a good sense of color. The tones are well-balanced and...did you drip paint down here?"

She pointed at the surfers, black stick figures with bright white-and-red marks on their heads.

"Those are their eyes and mouths. See? They're smiling and having fun. Who wouldn't want her son to be one of them?"

"They look like zombies," Mel said with a snort. "Way to convince me."

"This is supposed to be art, not propaganda," Pam said. She had been pulled away from the trauma of painting too quickly. Back to lightness and fun. But she was okay. She'd get through it. "Let's see yours, Mel. Oh."

Pam searched for something positive to say about Mel's painting.

"You paint in sort of a primitive style. And nice bold colors. We might want to try something more abstract next time."

"Ouch!" Danny said.

Mel put her hands on her hips. "So what I hear you saying is, I don't have any talent, but if I just sling some paint at the canvas, I'll have a slim chance of producing something decent?"

"Hey, if monkeys can do it-"

Pam held up her hand to stop Danny from finishing his sentence.

"I'm not comparing anyone to a monkey. And there's much more to an abstract painting than random slashes of paint. Maybe we should stop for the day. You both did very well for your first lesson, although now your teacher needs a drink."

"Thanks, that was fun," Danny said, giving Pam an awkward one-armed hug. "I'm going for a walk on the beach before dinner."

He left the studio and whistled for Piper to join him as he headed for the beach access. "There's a girl about his age who lives a few cabins down the beach," Mel told Pam. "At least he's getting some exercise walking back and forth in front of her house. Now can I see your painting?"

"Your painting, if you want it," Pam said as she followed Mel to her easel. "I have some primary colored sea gla.s.s I could use on the kites. It might look nice in the rose-colored room on the third floor."

"Dragon fruit," Mel said as she stared at the kite painting. "That's the color of the walls. And you're right. This will be perfect. It's like a rainbow, and I don't know how you can make oil paint... move like this. It's so beautiful."

Pam stepped behind her, wrapping her arms around Mel's waist and leaning her chin on Mel's shoulder. Somehow, from this angle, it was easier to look at her own painting without being bombarded by too many emotions to process. Mel leaned into her embrace. Pam welcomed the physical jolt as it ran through her. s.e.x, bodies, sweat, touch. Smells that would be strong enough to wipe away the lingering scent of paint. She needed to get Mel out of here. Into bed.

"That's Danny, isn't it? Flying the green-and-yellow kite? You captured his posture even though there aren't many details on your people."

"I can paint in some zombie eyes and bright red smiles, if you want me to," Pam offered. Even as she joked with Mel, she considered her words. She had earned her reputation as an artist by painting portraits, but since Diane took Kevin away, she had never returned to them. Now the infrequent humans in her art were faceless, unfinished figures.

Mel turned in her arms and rested her forehead against Pam's.

"Are you okay? I know painting is private for you, and Danny and I were here..."

Pam brushed her lips against Mel's, just a taste, a rea.s.surance.

"I didn't mind having you in here at all," she said. Not a lie, but not exactly true.

She kissed Mel again instead of saying what else was on her mind. That having Mel and Danny talk to her, ease her tension and bring her back to reality, had made this the least difficult painting she had completed in years. Whether she struggled to paint or failed to paint, she had always kept her efforts private. But not this time.

The connection she felt with Mel, her son, the painting wasn't something she could bring up with Mel because it was too intense.

Too frightening. Mel and Danny were too d.a.m.ned close.

Pam had always felt emotionally vulnerable after painting.

Hypersensitive to touch, to smells and light, to even her breath moving in and out of her lungs. Just because she could feel her enhanced emotions while she was kissing Mel was no reason to think their attachment was deepening. It was simply a matter of proximity.

Her body's reaction to Mel's hands as they slid around her neck and into her hair had more to do with the act of opening the channels so she could pour her feelings onto the canvas than with her feelings for Mel. Any attractive woman would have made her heart beat faster, or made her shift uncomfortably as she felt wetness seeping through her underwear. She had to believe that, or she'd have to leave right now.

