Indigo: The Complete Series (Books 1-4)

By Kate McBrien

A shy art historian. A sexy rockstar. A mysterious medieval cross that holds a secret.

BOOK 1: DISCOVERING YOU
Lucy Bianchi has a plan: finish her PhD in art history and land a coveted job at a prestigious Los Angeles museum. Then—maybe—she’ll find time to start dating. Her controlled and predictable world begins to unravel when she chases a runaway dog on the beach and meets a gorgeous stranger.

Justin Hamilton is the charismatic lead singer of the British band Indigo. Years of touring and partying have won him notoriety, and he can have any woman he wants, but who he really wants doesn’t seem to exist.

Until now.

From their first look—their first touch—Justin and Lucy have a connection that defies logic and deepens their desire for each other. When they see the Varangian Cross at a museum exhibit, they’re flooded with inexplicable shared memories that draw them even closer together.

BOOK 2: WAITING FOR YOU
It's only been a week, but Justin is miserable waiting for Lucy to contact him. He's back in London for Indigo's concert series and needs to get his head in the game, but his heart is back in America.

Stuck hiding out at her parents' house in Los Angeles, Lucy is consumed with doubt and regret about her decision to stay behind.

When the Varangian Cross is sold to a private buyer in London, Lucy jumps at the chance to deliver the cross to the new owner and maybe reconnect with Justin. Lucy arrives in London in time for another roadblock to their relationship: a serious allegation has been made against Justin, and the paparazzi are in overdrive, forcing Justin under cover just to make it through the concert series.

Finally reunited, their passion is renewed. But their nightmares have returned and are feeling more like memories than dreams. It’s time to find out the truth behind their connection.
Note to readers: This book contains scenes which may be triggering to survivors of sexual violence.

BOOK 3: ALWAYS WITH YOU
On the beautiful Greek island of Santorini, Justin and Lucy consult with Sophia, an elderly woman who is gifted in ways beyond the present and physical. What they learn is helpful but incomplete. The story of their past is hidden deeply within the Varangian Cross, and Sophia must have it to fully understand the connection that Justin and Lucy share.

However, the cross is with its new owner in London and far too valuable to be loaned out for such an implausible tale. Disappointed, they prepare to return to London and confront the challenges from which they fled, resigned to leave the past behind, but the struggles of the past seem determined to revisit them.

Justin and Lucy are meant to be together. They are meant to know their past. The cross is the key to unlocking their story, and the source of their eternal and unbreakable bond.

Note to readers: This book contains scenes which may be triggering to survivors of sexual violence.

BOOK 4: EVER AFTER WITH YOU
With the mystery of the medieval cross unraveled, Justin and Lucy are free to live their lives in the present.

Back in LA, the problems of their pasts may be behind them, but the future is not without some challenges. Justin has sworn they’ll never be apart again, but quickly discovers there’s more to a solo career than sitting in the studio.

Lucy is at the Preston and ready to resume the life and career of her dreams. But she is struggling to find her place with her colleagues—it seems her relationship with Justin hasn’t won her any fans.

So what comes next?

You are cordially invited to join Justin and Lucy as they begin their ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate McBrien
• Release date: Jul 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463201350

Kate McBrien

Kate McBrien writes sexy and witty contemporary romance.She has an MA in art history and has taught art history at a local college. For many years, Kate has worked as a dental hygienist, courageously offering encouragement to her non-flossing patients.She has always enjoyed writing but became more serious after being encouraged by a friend to participate in National Novel Writing Month. She began writing historical fiction but soon realized that the romance was taking over the history.Kate is a San Francisco Bay Area native who lives near the beach with her husband and Lola, their spoiled Labrador Retriever. When not writing, she enjoys cooking, music, movies, reading, and fangirling over Jamie Dornan.

Book preview

INDIGO SERIES #1

BY

Discovering You

Indigo Series #1

Copyright © 2018 by Kate McBrien

All rights reserved

Second Edition

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this work are solely the opinions of the author. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Editor: Kiezha Smith Ferrell

Proofreader: Taryn Lawson

Cover Design: Sofie Hart, Hart & Bailey Design Co.

Interior Book Design: Bob Houston eBook Formatting

www.katemcbrien.com

DEDICATION

To Doug. You never, ever gave up on me.

PROLOGUE

Constantinople, April 1204

I will come with you, my lady, Anna mumbled, followed by a huge sneeze.

Don’t be silly. Francesca placed her palm against Anna’s forehead and frowned. You have a bad cold and should go back to bed. I’m only going to Mass and will return right away.

But there is so much to do today.

Which is why I’m going to the early Mass. Francesca handed her a cloth to blow her nose. Anna was old enough to be her grandmother and had been taking care of her since Francesca’s birth.

Your father gave me strict instructions to— Anna protested before sneezing again and wiping her nose.

Don’t worry, Francesca said with a tight smile. Let me manage my father.

Francesca’s wedding would take place tomorrow, on her eighteenth birthday. Her father, Gregorios Bryennios, was one of the emperor’s most prominent admirals. He had wanted her to marry when she turned sixteen, but Francesca had used every means necessary to put off the inevitable. Since her mother’s death when she was a young child, her father had relied upon her to manage his substantial household. Francesca had to learn quickly, and now her father depended on her for all his entertaining and management of his household staff. She was a dutiful daughter, and in return her father had indulged her desire for learning, including a tutor who taught her several languages. With her tutor’s guidance she had acquired an impressive collection of bibles, psalters, and chronicles of ancient history. She had been quite content to manage the busy household during the day and stay up late with her studies until Anna scolded her to put the books away.

But no more. Tomorrow she would marry and begin a new life in her new husband’s home. Today she would attend Mass, see her confessor, and spend the remainder of the day in prayer in her private chambers. There would be feasting tonight, but she would not be expected to attend. Tonight, she would slip away and be with the man she loved, Stefanos.

Zeno won’t like you traipsing about the palace, Anna groused, rubbing her nose.

He is not my husband yet, Francesca snapped, searching the bedchamber for her silk purse.

A small vase of red roses on a nearby table captured her attention. How did these get in here? Francesca scrunched up her nose as she picked up the vase and tossed the flowers out the window before letting out a large sneeze. Zeno never remembered that roses made her sneeze until she couldn’t breathe, and he regularly had them delivered to her bedchamber.

