Casey never would’ve guessed what the three-story, rectangular brick building housed had she not already known. It looked like an old warehouse with large windows dotting the unimpressive facade, HVAC units protruding from the roof, and a small green awning marking the entrance.
She rang the buzzer beside the wrought iron and glass door stenciled with the school’s name. Inside, an older woman at a desk acknowledged them with a sparkle in her eyes and a nod, then released the lock with the push of a button.
Casey held the door open for Mark to enter ahead of her, a little intimidated all of a sudden. But once inside, she inhaled and relaxed. If a scent could make her feel at home, the smell of Atelier Vaughn came close. Her lungs filled with cool air redolent of a mixture of floor wax, jasmine, and coffee. She smiled at the familiar and welcoming scents in what would be her home for the next two years.
The interior of the building looked stunning in contrast to the exterior. What economy had forsaken outside received just attention in here. Casey’s rubber-soled sneakers squeaked on the immaculately polished hardwood floor in the art gallery, and she stared at the framed sketches on the walls in awe.
“Welcome.” The woman came around her desk to greet them. “I’m Maxine Shipton.”
Casey blinked. She should’ve worn something besides jeans and a SummerStage T-shirt she’d had for years. “Mrs. Shipton?” The woman was the epitome of class. She wore a tailored skirt and jacket with a white silk blouse, and her pumps matched the fabric of her suit. Her jet-black hair fell to her chin and looked like it cost her a fortune in the salon each week.
Casey struggled to recover from her surprise. “I…um…I’m Casey Norford. Thank you so much for my scholarship. I didn’t realize you’d be here today.”
“Oh, so you’re Casey. Please, call me Maxine.” She extended her hand. “And, yes, I run the gallery for Leighton.”
Maxine’s delicate skin reminded Casey of the same baby softness of her grandmother’s. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I looked forward to putting a face with your name today. Your art impressed me. I think you have much to offer with a bit of guidance.” She leaned in and touched Casey’s forearm as if revealing a secret. “I think Leighton is the perfect instructor to give you just that.”
“Thank you.” Casey wasn’t sure how to express the enormity of her gratitude. She pressed her hand to her chest. “Your generosity means so much to me. I wouldn’t be here without it.”
Maxine studied her. “Something tells me you would’ve found your way.” She turned toward Mark and grasped his hand. “And you must be Mark. I see the familial resemblance to Erica around your eyes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shuffled from foot to foot.
“Please, call me Maxine or Mrs. Shipton, if you must. Anything but ma’am. It makes me sound old.”
“Maxine.” He gave her a boyish grin.
“It’s nice to meet both of you.” She motioned to the rooms behind her. “Why don’t you wander through the gallery? Once everyone arrives, the group will head upstairs together.” With that, she returned to her desk and left them to explore.
The gallery comprised three rooms, one opening into the next in shotgun style. Casey and Mark circled the first. In addition to the reception desk, it held small works of what appeared to be students’ drawings. A printed sign near the front explained how students earned ninety percent of the proceeds when their artwork sold through the gallery.
“Did you know this?” Casey motioned to it as she marveled at an exquisite figure drawing done in charcoal on blue-toned paper and highlighted with white chalk. It featured a woman facing away, and the likelihood a student had drawn it from life was high.
“Yeah, Erica sold a couple of pieces here last year.” Mark moved to the next display. “The gallery has a small but loyal following. Collectors like to get in early on artists they perceive as up and coming. Erica sold a few pieces for other students, too, and even one of Leighton’s paintings.”
“Erica works here?” Casey turned. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nah, it’s like volunteering, but sort of mandatory. Everybody does it. The upside is you get a commission if you sell something. They have it set up so everyone gets a cut. What’s good for one is good for all. Erica said it encourages students to promote the sale of all the artists. I’m sure they’ll explain.” He walked through the large open doorway into the next gallery.