She lifted her head and rubbed Mel's upper arms.

"You're cold," she said. "You have goose b.u.mps."

"Yeah, cold," Mel said. "I need to find a way to heat the studio.

We have at least an hour before Danny comes back. We could go inside and warm up."

"My room?" Pam asked.

"Your room," Mel agreed, pulling Pam behind her toward the house.

Chapter Twenty.

Pam sorted through the box and picked out all the sky-blue puzzle pieces before she started to fit them in place. Danny and Mel had started the puzzle the night before, after dinner, and they had completed the outline of the jigsaw puzzle. Pam had been tempted to join them, to continue the camaraderie she had felt during their painting lesson and the closeness to Mel that lingered from their lovemaking. But she had gone out instead, to check on the progress of her house and to meet with Tia about her upcoming art show fundraiser. Now Danny had gone back to Salem, and Mel was curled on the living-room couch reading some DIY books. And Pam worked alone on the puzzle.

"I was going to reface the kitchen cabinets, but since I sanded the doors I think they look pretty good," Mel said. "I might just refinish them instead."

Pam fished out a piece of half sky, half lighthouse and put it in place before she looked up. "It's cheaper to refinish," she said. Mel uncurled her long legs and propped her bare feet on the back of the couch. Who knew Black Watch plaid pajamas could be so seductive?

Pam turned her attention back to the puzzle.

"And I'd rather spend the money on a fancy new stove."

Pam finished a chunk of sky before she glanced back at Mel.

"Paint or stain?"

"I wanted to use a Mediterranean blue to pick up the color of the backsplash, but it might be too dark for such a small s.p.a.ce. I'd like to do a color wash with a sponge to soften the tone and give the cabinets some texture."

Mel talked about glazes and base coats, and Pam tried to focus on her words. Instead, she found herself distracted by the way Mel kept pulling a lock of her hair toward her mouth as if she thought it was still long enough to suck. She was so f.u.c.king s.e.xy Pam wanted to toss her on the ground and take her while she talked about sinks and ovens and drains...

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Mel asked. "I'm boring you with all of this, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Pam managed to say. "I'm listening. You were talking about installing a garbage disposal."

Mel continued her monologue about kitchen remodeling while Pam struggled to regain control. It was okay to find Mel s.e.xy when she was being s.e.xy. But to get hot because she was trying to chew on her hair while she talked about a garbage disposal? Pam had crossed a line somewhere, and she needed to find her way back to the safe side.

The puzzle forgotten, Pam looked around the living room.

Puzzles, games, books, movies. Throw rugs and chairs and a sofa.

Mel had turned the old house into a home. A place where her guests would feel cozy and safe. A place where Pam was starting to settle in and get too comfortable. And she was part of the home now, too. Not merely a visitor, she was present on the walls of almost every room in the house. Even the living room had a place reserved for her fifth commission piece. The blank s.p.a.ce on the wall hovered over Pam, daring her to fill it and put her mark on this room as well.

"My house is done," she said, interrupting something Mel was saying about bread ovens.

"What?"

"The construction on my house. It's finished. Piper and I can move back home and let you have your room back." The work had been completed a week ago. Pam didn't mention that. Maintaining the weak illusion of having stayed this long because she'd had to, not because she'd wanted to, was comforting.

Mel took the index card she had been using to jot down notes and stuck it in her book, lining the edge up precisely to buy time before she answered. Step one of ending the affair. Move out of casual s.e.x partner's house. She had been aware of this inevitability since their picnic in the park-even before that. And she had seen the change coming in Pam's eyes yesterday, when she'd resurfaced after finishing her kite painting. But Mel had convinced herself that leaving this dead-end relationship was necessary if she wanted to be more open to love. Necessary, but so d.a.m.n sad. And so soon. She had hoped for a longer time with Pam. More s.e.x, more companionship.

"You know I've enjoyed having you here."

"It's been fun for me, too," Pam said, her eyes still on the puzzle.

"But you'll be full of guests soon. I can't keep shuffling between Danny's room and upstairs when he comes to visit."