She was betrothed to Zeno Gabras, a navy captain her father was considering naming as his successor. Zeno was a rising officer in the navy, but he had a reputation for being cruel to his men; they feared him, but they didn’t respect him. Francesca was terrified of Zeno, and how he stared at her with dark eyes that followed her every movement when he was near. She had pleaded with her father to choose another man, but he was resolute and ignored her tears.

She rummaged through a wooden chest that was packed with piles of gowns and ready to be shipped to Zeno’s home. Ah, here it is, Francesca said, finding the purse and opening it to make sure the coins were still inside. She sighed when she saw her favorite books, piled neatly inside a chest against the wall. Her beloved books would not be shipped to Zeno’s home. He abhorred the idea that she was educated, often mocking her interest in reading. Perhaps in time he would change his mind.

Don’t be long, my lady, Anna said, sneezing again.

Go back to sleep. Francesca guided her maid back to her small adjoining bedchamber and tucked her into bed with a smile. I’ll be back soon.

Francesca walked as fast as she could through the palace, her gown rustling behind her. Her soft leather shoes were quiet on the stone floor, so hopefully she would leave undetected. It was not quite dawn, but the servants were already up, as evidenced by the clamor in the kitchens even at this early hour. She had an important errand this morning, but it was a secret, so she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone, especially since she was unescorted. Today was the only day she would have a moment to slip away undetected for an hour.

She pulled a plain black cloak over her head. She had to be careful what she wore, because she didn’t want to attract any attention. Watchful eyes were everywhere, and there were many who would curry favor with the emperor to expose her father for anything unseemly. And what Francesca was about to do was scandalous. 

Francesca reached a rarely used door that exited out onto a small alley. She pushed it open as slowly as she could, grimacing when it made a loud squeak, and glanced around. The monks were already singing their early morning prayers in a nearby church, so she would have to hurry. It was cold on this April morning. The weather had been harsh for weeks, but now the sky was clear, with bright stars, and it looked like it would be a fine day. With her head down, she scurried down streets, avoiding any second glances from curious strangers.

Despite the early hour, trade never slowed down in this bustling port city. She passed by two traders and overheard them sharing the latest news about the crusaders’ army that was gathered outside the city gates. The crusaders had been there for over a year, and despite a few skirmishes, the city held. The crusaders were on their way to the Holy Land and were waiting until money arrived to fund their quest. Because Constantinople was currently experiencing government instability, the city was vulnerable, and people were on edge.

Francesca’s father explained to her if any fighting did break out, it would be quickly contained. And even if the worst happened, she was safe, because the Venetians controlled the crusade. Her deceased mother had been a member of the Venetian nobility, and Francesca could, if necessary, seek asylum from her mother’s cousin, the powerful Doge of Venice.

But none of that was important now as she finally arrived at her destination. She stopped in front of the goldsmith’s shop to catch her breath. Paulus was the craftsman for the many pieces of jewelry her father had commissioned for his wife.

She knocked three times on the door, as she had been instructed to do. An old man opened the creaking door, his eyes darting around outside. Lady Francesca, he whispered. Come in, he said, closing the door behind her.

The shop was humble: worn wooden shelves filled with tools and a battered workbench by the window. But appearances were deceiving. Paulus was known to be one the finest craftsmen in Constantinople. He was celebrated for making exquisite jewelry, diadems, and brooches that dazzled the eye and delighted the owner.

I appreciate you agreeing to see me this early, Paulus. Francesca removed the cloak from her head, her hair curling around her shoulders as she waited to see what Paulus had made for her.

Paulus removed the cross from a leather bag, holding it up for her inspection.

It’s beautiful, she said, taking the cross in her hands. It was perfect in size, and not too heavy. Instead of an ornate chain, she had chosen a simple chain, one stronger and more suitable for a soldier. Running her fingers over the bright blue lapis stone, she smiled.

Did you…? she hesitated, looking up at Paulus.

Paulus gave her a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Turn it over.

Francesca turned the cross over. Just as I requested, she whispered as she gazed in wonder. In a soft voice, she read the inscription aloud: May my cross provide courage and protection for Stefanos Varangopoulos Sebastos. Stefanos was a foreigner—an Anglo-Saxon, born in England to a noble family that had lost its fortune. He was orphaned when he was a youth, but because of his height and strength, he was selected to be trained as a soldier in the elite Varangian Guard. Stefanos was initially assigned to the imperial family, but her father was able to persuade the emperor he had need of a fierce warrior to protect his daughter.

Glancing out the shop window, Paulus said, Engraving a cross like this is most unusual. I only made this for you as a courtesy for the favor your family has shown me over the years. But I beg of you to be careful.

Francesca looked up into the old man’s face. It was creased with lines, and his eyes were watery and tired. Don’t worry, Paulus, she said, patting his arm. No one will know because I won’t say anything.

These are dangerous times, my lady, he said in a low voice. Many citizens are worried about the size of the crusaders’ army that is gathering.

She took the silk purse out of a hidden pocket in her gown and placed some coins on the counter. My father says there is nothing to worry about, so I’m going to take him at his word.

I pray that’s true, he said with a wan smile. But Stefanos, he frowned, pausing before saying, He is a soldier. This gift is far too extravagant.

Stefanos has been a trusted member of my father’s household for years, Francesca said with her shoulders back. This gift is a token of appreciation before I marry and move to my husband’s home, she said with an air of confidence she did not believe. 

Thank you, my lady. Paulus nodded, picking up the coins. Congratulations on your marriage. I look forward to continuing to make beautiful things for you in the future. He tucked the cross back into its leather pouch and handed it to her.

Francesca pulled the drawstring tight, then returned it to her pocket, leaving the shop as discreetly as she had arrived.

As she rushed home, her heart soared with happiness. She couldn’t wait to meet Stefanos and give him his gift. She found herself humming one of the tunes he had been whistling recently. He always entertained her with clever songs he invented.

Francesca slipped back into the palace by the same door. She had been gone less than an hour, but there were more people about now. Turning down a hallway, the scent of roasting meat and baking bread came from the kitchens. The staff was preparing the morning meal but also food for tomorrow’s wedding feast. Her heart sank as she thought of her impending marriage. Tomorrow, she would be a married woman. But tonight she would be with Stefanos, and maybe he would find a way to save her.