Casey followed, pondering the ramifications of the revelation. “This might be the best news I’ve heard all week. I’ve wanted to quit the coffeehouse for a while now.” She twirled her finger in a circle. “It’ll be nice having my classes and a source of income in one place, as long as I make enough money doing it.”
“I guarantee your drawings and paintings will sell. Erica gets a check every month.” He lowered his voice. “And you’re a better artist than she is.”
Shocked, Casey jerked her head to look at him. Erica was his family. He’d said nothing of that nature to her before. “Thanks.” The one-word response was all she could manage.
The second gallery, which appeared to be the largest of the three, held paintings. Were they, too, done by students like the drawings in the previous room? The works were masterful and nuanced, museum quality. Her doubts from earlier about whether she’d made the right decision by applying for acceptance at Atelier Vaughn instead of working to pay off her debt took flight like freed doves at a wedding. The digital renditions of the art produced at the atelier on their website didn’t do them justice. If she graduated having gained these skills, the sacrifices she’d have to make over the next two years wouldn’t matter. She’d live on beans and rice if it meant learning to paint like this.
Mark pointed to a canvas. “This one’s Erica’s.”
The buzzer at the front door sounded, and Mrs. Shipton welcomed someone new, but Casey’s attention remained riveted on the beauty and technique around her. She stopped beside Mark, and they studied Erica’s piece.
Bold brush strokes sometimes extended into surrounding areas with a flourish. They gave it an energy, an electricity.
Casey liked it, although she couldn’t imagine painting in that style. She’d never been that flamboyant. “Will it be strange to learn from your cousin?”
“I don’t think so. She’s been teaching me all my life. Erica watched me when Mom had to work, so she got stuck entertaining me. She relied on crayons and markers to keep me out of trouble.”
They continued to wander around the room.
Voices from the reception area, now perhaps four or five, grew louder. Casey tensed, listening more closely. Was one Devin’s? As casually as she could, she glanced behind her. No. Not yet, at least. Being in the same class as her ex-boyfriend was the only drawback to starting at the school this year, but she’d decided not to let her past hinder her future.
Mark smiled astutely. “Will it be awkward being in class with Devin?”
She hated it when he read her mind, and he did it often. Before she could speak, a painting caught her eye and stole her breath. All she could do was point.
“What?” Mark turned in the direction.
“Look at that.” Her voice came out a degree above a whisper. She couldn’t have torn her gaze from the canvas if the building were on fire. “It’s magnificent.”
She inched closer and stared at the captivating nude lying half on her side, half on her stomach, her breasts pressed into the bed. Sunlight streamed in from an unseen window, illuminating her curves and the folds of the sheet.
Casey’s breath quickened, and a strong temptation to reach out and run her hand along the woman’s body, to explore each hill and valley, almost overcame her.
The painting drew her to it with a magnetism she’d never experienced from a work of art. She wanted to feel the thickness of the sheets between her fingers and touch the draped creases of the fabric. The material looked smooth like percale and translucent where the sunlight hit it. Despite the warm invitation of the painted room, the tableau portrayed a solemn mood, as if she’d intruded on a private moment. Her heart pounded.
Beside her, Mark leaned in. “God, that’s beautiful.” He gestured to the placard. “It’s Leighton’s.”
“Leighton’s.” Casey’s tone sounded reverent, even to her. Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to blink them away.
Mark turned in a circle, scanning the room. “Oh, I just realized. Our instructors painted all the art in this gallery. The pieces on this wall are Leighton’s, and those over there are Stefan’s.” When she didn’t answer, he studied her. “You’re pale. Are you all right? You should’ve eaten more for breakfast.”
She continued to stare at the painting.
“You’re not going all Stendhal on me, are you?”
More people entered the room as he poked fun at her. His quip broke her trance. She laughed and took a step back. “Of course not. I don’t believe in that sort of thing. I just like it.”
Mark exhaled a low, even breath. “I’d give my non-brush hand to paint like that.” He glanced at his phone. “I wonder how much longer we have. I’m going to find a bathroom.” He headed toward the front.
