NAT'S POV

I walk into the Art From The Heart studio ten minutes before the class is scheduled to start, looking for Olivia Bushwick. I plan to take the class, but I want to talk to her before it starts.

I spot her almost immediately, which isn't a surprise given that we're the only two in the studio.

"I'm sorry i'm early. I'm Nat Lewis" I introduce myself.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Olivia Bushwick and it's no problem at all" she assures warmly.

"Your students have a lot of freedom with their work" I observe in admiration as I help her add fresh supplies to the stations around the room. Every station gets acrylic paint, watercolor, oil paint, several sets of brushes, pencils, charcoal, a sketch book, and canvases for every type of paint. You choose what you do. It's not a paint by numbers class.

"I went to one of those painting classes once where you all paint the same picture. I enjoyed the act of painting it, but at the end of the class I had something that looks exactly like twenty other paintings. That's what made me want to start this class. I only teach it to give tips or advice when it's needed. Mostly I just paint with my students and give them a space to be completely free artistically."

I take a moment to consider her words, connecting to them in a way, admiring her passion.

Unfortunately I can't tell if she'll give me the list. Maybe I won't need it. I have a plan. A few actually. Plan B is me asking for the list and her giving it to me. Plan C is her saying no and me finding a way around that. But right now i'm focusing on plan A.

We finish setting up just as people start arriving.

"You guys know the drill. You're free to do as you wish. Draw. Paint. Do whatever you want. Let me know if you need anything" she says once the class is full, sitting behind the easel that's at the head of the room, facing us.

I gently lower the canvas to the floor, propping the sketchbook up, lining up all the different pencils for shading, Alex's face swimming in my mind.

Half an hour later I blink myself out of my daze when I feel someone approach. I watch Olivia's expressions as she studies my sketch, so I don't miss the way recognition widens her eyes.

"You've seen him" I state.

She nods with a wariness that gives me the impression it wasn't an entirely pleasant experience.

"Where?" I ask, my heart beating faster than it probably should.

"Here. He.. he had the oddest request. And friend" she mutters under her breath, her tone making it obvious it hadn't been a request. Friend?

"Let me guess, he wanted the list of guests you invited to the art opening you co hosted" I deduce, the ache he created when he left easing slightly at the realization that he's looking for me too. Maybe it wasn't one sided. Every instinct tells me it wasn't, that he felt it too, but he left. Walked away like we hadn't just experienced a one in a million moment. Something beyond words.

She takes a step back as unease clouds her features.

"How.. how did you know that?" She breathes.

I stand, ripping my sketch off the pad, grabbing my jacket.

"Lucky guess. I need a copy of the list."

She hesitates a moment before nodding and printing me out a copy since she gave them the only one she had.

I thank her for the class and the list, leaving the studio. As i'm pulling out of the lot I catch movement in my rearview mirror and watch as a car pulls out behind me. I make the next left, looking to see if the car follows. It does. I make a right. The car follows. We play this game until i'm positive i'm being followed.

I drive aimlessly for a few minutes, looking for a safe spot before eventually turning down an empty stretch of road that dead ends against a brick wall. Not ideal, but it's the best I can do.

I slow to a crawl, unbuckling my seatbelt as they turn down the alley. Once they're behind me I step on the gas and jerk the wheel to the left. I'm thrown against the door as my car veers sideways, breaking horizontally, blocking theirs.

I yank my door open, out of my car with my gun pointed at the driver before they can fully stop. I'm breathing heavily in a mixture of adrenaline from the stop and pain from slamming into the door, but my hand remains steady as I glare through the tinted windows.

I motion for the driver to get out of the car, keeping my gun trained on him.

The door opens, then two callused hands lift into the air as a sign of surrender. A large, tan body follows, his movements slow and careful so as not to startle the woman with the gun.

He kicks the door closed, finally revealing himself.

I suck in a breath, lowering my gun.

Well damn if this isn't a blast from the past.