CHAPTER 1

Lucy

It’s here, Lucy, Greg said, hanging up his desk phone. I’ll meet you down the hall, he called over his shoulder as he walked away. 

I’ll be right there. Lucy made the final changes to the spreadsheet and logged out of her computer. She stood up from her desk and brushed the curls out of her eyes, pulling her long hair into a ponytail as she rushed down the hallway to the receiving door.

She pushed open the door to join the crowd of staff gathered for the arrival of the Preston Art Museum’s latest exhibition. Treasures of Byzantium had taken years to create. It was a collaborative effort between several museums with significant Byzantine and medieval holdings. This was the last stop of the tour.

She held her breath as the many icon paintings, carved ivories, manuscripts, and rare textiles were unpacked with meticulous care. The gold sparkled even under the dim lighting used to protect these treasures. And the icons, even after many centuries, still retained their vibrant colors.

But despite how beautiful these objects were, it was the Varangian Cross Lucy longed to see.

Hoping to get a better view, Lucy moved in as close as she could. Standing on her toes, she lost her balance and grasped the shoulder of one of the exhibit installers.

Sorry, Lucy muttered with a weak smile.

The installer turned and gave her one of the nastiest side eyes she’d ever seen.

Greg was with one of the art handlers, who pulled a plastic-wrapped object out of a small crate. The handler nodded and handed the object to Greg.

Here it is. Greg held out the wrapped cross to Lucy.

Lucy’s eyes widened. You’re going to let me hold it? I’m only an intern.

I’m your supervisor, so I say it’s okay. He grinned, handing it to her.

The installer grudgingly moved aside for Lucy to pass by.

Lucy smiled at Greg as she put on a pair of white cotton gloves. I can’t believe it’s here, she said as she took the plastic-wrapped cross. Measuring just under two inches in height, it fit comfortably in her hands. Lucy had focused her research on lapis lazuli, the intense blue semi-precious stone used since antiquity. The Varangian Cross was an almost flawless example of lapis, and therefore extraordinary.

She removed the plastic with care and laid it gently on an examining table lit with an overhead conservator’s light. It was a double cross that consisted of a solid gold vertical bar and two shorter horizontal bars. It was small, but it was a luxurious devotional object. The front of the cross was raised and outlined in gold and inlaid with the deepest blue lapis lazuli. She ran her fingers over the surface to feel the thickness of the lapis.

When she touched the small notch at the top she wondered if the owner had used a simple leather band to suspend the cross around his neck, or if it had been attached by a chain of some kind. Lucy turned the cross over on the table and looked at the ancient Greek inscription, which had been translated, "May my cross provide courage and protection for Stefanos Varangopoulos Sebastos." Stefanos was a ‘Varangian,’ which was a Byzantine description for an Anglo-Saxon mercenary soldier associated with the Sebastos, a Greek honorific title for a Roman emperor. In other words, this Anglo-Saxon mercenary was part of an elite Byzantine guard based in Constantinople.

Holding the cross closer, Lucy ran her gloved fingers over the deeply carved ancient Greek characters. How could a soldier afford such an extravagant object? And why was it engraved? Her vision got a little fuzzy. She blinked a few times, and tried to re-focus on the cross. Her ears buzzed, and she could feel a rush up her spine as her head pounded in pain.

She became dizzy, and gripped the cross tighter in her hand. A series of images flashed before her eyes—it was as if someone was flipping through the pages of a book. She was unable to make out anything specific, just fragments that made no sense. She caught a glimpse of a bearded man who reached out to her, and then just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

Lucy dropped the cross onto its nest of padding as she fell to the ground. Curling her knees into her chest, she pulled herself into a fetal position and wept, overcome by a sense of profound loss that was so intense, she wanted to let herself fall into the deep abyss of sorrow. Suddenly, her body jerked as if a jolt of electricity shot through her, and her eyes flew open.

Lucy! Greg kneeled beside her and grabbed her arms. 

The cross!

The cross is fine. Greg furrowed his brow in concern. Are you all right?

Greg gently squeezed her arms as he helped her get to her feet. Lucy surveyed the room. A few employees glanced in her direction, but they returned to their work when they realized she was okay. She looked down at the cross sitting on the examination table. What the hell just happened? Her head throbbed, but the sensation of grief began to subside.

Lucy took the gloves off and wiped the tears from her eyes. I’m okay, she murmured, confused by the experience and her lingering headache. She never got headaches, even after hours of using magnified loupes to analyze the minute details of a work of art.

Did you eat anything today? Greg asked.

Um, no. I worked through lunch. 

I thought so, Greg said. Let’s get some fresh air and something to eat.

Okay. She still felt a little dazed.

After eating half of a turkey sandwich, Lucy wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin on the teak wood slat table. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she scanned the gardens surrounding the museum’s patio café. It was midsummer, which meant the garden was an explosion of flowers in full bloom. Tour groups crowded the courtyard and the shouts of children reverberated off the surrounding buildings.

What’s on your mind? Greg asked, pushing his empty plate away. We’ve finished eating and you’ve barely said a word.

She massaged her temples. I’m sorry. My head still hurts a little.

He nodded in sympathy and shook the ice in his glass before taking a final sip of his iced tea. Any plans for the weekend?

Not really. She evaded his question, because she didn’t like discussing her limited social life.

Greg leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. Don’t tell me you plan on working on your dissertation over the weekend?

Okay, I won’t tell you, Lucy answered with a smirk. My parents are hosting Fred Hanson’s retirement party Saturday night. Does that count? Her parents had been involved in fundraising for the Preston for years. Lucy took pride in the fact she had landed an internship at the prestigious museum without her parents’ influence. And even though her internship was in the education department, she hoped to get a coveted job in the Preston’s research department after completing her Ph.D. in art history.

Greg snorted. Spending a Saturday night socializing with the Preston Board of Directors is not what I would call a good time. That’s work stuff. Although, he said, raising his eyebrows, you’ll get to meet Edward Pierce.

Have you met him? Fred Hanson, the former director, was a rigid traditionalist who lacked the vision to guide the Preston into the twenty-first century. The staff hoped Edward Pierce would bring a fresh perspective to the museum.

Greg shook his head. No, he’s kind of a mystery. He’s got an East Coast pedigree, but he’s only worked at smaller museums. This will be a big leap for him, so we’ll have to wait and see.

Lucy sipped her iced tea.