A ding sounded. Someone else arriving? No, it wasn’t the buzzer at the front door. But neither the thought nor the noise distracted her from admiring the stunning image in front of her some more.
She leaned closer to view the brushwork. At this distance, her nose inches away, she often found herself in trouble in museums by either setting off alarms or receiving verbal warnings from the gallery attendants. However, she couldn’t become the artist she yearned to be if she couldn’t examine the brush strokes. The accent light mounted on the ceiling highlighted the exquisite, intricate details of the work, but when Casey tilted her head for an even better look, instead of finding the individual strands of the woman’s hair depicted, as she’d expected, masses of tone comprised it. What appeared as blocks of light and dark up close became lustrous waves when Casey stepped back.
And when she did, she smacked into someone.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She tried to regain her balance, and the firm hands on her shoulders helped. “I didn’t know anyone was behind me.”
Those same hands, strong and steadying, turned her.
Casey stood face-to-face with Leighton Vaughn. If the painting had captivated her, the woman who’d painted it put her awe into perspective.
When she’d imagined this day, she’d envisioned Leighton in artist’s garb, like paint-splattered coveralls and a bandana, but she wore an impeccable gray skirt and matching jacket, crisp white shirt, and knee-high black boots that hugged her calves. Her glossy, light brown hair brushed her shoulders. More than all that, though, she had a regal presence with her straight back and confident air.
One single thought occupied Casey’s mind. Damn. Leighton’s Wikipedia photos hadn’t affected her like this. Nor had her reputation or the acceptance letter to Atelier Vaughn she’d received. Or even the full-ride scholarship. What was this?
Leighton’s intense brown eyes enthralled her the most. Like a shot of espresso, they possessed a richness and depth. Casey had a sense she knew her, although she was certain they hadn’t met before. She’d have remembered. They stared at one another a beat before Leighton squeezed Casey’s shoulders, then released her.
“Steady now?”
Casey’s mouth went dry. “I am, thanks. And sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”
“You mentioned that.” A gleam of amusement flashed in Leighton’s eyes.
What a lousy first impression. Maybe if Casey didn’t mention her name, Leighton might forget who almost bowled her over. But what could she say? “Did I hurt you?” It was the only thing that came to her.
Leighton executed a graceful wave down the length of her torso as though advertising a Murano glass vase on the Home Shopping Network. “Do I appear injured, Casey?”
So much for going incognito.
“No. You look great.” Oh, no. Had her voice lowered? Had her eyes lingered anywhere too long? Heat climbed up her neck and face, all the way to the tips of her ears. “I mean—” she cleared her throat. “no, you don’t look injured.” She swallowed and motioned like Leighton had done, but her movement looked clumsy, like she had a broken wrist. “You look…normal.” She wanted to bolt outside and throw herself into traffic. It’d be less painful than this conversation.
“Normal?” Leighton arched her eyebrow. “No one’s ever given me a compliment quite like that before.”
Casey winced. Kill me now. She rubbed her eyes. “Can I start again?” She indicated the painting. “This did something to me, so I blame you. From the moment I saw it, I’ve been a bumbling, babbling mess.”
“You blame me?” Leighton appeared to be holding back a smile.
The tiny lines near the corners of her mouth that Casey hadn’t noticed before now captured her attention. Staring. She was staring. She spun around, fixating on the painting. Its allure bewitched her again. “This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my entire life.”
Leighton remained silent until Casey faced her again. Then she smiled.
“Now that’s a compliment,” she said, her voice low and melodic. She squeezed Casey’s elbow. “Come. It’s time.”
At Leighton’s touch, Casey warmed all over. She inhaled, then exhaled, and didn’t choke. No stumbling or tripping, either. Whatever effect Leighton’s painting had on her seemed to have passed, and she relaxed. Maybe she’d survive her first day after all.
