Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) by Judi Fennell Page A

gorgeous man and a glorious sun just as it hit the water line.
    “ Is it going to hiss, do you think?” Todd asked.
    The scent of him registered before she realized he’d scooted his chair closer. Grey Flannel , her favorite cologne. It was subtle, not all cowboy boots and chaps.
    There was an image.
    What was the question again? Hiss? Right. “I used to think the sun drowned each night when I was a kid,” she answered. “Although that could have something to do with Mr. Gaston falling off the top of the dam where he’d been fishing and never making it out of the river.”
    Now why had she dredged that awful memory up? Seriously, she needed to focus on the conversation.
    “ You saw someone drown?” Todd touched the back of her hand. “How old were you?”
    There was a lot to commend this touchy-feely business. Amazing how much heat there was in fingertips. “I was six and he always used to tell us these incredible stories, how big his catches were and how many he could reel in in his younger days. I know now that they were all fish tales and might’ve had something to do with re-living his glory days, not to mention the fifth of whiskey he carted around like a newborn, but he could tell a good story.” And was in some way responsible for her own story-telling dreams, but she didn’t want to clue Todd in on that.
    “ So, what happened?” He hadn’t pulled his hand back.
    “ Apparently he finally caught something and wasn’t prepared. It yanked him over the side and that was the last we ever saw.” She shrugged because she should be over a six-year-old’s terror. “We don’t know if it was a fish or an old log or a piece of furniture, but I like to think that Mr. Gaston went down with the biggest fish of his life.”
    “ Is that your happily-ever-after for Mr. Gaston?”
    He remembered. She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes. That’s Mr. Gaston’s.”
    Todd tapped her hand one last time, then reached for his water and took a sip. He dipped the goblet toward the horizon. “Ssh. Listen. I think it’s hissing.”
    “ Do you do this a lot? Sit and listen to the sun?”
    He chuckled and set the goblet down, wiping his tanned hands on the beige linen napkin. “No. But I really did try when I was a kid. My grandparents lived on Cape Cod and I’d spend a couple weeks during the summer with them. Every evening, my grandfather and I would set the crab traps and watch the sunset. I think it was that, more than anything, that started my painting.”
    Well. He mentioned painting. Hmmm. She had to handle this delicately, not scare him off. Kind of like feeding a wild animal. Or one of those rats with wings. Put her hand out gently, slowly. Offering, as it were. “How did the sunset do that?”
    He drummed his fingers against the cream tablecloth, a light thum-thum .
    “ I kept studying the sun, watching it, listening to hear that hiss, night after night. I remember how beautiful the sky looked just before it hit the water, all the colors, and the water sparkling as if it were lit from beneath. It mesmerized me.”
    His laugh was self-conscious and she smiled again. Putting out another figurative hand.
    “ I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was my calling, my talent rising to the surface. By the end of that summer, I found myself grabbing crayons and colored pencils, anything to capture what I was seeing.”
    “ And did you?”
    He looked back at the sunset. She looked at him, holding her breath. Would he share it with her? Talk about it? When was the last time he’d spoken about it?
    “ Eventually I did. It took a while, some experimenting with different media until I was satisfied I could do justice to God’s creation.”
    Don’t make a big deal out of his revelation . She swallowed, trying to keep the grin off her face. “You’ve certainly done that. I’ve seen your work and it is truly amazing. I feel like the scene is right outside an invisible window I’m looking through. As if I could