Oh, I almost forgot, Greg chuckled. He’s single.

Lucy choked as she swallowed her tea. Don’t start, Greg. She coughed, wiping the dribble from her chin. I don’t need a matchmaker.

And I hear he’s quite handsome. Greg waggled his eyebrows.

Lucy picked an ice cube out of her glass and tossed it at him. You’re as bad as my mother.

He dodged the ice cube and changed subjects. So, the research for your dissertation is almost complete.

Hardly, Lucy said in a sarcastic voice.

Lucy, I check in with your adviser every month. Greg tilted his head, looking up at her. I know you’ve turned in your outline and drafts of the opening chapters. Ahead of schedule, I might add."

Lucy held his gaze. That’s right. So, what’s your point?

Leaning his elbows on the table, Greg said, You have a promising future, but you push yourself too hard. Trust me, the work will be there, but your personal life might not. Finding a balance between the two is important. I’ve been at the Preston for twenty years. I know what I’m talking about.

I love doing research. I have friends and I go out whenever I want to. This statement wasn’t entirely true. She did love her research but lately she preferred to stay home. How about you? Do you have any plans this weekend?

Me? he laughed, running a hand through his thinning hair. I’m a forty-nine-year-old, overweight man who married his college sweetheart. We don’t have an exciting life. When I’m not at work, my wife has a mile-long to-do list and my four boys are involved in baseball. All we do is go to baseball games during the summer.

I bet that’s your idea of fun.

Fun? Greg laughed and shook his head. The games are fun, but the amount of driving we do every weekend is ridiculous.

And yet you do it anyway, Lucy said with a smile.

I’m a happily married man and a proud father. He shrugged and grinned. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. Greg’s smile faded as he studied her for a few moments. Seriously, though, what happened when you held the cross?

It was nothing, she said, looking away. I hadn’t eaten, and I got a headache, that’s all. Lucy opened her purse and took out a small bottle of ibuprofen.

You fell on the floor, Lucy. You turned white as a sheet and your eyes were wide as saucers.

She shook out two tablets and swallowed them with her drink. I was just deep in thought.

You didn’t look like you were thinking. Greg’s brow furrowed. You looked frightened and you were crying.

Lucy stared at Greg because she had no idea how to answer his question. She stood, but her legs were shaky. Tucking her purse under her arm, she said, I should get back to work.

Work, Greg said, rolling his eyes.

When they returned to the office, Greg said, I want you to take the afternoon off.

Lucy sat down at her desk, shuffling through a pile of papers, finding it difficult to concentrate on exactly what she was looking for. I’ve got to finish updating the information for the children’s tours. It’s due next week.

It can wait until tomorrow. Greg reached over and turned off her computer. He crossed his arms before saying, Your work here has been excellent. You never refuse an assignment, no matter how small. Your passion and dedication to this museum has been noted. But at this rate, you’ll burn out just as you’re getting started. Go home, get some rest, and start fresh tomorrow.

Really, I’m—

Fine? he said, finishing the sentence for her. Go home.

Her headache had subsided, but she was still a little frazzled. Okay. If you insist, Lucy said, taking her purse.

See you tomorrow, Greg said with a smile as he returned to his desk. 

CHAPTER 2

Lucy

Lucy was fortunate to have an easy commute to and from the museum, navigating the winding back streets in her old Mercedes-Benz SLK as she arrived at the cottage in Santa Monica. Her great-grandparents bought the property during the 1930s as a family vacation home. At that time, Santa Monica was no more than a sleepy village, but soon the town became a haven for the wealthy and real estate prices soared. But rather than sell the cottage, Lucy’s parents insisted she live there until she finished college.

After she had parked her car in the carport, she walked up the path to her front door and stopped to inhale the scent of lavender in her small garden. Stepping inside, she looked around at the spotless living room and sighed. Her mother’s cleaning staff had been here today. There was an enormous vase of irises on the coffee table, and even the couch pillows had stylish divots.

Lucy dropped her purse and computer bag on the couch, walked into the kitchen, and peeked inside the refrigerator. Mom strikes again, she muttered. This morning it had been almost empty, but was now brimming with groceries. She opened a bottle of sparkling water, picked up her phone, and called her mother.

As soon as her mother answered, Lucy grumbled, Why do you insist on always treating me like a little girl? Lucy held one of the pillows close to her chest. I’m almost twenty-five, and even though I’m living rent-free, courtesy of my generous parents, thank you very much, I think I’m capable of keeping the cottage clean and feeding myself.

You have an unpaid internship at the Preston, her mother said with an irritating huff. You still need our help.

Lucy closed her eyes, hoping for patience. I have money saved, Mom.

Why do you want a Ph.D.? her mother sighed. It keeps you cooped up in that cottage when you should be out meeting and dating men.

We’ve been over this a million times. I want my independence from you and Daddy. Getting this degree is important to me, that’s why I’m using some of Gramps’ trust fund. Maybe I’ll date more when I’m finished, how’s that? She did want to meet someone one day, but so far no one special had captured her attention.

Her mother huffed before changing strategy. Do you like the irises?

You know I do. But, it’s too much. I don’t need you to send your staff to clean my cottage, and I don’t need you to send me flowers. Lucy’s tone was harsher than she intended. I’m sorry, Mom. I do appreciate how much you do for me. Let’s not argue, okay?

Her mother let out a small sigh and paused for a moment. Okay. So, why are you home early?

I got a headache. Lucy rubbed her temple as the last remnants of her throbbing head persisted. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.

Sounds like a good idea. Besides, I think you’ve been working too hard.

Lucy laughed. It’s an internship, remember?

Well, maybe it’s too much for you. Listen, tomorrow’s Friday. Why don’t you call in sick and come with me to the spa? her mother said in a cheerful tone. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent an entire day together.

It was useless to argue. It sounds wonderful, Mom, but some other time. I’ll get to bed early, and I’ll feel better tomorrow.

All right. But I’ll hold you to scheduling another spa day.

Good night, Mom, Lucy muttered.

I’ll see you Saturday night. And Lucy? 

Yeah?

Wear your black Carolina Herrera dress to the party.

Fine. Dressing up in designer gowns was not something she enjoyed. Lucy wasn’t overweight, but she waged a persistent battle to be thin, and these expensive dresses her mother insisted on buying for her emphasized Lucy’s inability to be a size zero. You’re planning to ambush me with another eligible bachelor, aren’t you?