Apart from her stunning looks, what impressed Casey most about Leighton was the magnetic effect she had on everyone. By the time she’d called for the other students to join her in front of the elevator, they’d already drawn close, like tourists viewing The Starry Night over at MOMA.
“I’m Leighton. Welcome to Atelier Vaughn.” She did a head count. “This is a small compartment, so we’ll do this in two groups.” She held the doors open. “Second-year students, your codes and key cards are the same as last year. You’ll go first.”
Mark and Casey waited as the others filed by.
Erica tousled Mark’s hair as she passed him.
He leaned away from her touch, his cheeks reddening. “Hey. I didn’t see you come in.”
Her brown hair was a shade darker than his, but her legs were just as long, bringing her almost to his height. Where his shaggy bangs almost obscured his vision, she kept hers stylishly short.
Someone bumped into Casey. “Hey.” It was Devin.
She hadn’t seen him in months. He wore his blond hair longer now, and it looked like he’d started working out. She caught a whiff of his favorite cologne, one she’d never cared for. “Devin.” She tried to hide her annoyance in her quiet reply, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Leighton watching them, which made her uneasy.
Erica inserted a card into a slot, and the doors slid shut.
As soon as the elevator began its ascent, Leighton pressed the button on the wall to summon it again. She faced them as they waited.
Not wanting her to think she was with Devin somehow, Casey stepped away from him to stand closer to Mark. She’d stood between them many times, but now it seemed strange.
Devin and Mark had been friends their freshman year. They played on the same intramural basketball team and had a handful of art classes together. It’d been a convenient friendship, born of proximity more than anything, and it’d fizzled when Casey and Devin’s romantic relationship had come to its disappointing end. While they all remained civil, Casey and Mark no longer interacted with Devin in social settings, even though Mark still saw him at work. Devin had gotten him a job at his family’s framing store.
Through Mark, Erica had become friends with Devin and had helped him get into Atelier Vaughn, too. Kismet? Maybe he’d remember to return Casey’s precious copy of The Art of Still Life.
Casey didn’t know the fourth student in their class, a young woman with curly hair and glasses.
“So, my first years.” Leighton crossed her arms and assessed them.
Everyone gave her their attention. Heat rushed to Casey’s cheeks when Leighton’s gaze lingered on her. Self-conscious, she shrugged out of her backpack for something to do, just in case the elevator’s small compartment required it for five of them to squeeze inside when it returned.
Mark did the same.
Casey expected some formal introductions to follow, but the lack thereof hung heavy in the air. It appeared Leighton’s confidence extended into silences. No one said anything until the elevator dinged its arrival, and they filed inside.
Casey entered last and jumped at the brush of Leighton’s hand across her lower back. Her flinch had to have been apparent, but when she turned, Leighton faced the panel of buttons like nothing had happened. Maybe she’d guided her to make sure everyone fit. If only the heat in Casey’s cheeks would cool before the crowded compartment came to a stop and she had to face everyone again. Her awareness of the warmth of Leighton’s body and the millimeters separating them consumed her attention.
Then the faint scent of a sweet perfume, light yet heady, drifted over her, caressing her senses. Before she could stop herself, she closed her eyes and breathed it in. It might not even have been Leighton’s—it could’ve been wafting off the woman with curly hair—but in that moment, if for Casey only, it was Leighton’s. She allowed herself to enjoy it as she faced forward until the doors opened and freed her from the claustrophobic confines and the scent that tempted her to think things she shouldn’t.
What greeted her when she exited the elevator made her heart beat faster. If she could fall in love at first sight with a room, she had. With its gleaming maple underfoot and perfect lighting, the grand floor plan extended before her. She glanced up at the high ceilings, the exposed ductwork, and the complex grid of lights hanging above the array of easels in the airy space and grinned, knowing this was where she’d spend most of her time over the next few years.
As Leighton rounded to address the group, she smiled at Casey as if she could read her thoughts. “Now that everyone’s together, let’s do some introductions. Come.” She strode away, the heels of her boots tapping against the floor.
