in one hour,” he said. “We’ll see how you’re doing.”
Angie followed his stride , as he moved toward the door. Sporting a hunter-green knit shirt, his muscular arms captivated her. His six-foot frame—toned and lean. She slowly inhaled. His presence stirred an unexpected emotional response deep within her. Unable to look away, she dropped onto the sofa. This was nonsense. She had come to Knoxville to have some alone time to think about her marriage. Not to improve her craft. She replayed Vicki’s warning in her head. Could Vicki be right? Was she looking for something or someone to make her happy? Could the professor give her the life she wanted?
#
Angie turned from her watercolor creation as the professor entered. He carried a round silver tray laden with a red-ceramic teakettle, and matching china cups and saucers. In addition, the tray held matching bread and butter plates, and a floral-decorated platter with petite sandwiches.
“Is it time already?”
“Yes, my dear. Actually, I gave you an extra ten minutes. Hungry?”
Angie turned back to her painting. “I’m so nervous. I can’t eat until you tell me what you think.”
He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa and walked closer to her workspace. He stood in silence for several minutes staring at her canvas. “My Dear, this is good. The wet-on-wet composition shows a natural talent. Your color choices, balanced and yet bounce with life. If only I had a summer with you.”
Angie jumped up and squealed, “Really? You think I could be good?”
He gently put his right arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away. He whispered, “Yes, you have the gift. All we need is a few months to smooth out your rough edges. Can’t you give me the time?”
Angie stepped away and sighed. “Professor, you must understand. I’m married. I can’t just spend time away from home.”
“It’s a sacrifice. I can only imagine how hard it is to leave a loved one at home and devote one short summer to your dream.” He placed his arm around her shoulder again and pulled her closer. “But your painting is exceptional. You could be good enough to own the gallery of your dreams. Surely your husband will allow you the time necessary to reach your true potential.”
Angie bit her lips until it hurt.
“I only have time to help one gifted artist every summer,” he said, drawing a long breath. “ I want that student to be you.”
Moisture dampened the corners of her eyes. She flushed, not wanting to cry in front of this man. “I can’t. I just can’t. I should leave,” Angie said, and headed out the door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
As she found Mister Tubbs on the back porch, the professor caught up to her.
“I don’t want to pressure you.” He gasped, slightly out of breath. “My passion for the arts is so strong I forget myself at times. Forgive me.”
“I need to go. I have to call a cab. I can’t follow this dream. It’s too late.”
“Nonsense, I’ll drive you back to the hotel.” He patted her arm and stepped closer. “Please reconsider my offer. There is no such thing as too late. I see the qualit ies you possess.”
As the professor drove in silence, Angie slumped in the front passenger’s seat with Mister Tubbs tucked tightly in her arms. He snarled at the professor and watched his every move.
T hey reached the hotel, and the car slowed to a stop. Professor Turner came around to the passenger’s door and opened it for her. Then he retrieved the dog carrier from the backseat.
“May I call you next week? Accept my offer. The cottage would be yours for the summer. I would respect your privacy. We could meet daily for one-hour lessons and the rest of the time you would never see me.”
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for understanding.”
“Here’s my card, call anytime.” He pressed the business card into her hand. “If your husband loves you, he won’t destroy your dreams.”
Yes . An
Angie followed his stride , as he moved toward the door. Sporting a hunter-green knit shirt, his muscular arms captivated her. His six-foot frame—toned and lean. She slowly inhaled. His presence stirred an unexpected emotional response deep within her. Unable to look away, she dropped onto the sofa. This was nonsense. She had come to Knoxville to have some alone time to think about her marriage. Not to improve her craft. She replayed Vicki’s warning in her head. Could Vicki be right? Was she looking for something or someone to make her happy? Could the professor give her the life she wanted?
#
Angie turned from her watercolor creation as the professor entered. He carried a round silver tray laden with a red-ceramic teakettle, and matching china cups and saucers. In addition, the tray held matching bread and butter plates, and a floral-decorated platter with petite sandwiches.
“Is it time already?”
“Yes, my dear. Actually, I gave you an extra ten minutes. Hungry?”
Angie turned back to her painting. “I’m so nervous. I can’t eat until you tell me what you think.”
He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa and walked closer to her workspace. He stood in silence for several minutes staring at her canvas. “My Dear, this is good. The wet-on-wet composition shows a natural talent. Your color choices, balanced and yet bounce with life. If only I had a summer with you.”
Angie jumped up and squealed, “Really? You think I could be good?”
He gently put his right arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away. He whispered, “Yes, you have the gift. All we need is a few months to smooth out your rough edges. Can’t you give me the time?”
Angie stepped away and sighed. “Professor, you must understand. I’m married. I can’t just spend time away from home.”
“It’s a sacrifice. I can only imagine how hard it is to leave a loved one at home and devote one short summer to your dream.” He placed his arm around her shoulder again and pulled her closer. “But your painting is exceptional. You could be good enough to own the gallery of your dreams. Surely your husband will allow you the time necessary to reach your true potential.”
Angie bit her lips until it hurt.
“I only have time to help one gifted artist every summer,” he said, drawing a long breath. “ I want that student to be you.”
Moisture dampened the corners of her eyes. She flushed, not wanting to cry in front of this man. “I can’t. I just can’t. I should leave,” Angie said, and headed out the door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
As she found Mister Tubbs on the back porch, the professor caught up to her.
“I don’t want to pressure you.” He gasped, slightly out of breath. “My passion for the arts is so strong I forget myself at times. Forgive me.”
“I need to go. I have to call a cab. I can’t follow this dream. It’s too late.”
“Nonsense, I’ll drive you back to the hotel.” He patted her arm and stepped closer. “Please reconsider my offer. There is no such thing as too late. I see the qualit ies you possess.”
As the professor drove in silence, Angie slumped in the front passenger’s seat with Mister Tubbs tucked tightly in her arms. He snarled at the professor and watched his every move.
T hey reached the hotel, and the car slowed to a stop. Professor Turner came around to the passenger’s door and opened it for her. Then he retrieved the dog carrier from the backseat.
“May I call you next week? Accept my offer. The cottage would be yours for the summer. I would respect your privacy. We could meet daily for one-hour lessons and the rest of the time you would never see me.”
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for understanding.”
“Here’s my card, call anytime.” He pressed the business card into her hand. “If your husband loves you, he won’t destroy your dreams.”
Yes . An
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