You never know who you might meet at the party, she said with a girlish giggle. I love you. Now go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.

Good night, Mom. I love you too.

Lucy took another sip of water and looked around as she leaned back into the couch. The cottage was small but tastefully furnished with soft yellow-painted walls and white curtains. The original glass window panes rippled as late afternoon sunlight filtered in and filled the room.

She pulled her computer out and set it up on the dining room table. She had lots of work she could be doing, but she wasn’t motivated to do a thing.

She jumped when her phone rang. Colleen.

Hey, Lucy answered with a grin.

Hey, yourself.

What’s up? Lucy asked, taking a sip of water.

What’s wrong?

Nothing’s wrong, Lucy replied. Did she sound that bad?

Lucy Bianchi, I’m your best friend, and I’ve known you since the first day of kindergarten. Now tell me what’s wrong. As the eldest of five children in a boisterous Irish family, Colleen Murphy had a knack for calling out a lie.

It’s nothing. Lucy sighed, tucking a curl behind an ear. I was at work this afternoon when the cross arrived. You know the one, right?

Yeah. Is it as beautiful as you expected?

It’s gorgeous. But—

But what?

I had a weird reaction to it. The longer I looked at it, my head hurt, and my vision got blurry.

Did you skip lunch again? Colleen scolded.

Lucy set her water bottle down with a grin and changed the subject. Enough about me. How’s your mom and dad?

He’s doing as well as can be expected after a stroke. His therapy is going well, but my mom gets frustrated at times. I swear every time I see him he looks at me as if it’s his fault I had to drop out of the Ph.D. program to help my mom. Having an M.A. in art history is not as impressive as your Ph.D. will be, but desperate times, etcetera, Colleen said with a humorless laugh.

Lucy shifted topics to help get her friend out of her funk. Tell me about your art appreciation class. Is this group of students easier than last semester?

No, she whined. A few students seem interested, but most of them are stoner surf bums, who either don’t come to class or sleep in the back of the room. Right now, I’m trying to avoid grading a stack of critique essays of one of Thomas Kinkade’s cottage paintings.

Kinkade? Isn’t he too kitsch?

I thought it would be an opportunity to apply their critiquing skills and compose glowing essays that tell me how ordinary his paintings are. But guess what? Most of them love his paintings.

Then why did you give them the assignment? Lucy laughed.

It was supposed to be a fun idea. It’s a serious class, but it’s the summer session. I guess it backfired on me. The sound of papers shuffled in the background. Do you want to know the scariest thing about this assignment?

What’s that?

I think I’m starting to like that damn cozy cottage, Colleen grumbled. Well, I better get back to grading.

Okay.

Oh, I almost forgot, Colleen said. We’re going to see Indigo tomorrow night at the Backbeat.

Lucy grimaced and then laid her head against the couch and sighed.

You forgot, didn’t you? Colleen reprimanded.

Lucy squeezed her eyes tight. I’m sorry. Will you be mad at me if I cancel?

Cancel? Colleen yelled through the phone. Do you know how hard it was to get these tickets? We’ve been waiting months for this show.

I know. But we’re going to my parents’ party on Saturday night, and I feel like spending an evening at home.

Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?

Yeah. But if I go to the party, I have less time to work on my dissertation.

Come on, Lucy, Colleen said, almost begging. Break out of that research tower you’ve built for yourself. Let’s go out and have some fun.

Knowing that Colleen would never back down, Lucy said, Okay, I’ll go.

Excellent. Now go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. You never know, you might be out past midnight tomorrow.

No way, Lucy exclaimed. If we go to the concert, we do not go clubbing afterward, okay? I really do need some study time.

All right, Colleen growled. I’ll bring you home right after the concert.

Promise?

Yes, Miss Lucy, I promise, Colleen said.

All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I’ll pick you up at your place. Oh, and don’t forget to wear the Indigo T-shirt I gave you. Colleen ended the call before Lucy could reply.

Lucy tossed her phone on the table. She pulled up the image of the cross and considered it for a few moments. What had happened when she held it? And what about all those fragments of images? Perhaps it was because she hadn’t eaten, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the reason. She turned off her laptop and went to take a shower.

***

Lucy’s sleep was disrupted by a vivid dream in which she was holding the cross, and all those fleeting images flashed before her again. But just like at the museum, it was impossible to focus on any of them. After tossing and turning for hours, she had a nightmare she was held down by her arms and legs. She was unable to see anyone, and she resisted as much as she could, but she couldn’t move and felt utterly helpless. 

She shot up in bed, gasping for air. The window was slightly open, and despite the cool breeze that filled the room, she was covered in sweat. Lucy was disoriented, but as her breathing calmed down, she looked around at her bedroom. Nothing had changed, and yet she could have sworn she had been in a different physical location.

What’s the matter with me? The dream about the cross she could understand because of what happened at the museum yesterday, but the nightmare was particularly disturbing. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. Could the dream be linked to what happened that night years ago? Maybe, but it felt connected to something even more frightening.

She turned on her phone to see the time. Great, she moaned. It was only four thirty in the morning.

Instead of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Lucy changed into yoga pants and a clean tank top and padded into the kitchen to make some coffee. Sitting down with a steaming mug at the table, she answered a few emails, but stopped because she was having difficulty concentrating as her mind wandered back to her nightmare. She ran her hands through her unruly hair in frustration. The lightening sky caught her eye and for a few minutes she paused to take in the shift from night to day. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she paid attention to a sunrise and that troubled her. Maybe Greg was right and she was pushing herself too hard.

Lucy returned her attention to her laptop and opened the first chapter of her dissertation. She should be practical and use this time to finish her edits, but all she could do was stare at the blinking cursor which patiently waited for her to get started.

Her gaze drifted from the computer screen to look again at the coming sunrise. There was no fog this morning, and a band of violet appeared on the horizon. Lucy’s mouth fell open in wonder at what was certain to be a spectacular sunrise. Without a second thought, she grabbed a hoodie and headed to the beach.

CHAPTER 3

Justin

After a restless night, Justin Hamilton sat up and threw the sheet off in frustration. He always had problems sleeping while touring, but staying up late rehearsing for the band's next gig didn’t help. He turned to look at the bedside clock: 5:00 a.m. Bollocks! He would be exhausted by showtime tonight.