She walked past a small kitchenette toward a cluster of older but comfortable-looking sofas and chairs that formed a ring around a large coffee table strewn with art books and magazines. Shelving filled with more of the same occupied the wall between two windows behind the furniture grouping, creating a tiny library.
A man who’d been sitting at the kitchen table eating a doughnut joined them. He was a couple inches shorter than Leighton, and definitely didn’t have her fashion sense. His baggy jeans and threadbare T-shirt looked straight from his hamper.
“Make yourselves at home.” Leighton leaned her hip against the end of a sofa, half-sitting and half-standing as she waited for everyone to settle.
Casey sank into a gray sofa, and Mark sat next to her with the curly-haired woman on her other side. A few people lowered themselves cross-legged onto the area rug with their backs resting against the plush furniture.
After Casey’s bizarre reactions to Leighton downstairs and in the elevator, being sandwiched between Mark and the woman beside her gave her some solace. But Leighton surveyed the group until she found her, and a fresh wave of uneasiness washed over her. What was going on? Casey studied her fingernails and attempted to brush off the unnerving feeling as jitters.
“I assume you all know who I am.” Leighton flashed a smile that held a hint of amusement. “So, I’d like to introduce you to your other instructor.” She extended her hand toward the man still munching on his doughnut. “This is Stefan Jovic. He graduated from Rhode Island School of Design, and he’s taught at various colleges and universities for more time than he’d like to admit. He’ll be sharing teaching duties with me. If I’m not in your class with you, Stefan will be. Be aware, you can bribe him with sweets.”
He nodded and stuffed the last bite in his mouth in agreement.
“To his right,” Leighton pointed, “is Erica Fitzgerald, our new teaching assistant.”
Casey could tell Erica was uncomfortable beneath the bright smile she gave everyone, but even Erica’s discomfort couldn’t dampen her elation at earning the position. She’d been talking about it for months.
“Erica completed her first year at the atelier and will help run the classes this year while she also continues her own studies. I don’t recommend trying her protein bites if she offers. They’re terrible.”
Erica chuckled and gave a little wave. “Hi, everyone. They’re healthy, not terrible. Leighton’s not a fan of flaxseed.”
“Flax is fine if it’s involved in making linen or linseed oil, but I draw the line at having it in my food.”
To Casey’s delight, Leighton looked haughtier than anyone had a right.
“We’re thrilled to have her assisting us, and I think you’ll learn a lot from her, even if she’s related to you.” Leighton winked at Mark.
The football player Casey hadn’t known lived inside her wanted to leap in front of him, body sprawled out, to intercept it. She wanted to clutch it to her chest and claim it as hers. For reasons she didn’t comprehend, she wished Leighton had winked at her. The realization bothered her, almost as much as her other reactions to Leighton did.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. First-day nerves, seeing Devin again, and her uneasiness since meeting Leighton caused her insides to surge. She tried to calm herself with a few deep breaths.
“Let’s start with you.” Leighton looked at the young man sitting on the floor beside Erica. “Please introduce yourself and tell us something about you unrelated to art.”
He wore a Rage Against the Machine hoodie that looked new and a Yankees hat that looked like it might have witnessed Babe Ruth call his shot. He gave her a crooked grin. “You always make me go first. For those who don’t know me, my name is Jaiden Delgado, and I’m the fourth of five kids and the only male.”
Great. Casey increased her focus on her breathing as her apprehension rose. What was she going to share? Something else to freak out about.
“Thank you, Jaiden. I can’t imagine what having four sisters is like. I often wondered last year if that’s why you spent so many hours in the studio.” Leighton laughed softly and looked to the guy sitting beside him. She raised her eyebrows in evident expectation.