"Of course not," Mel agreed. But sometimes she forgot. On nights like this one, when they spent time together and talked. Nights when it was easy to forget they were supposed to mean nothing more to each other than s.e.x. Nights that seemed worlds away from casual.

Pam came over and sat next to her on the sofa. "Mel, Danny asked about us. When we were at the park."

"Oh?" Mel wasn't sure what bothered her more. That Danny had guessed before she'd had a chance to tell him, or that he had talked to Pam instead of her. "What did you say?"

Pam shrugged and took hold of Mel's hand. "The truth. I said we liked each other a lot, but we weren't dating or anything. More or less. I can't remember what I said. But he seemed fine with...everything."

"Well, he likes you. And I appreciate you being honest with him. I just thought we could keep it a secret until I was ready to talk to him," Mel said, silently adding, Since it wasn't like we were hiding a serious relationship. But she had been serious about Pam. She had tried to fight it, had tried to be fine with no hope, no promises. She knew that now, and of course Danny had been able to see it.

Pam scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Mel's shoulders, kissing her on the temple. "It's for the best, Mel. Our arrangement worked because we wanted each other, and neither of us was looking for anything more than s.e.x. But it'll be better for Danny if I'm not around as much. If he doesn't get used to me being here."

Step two. The it's-for-the-best speech. But why did Pam have to hold her so tenderly while she said it? As if she heard Mel's thoughts, Pam's caresses slowly changed from tender to intimate. She gently cupped Mel's breast and stroked her thumb over her nipple. Mel gritted her teeth to keep from moaning, hating her body for so quickly responding to Pam's touch even when her emotions were a confused mess. Nothing was certain except she didn't want Pam to go. But what was the alternative? Move in together officially? They had both agreed to a purely physical, purely temporary relationship. Still, logic wasn't convincing enough to cool Mel's heated response. She turned her face away from Pam's kiss.

Pam sat back slightly. "What's wrong, Mel?" She kissed Mel's neck, dragging her soft lips along Mel's jawline. "We have tonight. And we don't have to stop seeing each other like this. I just won't be living here anymore."

Mel didn't answer, but she waged a small battle within her mind. She was acting like a teenager who was only starting to date.

They had defined an adult relationship, and Pam was only sticking to the rules they had both agreed to follow. Pam had always been honest about where she was, and she couldn't be expected to change because Mel was opening up to the idea of forever. Mel turned back and allowed Pam to kiss her, but she was the one who pulled Pam's sweatshirt off and threw it on the floor. And she was the one who slid her fingers under the waistband of Pam's sweats and made her come within seconds.

Pam packed her things and moved out the next day. Mel had been silent all morning and left for the hardware store directly after breakfast. Pam had to take three trips to get all her belongings home.

She had come with only a few clothes and necessities, but over the past few weeks she had gradually moved books and extra clothing and painting supplies into Mel's inn. She moved sluggishly through the process, throwing things haphazardly into boxes, lugging them to her car, moving out of the house as if fighting a strong current.

She took one last glance at the starfish mosaic before she shut the door firmly. Every painting had been a struggle. She felt like a salmon swimming upstream to sp.a.w.n, leaping rung by rung up a fish ladder. Out of a long-ingrained habit, she filed away the image of the salmon, weakened but sailing upward. Fighting against the odds.

Would she ever have the chance-or the desire-to actually paint it? If she wanted to, she needed to leave. Love and loss had taken away her art once. Pam opened the back door for Piper and got in the driver's seat. She only paused to light a cigarette before she backed out of the driveway.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Pam hurried back to her gallery after lunch and locked the door behind her. She went into the small back office and pulled a fresh canvas from the stack she stored behind the desk.

She didn't know why she had continued the habit of storing unused canvases in various places around her home and gallery when she so rarely painted-well, at least until about eight weeks ago, when she'd started on the commission pieces for Mel's inn-but right now, two weeks since she'd moved home, she was glad to have a clean and prepared surface at hand.