Running his hands over his damp face, he tried to recall his nightmare. He couldn’t remember a single detail except for a deep sense of fear and trying to rescue someone. 

A soft bass sound came from the suite next door, with the rumbling of male voices and laughter. The party was winding down. To be honest, this partying of his Indigo bandmates was getting old, just like them.

He walked to the window, pulling the drapes aside. He could just see the waves on the Santa Monica beach below and paused to listen to their rhythmic pounding against the shore. The sky was clear and still covered with stars, but dawn was coming soon. On impulse, he picked up his shorts and T-shirt off the floor where he had left them and dressed quickly. After sliding his phone into a pocket, slipping on his sandals, and putting a baseball cap on, he dashed down the hall and through the lobby. He raised a hand in greeting to the night desk clerk, before bursting out the double doors that led to a path and on to the beach.

Justin took a deep breath and savored the scent of the ocean air. He walked down the beach toward the coming dawn and paused as the sky shifted from dark to a specific shade of deep blue: indigo. A line of deep indigo on the horizon gave way to a flash of violet. He longed to be able to hold on to this amazing moment for as long as possible.

It was low tide, so the beach was expansive. With each rolling wave, the growing light affected the colors around him. The sand was beige with dark folds, the sea a steel blue-gray, and the tops of the waves were sparkling white. Justin kicked off his sandals and walked along the shore, enjoying the sensation of his feet sinking into the wet sand.

He glanced behind at the Santa Monica Pier. The tourists lined up for early morning fishing expeditions, but the beach was still remarkably empty. After weeks of touring, being alone on a beach at sunrise was worth getting up early for.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Good morning, Graham, Justin said, seeing his agent’s name on the screen. Why are you calling me at the crack of dawn?

I didn’t think you would answer and was going to leave you a voicemail. Where are you? Graham asked in a gravelly voice. Do I hear the ocean?

I’m on the beach, actually, Justin answered, kicking the wet sand.

Why the hell are you on the beach? I thought you’d be in bed with that blonde from last night’s party. Graham laughed, and then started coughing.

I didn’t feel like it. And that was unusual. The party, the women, and the drinking—it seemed like everyone was just going through the motions. Although he was thirty-three, Justin had never been in love. He had sex with countless women, but never remembered their names. Music was more than just a career; it was his solace and provided an outlet for his deepest emotions. Through his music, he could explore the depths of his longing to meet the woman who would be his soulmate. He knew she was out there, and he believed he would find her one day. His bandmates were married with children, but Justin didn’t seem capable of a steady relationship. Maybe this was why he was out of sorts.

Fair enough. Look, I need to talk to you, Graham said.

Is something wrong?

Nothing’s wrong. I was out late at another party at Chateau Marmont. You know, schmoozing and doing the meet and greet with other agents and hotshot producers.

So, what happened?

I have a proposition for you I think you’ll like.

What kind of proposition? Justin asked in a firm voice.

Don’t take that tone with me, Graham said, annoyed. I think you’ll be interested in the idea. And it’s just that, an idea.

Justin took a huge breath and lifted his head up to the lightening sky. Okay. Let’s meet before we leave for the sound check.

Brilliant, Graham said. Meet me at the Starbucks across the street from the hotel at four this afternoon.

All right.

And Justin?

Yeah?

Keep this to yourself.

I don’t like keeping secrets, Justin said in warning.

Stop being paranoid. I’ll explain it to you when I see you later. Graham ended the call.

Justin slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued walking down the beach. He squinted his eyes as the sun continued its glorious ascent.

Down the beach, a white dog ran in his direction, with a woman trailing behind.

Justin leaned down to greet the dog when it stopped right in front of him. Hi, puppy. What’s your name? Finding the pink dog tag, he chuckled. Hello, Lola. Lola wagged her tail while Justin scratched her behind the ears.

Don’t let her go! the woman shouted.

Okay, he yelled, looking up and holding the dog’s collar.

Thanks, the woman said, bending over, trying to catch her breath. Lola belongs to my neighbor, she said between deep breaths. She sneaks out a lot.

Justin tried to get a closer look at her, but all he could see was a mass of loose dark hair. They should be more careful…the owners, I mean. Someone could steal this beautiful dog. Lola rolled on her back, and Justin laughed while he rubbed the dog’s belly.

Come on, Lola, the woman said, lifting her face to Justin.

Justin jerked his head back when their eyes met. She was lovely. Dark, wavy hair that fell almost to her waist, a creamy complexion, with a sensuous mouth, and a voluptuous body.

The woman peered up at him. Uh…thank you— she stammered as she stood, pushing the hair out of her face. She tilted her head and blinked a few times. Did she recognize him?

Her eyes captivated him. They were dark blue that was both mesmerizing and oddly familiar. He extended his hand. Justin. He searched her face and asked, Do I know you?

Her eyes flickered with curiosity, and a slow smile spread across her face. Her lips parted, and just as her hand reached out to his, Justin let go of the collar. Lola sprang up and bolted down the beach.

Not again, she groaned. Nice to meet you, Justin. I better go catch her. She laughed as she turned and ran after the dog again.

Wait! Justin shouted. What’s your name? he called out. His body pulsed with adrenaline. He couldn’t let her get away without finding out who she was. Justin took off after her, running down the beach, but as he got closer to her, the woman looked over her shoulder with an unreadable expression. Was she afraid? He stopped and pulled off his hat, wiping a hand over his face in frustration. He didn’t want to scare her off by making her think he was a crazy stalker.

At a slower pace, he jogged down to the point on the beach where he thought the woman turned, but it was useless. He had lost track of her. And what would he say to her if he did find her? You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen? Yeah, that was original. But then again, his mind drifted as he remembered how she looked up at him in such an odd way. With a sigh, he kicked the sand and walked back to the hotel. His bandmates wouldn’t be up for hours, so he might as well work on some new songs.

***

At four o’clock sharp, Justin entered Starbucks. His agent sat at a corner table wearing sunglasses, typing on his phone. Graham Warner was forty-five years old but looked ten years younger. Educated at Eaton and Cambridge, he was always impeccably dressed in one of his Savile Row suits. When he signed Indigo, Graham had been one of the most successful agents in the U.K., but the music business had changed. He wasn’t quite as aggressive, or willing to take risks like other agents. But Indigo had remained with his agency, while other musicians left for more lucrative deals.