In contrast to Casey, Leighton appeared calm and self-assured. With a hand on the back of the sofa to support herself, she’d crossed one booted leg over the other and ran her fingers through her wavy hair. Meanwhile, Casey’s anxiety bloomed. She’d never had a panic attack. Was this what it felt like? But what was she panicking over?
“Phoenix Murray,” the guy said.
His gentle voice seemed incongruous with his large, athletic body.
“My pronouns are he/him or they/them.”
Casey didn’t catch all he said.
“…played lacrosse at St. John’s.”
“Remind me. What position did you play?” Leighton looked to the ceiling as if trying to recall.
“Attacker.” When Leighton furrowed her brow, he explained. “I like to score.”
Jaiden snickered and flashed the room his perfect grin. Phoenix’s jab to Jaiden’s leg told them more about Phoenix than his lacrosse tidbit ever could.
Leighton failed to hold back her smile as she looked at Devin. “And you?”
“My name’s Devin Glasco. My family owns a framing business, and three generations of us work there.”
Casey already knew this. And didn’t a framing business have to do with art? Beyond a nostalgic moment of missing his grandfather’s homemade hot chocolate, dry humor, and cigar scent, Devin’s voice swept past as she battled her nerves.
“That’s wonderful, Devin. I’m sure you can enlighten us when it comes time to frame our works.” Leighton turned toward the woman with curly hair sitting beside Casey. “And you?”
Casey watched her lips move but missed what she said. Her smile appeared sincere and innocent, though.
“How long have you volunteered there, Jenna?”
“About three years.”
Casey tried to focus on the conversation while remembering to breathe. She’d missed whatever had started as a volunteer requirement for Jenna.
“Good for you, Jenna. And you?” Leighton directed the question to the brunette sitting on the floor in front of her, but her glance landed on Casey for a second or two.
Why did she keep doing that? Casey shifted nervously.
“I’m Mikala Ng. I’m a weekend warrior, National Guard, that is.” Her pride was as clear as her well-developed biceps in her gray camouflage T-shirt.
“If she needs them, Mikala will have extended deadlines following the weekend each month she trains, but her service is important.” Leighton gave Mikala a nod before turning toward Mark.
She grinned at him. “Now that you’re here, I’m hoping you’ll regale us with embarrassing stories or photos from Erica’s childhood.”
Mark chuckled. “Hey, I’m Mark. Erica’s my cousin if you hadn’t picked up on that. Uh, what can I tell you about me?” He scratched his head. “I enjoy playing NBA 2K23, if anyone’s into that.”
Jaiden held out his fist for a bump. “Oh, yeah.”
It was time, the moment Casey had been dreading.
Leighton turned to her and smiled. “I wanted to introduce you last.” She addressed the others but gestured in Casey’s direction. “I’d like to congratulate the recipient of the Shipton Endowment for the Arts Scholarship, Casey Norford.” She clapped, and everyone else joined in.
In an instant, Casey’s anxiety disappeared. Her hands no longer trembled, and she could breathe. Leighton’s smile and congratulations left her more euphoric than when she’d received the scholarship months ago.
The applause dwindled, and Leighton nodded at her.
“Thank you. Hi, I’m Casey.”
“Well, Casey. Tell us something about yourself.”
Casey had never liked her plain name, but she did when Leighton said it. The way she drew out the syllables in such a languid way made it sound beautiful. That didn’t help Casey in her quest for something interesting to say, though.
She didn’t have siblings or play video games. Where she’d earned her degree was boring. Besides, her education had fallen short of her expectations, so why draw attention to it? She didn’t have hobbies outside of art. Her life held no time for that. And, Leighton had asked for something non art-related. That eliminated her job at the art supply store.
So, with everyone’s focus on her, including Leighton’s, she chose. After all, the decision had been the most important she’d ever made. She included nothing about it in her application because she didn’t want it to influence her acceptance or rejection. It wasn’t something she could hide for long, though, nor would she want to. She chose the one thing that guided her every step. She inhaled and looked at Leighton.
“I have a two-year-old son. His name is Andy.”