Are you hungover? Justin asked with a laugh, eyeing Graham’s dark shades. 

Knock it off. Graham glanced up from his phone. I was very productive last night.

Justin pulled out a chair and sat down. I’m here as requested.

Graham pushed a large black coffee across the table.

Thanks. Justin took a sip and looked up at his agent.

Graham took his glasses off and ran his hands over his face, focusing his attention on Justin. How long have we known each other?

Ages, Justin said, taking another sip of his coffee.

When I first signed Indigo, you and the others were so young. I’ll never forget when I first saw you perform at that talent show in Tetbury. You played a Moody Blues song, he said, shaking his head. I had no idea why you chose to play a classic song from the 60s, but I was impressed.

What song did we play? Justin asked with narrowed eyes.

Graham grinned. Tuesday Afternoon. 

Justin smiled at his agent. He remembered that night, too. His bandmates had met at school. They shared an interest in music, particularly The Moody Blues. They were such devoted fans that Justin insisted the group be named Indigo in honor of their favorite band. Indigo had achieved early success, but the last five years had been a struggle. Graham had surprised everyone by landing a three-night concert series in the fall at London’s acclaimed Royal Albert Hall. And rather than being a celebration of Indigo’s career, for Justin and his bandmates it was a farewell concert series.

Graham pointed an index finger at Justin and said, Many people in this industry didn’t appreciate your music. But the fans always did.

Very true, Justin said with a smile. Indigo had always been considered somewhat of an oddity by contemporary music standards. Their music wasn’t hip hop, rap, or heavy metal. They weren’t pop enough, alternative enough, or God forbid, hipster enough. Their music fell somewhere between independent and singer/songwriter. Music critics often dismissed their symphonic arrangements as superfluous and their lyrics as sentimental. One review even described them as a Moody Blues tribute band. But despite the criticism, their loyal fan base continued to support their musical endeavors.

And so, here we are, Graham said, leaning back in his chair, years later, sitting in a Starbucks, in Santa Monica, of all places. He laughed and sipped his espresso.

It’s a bit surreal, isn’t it? Justin chuckled.

Graham cleared his throat. I’m glad you decided to do this tour, Justin. It’s been a while since Indigo has been in LA.

I agree. So, why did you want to meet with me in private?

Graham’s eyebrows lifted. I think I’ve found a producer who is interested in your solo project.

Justin stared at his agent. Really? I assumed you put an end to that idea. Something about how the fans would never go for it, much less a producer.

True. I still don’t like the idea. Indigo is a tight group, and it should stay that way, but—

But the guys are all married now, with families, Justin said with a sigh. We’ve made a fortune over the years, and I can sense they want to retire.

And you don’t, Graham replied matter-of-factly.

No, I don’t, Justin said, raising his voice. I write every day. I have a lot of ideas for new songs, but the guys don’t seem to be as interested anymore.

Ready for something new? Graham asked with a grin.

What’s the offer?

I met Phil Rothstein last night.

Phil Rothstein? Justin leaned forward. He’s a legend.

He is, and he’s always on the lookout for new projects. He’s also interested in backing a solo project for you.

Justin’s lips tightened. What’s the catch?

Graham took another sip of coffee and mumbled into his cup, He wants you to do an album of covers first.

What? Justin cried. I write and perform my own music. I’m not ready to be the next old rock star exploring the Great American Songbook! He ran his hands through his hair. I’m not Rod Stewart, for fuck’s sake!

Christ, Graham hissed, glancing around. Get a hold of yourself. No one is comparing you to Rod. But he made a bloody fortune singing those songs. It was a smart business decision.

Forget it. Justin pushed his chair back and got to his feet. This was a waste of my time. If I wanted to sing other people’s songs, I’d find a karaoke night somewhere.

For the love of God, will you sit down and let me finish? Graham said with exasperation. Just hear me out for a minute.

Justin sat down again, crossed his arms across his chest, and glared at his agent. All right, Graham. You have my undivided attention.

Graham paused for a moment before saying, Rothstein has always been a huge fan of yours.

Justin rolled his eyes.

It’s true, Graham said with a chuckle. He loves your voice. And he’s letting you choose which songs you want to cover.

And why would he do that? Justin grumbled. I’m sure Rothstein already has an idea of what he wants me to record.

He has faith in your judgment.

Justin looked his agent in the eye. How can this project help my solo career?

Rothstein believes if you record an album of covers, the public will get an opportunity to rediscover you. Graham shifted in his seat and said in a hushed voice, They might not accept you on your own. Rothstein can help.

Justin couldn’t deny there was truth in what he said. Indigo fans were fiercely loyal. There was no telling how they would react to him going solo.

You have a chance to redefine yourself, Graham said.

I don’t know, Graham, Justin said with a shake of his head. He sounded defensive, but this was uncertain territory, and he wasn’t sure this was the right project for him.

It’s a way for your fans to get reacquainted with you.

Justin waved a dismissive hand. By singing songs written by someone else.

Yes, by someone else, Graham said with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. For years, I’ve heard you humming or whistling other people’s songs. You’re a fan of not only The Moody Blues but so many other groups.

I can cover those songs? Justin asked. His mind filled with some of his favorite old songs.

Graham’s faced relaxed into a knowing smile. I told you, Rothstein is a fan. You have carte blanche. You can choose any song you want.

And once I’ve finished the covers album? Then what? Justin fidgeted with his coffee cup.

You get your own album, Graham answered evenly.

It’s that simple? It was an attractive offer, but too many deals fell apart because of the strings attached.

Yes, Graham emphasized with a nod.

Will I return to LA to record after the Albert Hall concerts?

No. Rothstein wants to begin as soon as possible. You’ll stay behind and finish the album before returning to London.

What? Justin leaned forward and frowned at his agent. That’s impossible.

Graham adjusted his tie. It is possible. You’re not recording a double album. Indigo has been on the road, so the band only has to rehearse two weeks before the concert.

Justin sat back in his chair. I still don’t believe it’s that simple.

Graham shrugged. Okay, don’t take my word for it. You have a meeting with Rothstein after the concert tonight.

Rothstein will be at the gig?

Yes, he will. Perhaps for an encore, you can sing one of those songs you’re always humming to yourself, Graham said, glancing at his phone again. He gave Justin a nod and answered an incoming call.

Justin recalled his morning on the beach: the sunrise, the runaway dog, and the mysterious, beautiful woman. I’ll think of something, he said with a broad smile. Justin walked out of Starbucks whistling the perfect song.

CHAPTER 4

Lucy

When Lucy got home from work, she stripped off her dress and took a quick shower. She deliberately stayed away from the Varangian Cross today because she wanted some time to process what had happened. As she tipped her head back, letting the warm water run down her body, her thoughts turned to this morning. Her walk on the beach had been peaceful until it was interrupted by Lola running away from her. But, if she hadn’t chased after Lola, would she have met the handsome man with a deep English accent?

He was friendly and his blue eyes beckoned to her. He seemed familiar, but that was impossible. And yet, he had asked if he knew her. That was strange. She would have remembered someone that gorgeous. Unfortunately, Lola took off again before she had a chance to talk to him. She had heard him calling after her, but when she looked over her shoulder, he had stopped dead in his tracks. She thought he was interested in her, but maybe he changed his mind. 

The encounter had distracted her all day. He said his name was Justin, and if he lived nearby, there might be a chance she would run into him again. Lucy surprised herself by admitting she hoped she would see him again.

Lucy rummaged through her closet and decided to wear her favorite jeans with a button-down white shirt, and ballet flats. Her jeans were old, but comfortable. She tucked in the shirt and took a final look in the mirror, and sighed. It was a boring outfit, but she was going to a rock concert with her best friend, not on a date.

Hurry up, Lucy, Colleen said as she knocked on the front door and let herself in. We’ll be late.

I’ll be right there, Lucy yelled.

Colleen crossed her arms and scowled when Lucy walked out of her bedroom. Is that what you’re wearing?

What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Lucy asked, gesturing to her outfit.

What happened to your Indigo T-shirt? She pointed to her own vintage Indigo T-shirt and tight jeans. Colleen was a tall, long-legged blonde with straight, shoulder-length hair that was usually pulled back into a ponytail.

I forgot. Anyway, my jeans are blue, Lucy said, picking up her purse.

My friend the non-conformist. Colleen sighed, opening the door. Let’s go. We don’t want to miss the first song.

***

Once inside the Backbeat, Colleen issued orders. I’ll go scope out a good spot, and you get the drinks.

People were practically on top of one another to get to the bar. Lucy did her best to push her way to a bartender, but she kept getting shoved aside. A few guys smiled at her, and she did her best to ignore the leering stare of one of them. She glanced down at her shirt and realized why he was waggling his eyebrows: a button had opened and the swell of her breasts was clearly on display.

I expected everyone to wear an Indigo shirt tonight, but I’m glad you didn’t, said a deep male voice to her right.

Lucy could feel herself blush and looked to see who was speaking to her. He was tall with short dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. He smiled, and raised an eyebrow as he waited for her response.

She turned away and buttoned her shirt. When she turned back, the mystery man cocked his head and smiled. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I guess you had a shirt malfunction.

Lucy gave him a tight smile. Something like that. She hadn’t worn this shirt for a while, and now, she remembered why.

They finally made their way up to the bar when the man leaned in closer. Let me buy you a drink as an apology. What would you like? My name is Matt, by the way, what’s yours?

Lucy ignored the question, turning her attention back to the bar.

The bartender rapped his knuckles on the bar. What’s your order, pretty lady?

I’d like a glass of Chardonnay and a Cosmo, please.

The bartender laughed, and looked over her head at another customer. No Cosmos here. And we only serve a generic white or red wine.

Let me, said Matt. Two Heinekens and two— he said, glancing at Lucy.

Coronas. And two shots of tequila. Lucy added at the last minute. God, why did she ask for tequila shots?

Matt’s eyes twinkled, and he grinned. Why, you’re full of surprises. What’s your name? he asked, tossing money on the bar.

Lucy, she replied in a muffled voice.

Well, Lucy. Let’s take these drinks and find a table. He gripped the necks of the beers and Lucy picked up the shots.

The Backbeat was a legendary club in Los Angeles. The main room was lined with cheap oak paneling and covered with posters from past concerts. The lights were low, and the room smelled like decades worth of beer and sweat. I’m with a friend, she shouted as she scanned the room for Colleen. She searched the room, but couldn’t see her friend anywhere.

But Matt was already on the move and navigated his way through the crowd on the floor.

Lucy had no choice but to follow him and keep an eye out for Colleen.

Over here! Colleen yelled from a table near the right side of the stage.

Lucy weaved in and out of the crowd until she got closer to their table, the tequila spilling out of the shot glasses each time someone bumped into her. By the time she reached their table, the once-full shot glasses were almost empty.

Tequila! Colleen shouted as she tossed back a shot.

Lucy handed her friend the second shot. Matt was seated at a smaller nearby table with another guy. He smiled as he walked in her direction.

Here you are, Matt said when he arrived at their table.

Hi there, Colleen greeted. Realizing he was with a friend, Colleen offered, Why don’t you guys join us? We have a bigger table, and it’s closer to the stage.

Matt motioned to his buddy to come over, and Lucy noticed a tall, blond guy stride over to join them.

Colleen said, Are you a Viking or something? I think you’re the tallest guy I’ve ever seen.

"My name is Erik, with a k, not a c," he said, leaning down to Colleen with a wide grin.

Wow. You are a Viking! Colleen squealed as they all took a seat at the table.

The four of them passed the time laughing, drinking, and getting better acquainted. Matt turned out to be a charmer. He finished graduate school several years ago and was climbing the corporate ladder of advertising, but spent much of his free time volunteering at ART 4 US 2, a non-profit that introduced children to the arts.

Why did you volunteer with that art program?

I always loved art projects as a kid, but my parents thought it was a waste of time. He paused, taking a sip of beer. I would have loved to have majored in art, but it didn’t work out. So now I volunteer. Helping kids discover their artistic talent is rewarding. What about you?

I’m in graduate school. Art history. Maybe it was the beer, but Lucy didn’t feel as shy as she often did around men.

That’s great! Matt exclaimed with a broad smile, his eyes lingering on hers.

It was louder in the club, and becoming more difficult to have a conversation, so Lucy and Matt had to talk with their heads close together. She caught Colleen’s eye as her head nodded slightly in approval.

The lights dimmed, and the announcer