They still had a long way to go, but they were on their way. Some of the hurdles ahead still frightened her, and she wasn't ready for them yet, and neither was he. But she knew that telling Adam and Charlie was a big one for him. She had no idea how they'd react to the news that she and Gray were as serious as they were. She hoped that Charlie wouldn't discourage him, or frighten him about her kids. She knew that that was Gray's one big Achilles' heel. He was phobic about kids, not only about having his own but about relating to someone else's. It didn't seem to matter to him that hers were adults and no longer children. He was panicked about getting attached to anyone to that degree. For a man who had spent a lifetime nurturing some of the most dysfunctional women on the planet, the one thing that terrified him was meeting, dealing with, or relating to their kids. To Sylvia, it appeared to be a completely irrational fear. But to Gray, it was real.

Gray helped her clean up the breakfast dishes, and he left for the studio first. She had some calls to make before she left for work. She wanted to call Emily and Gilbert. With the time difference, it was usually too late to call them when she got home from work. She hadn't said anything to them about Gray yet. Neither of them was coming home till Christmas. Sylvia thought there was plenty of time between now and then, three months in fact, to see how things were going with Gray, before she said anything to them. Both were out when she called that day, and she left loving messages on their answering machines. She stayed in close touch with her kids.

By the time Sylvia left for the gallery that day, Gray was already at the Yacht Club with Charlie. They were seated at his favorite table. It was an enormous elegant dining room, with vaulted ceilings, portraits of previous commodores, and ship models under glass around the room. Gray thought Charlie looked terrific, tan, fit, and rested.

“So how was the end of the trip?” Gray asked conversationally, after they both ordered chef's salads.

“It was fine. We didn't really go anywhere after you left. I had work to do, and the crew started doing some repairs. It was just nice to be on the boat, instead of here in the apartment.” He had been finding it lonely and depressing of late, and he was feeling restless. “So tell me about the gallery you signed with. Wechsler-Hinkley, isn't it?” It was an impressive name in the art world. “How did that happen? Did they just find you?” Charlie was happy for him. No one deserved it more than Gray. He had an enormous talent. “Or did you find them?” Charlie was smiling broadly in anticipation of the story.

“Actually, a friend gave me an introduction,” he said cautiously. Sylvia had made him nervous about Charlie's reaction, which he knew was silly. But now he felt anxious, and he looked it.

“What kind of friend?” Charlie asked with interest. He didn't know what or why, but there was something smoky about the story.

“A friend friend …you know… actually…a woman,” Gray said, feeling like a schoolboy reporting to his father.

“Now there's a twist,” Charlie said, looking amused. “What kind of woman? Do I know her? Is there a new wounded bird in your nest these days? One who works at a gallery, with good connections? If so, how clever of you,” Charlie praised him. But it wasn't what he thought. Gray wasn't dating some secretary who had asked her boss to see him. There was no wounded bird in Gray's nest, but rather a dynamo who had taken him under her wing, and flown like an eagle.

“Actually, I don't think it was clever. More like lucky.”

“There's no luck involved in this, and you know it,” Charlie said, echoing Sylvia's words to him. “You've got a major talent. If anyone got lucky, my friend, they did. But you're not answering my question.” Charlie's eyes met Gray's and held them. “Who's the woman? Or is she a secret?” Maybe she was married. That had happened to him before too, runaway wives who claimed they were separated, and weren't, or had an “arrangement.” And then their husbands showed up and tried to kill him. He had played out every disastrous scenario possible in the years of his eternal bachelorhood. Occasionally, Charlie worried about him. One of these days, an abusive ex-boyfriend of one of his nutcases was going to shoot him. “You're not in a mess again, I hope, are you?” Charlie looked worried, and Gray laughed ruefully as he shook his head.

“No, I'm not. But I've got a hell of a reputation, don't I? I guess I deserve it. I've dated some lulus.” He sighed and shook his head again, and decided to brave it. “But not this time. And yes, I'm seeing someone. But this one is different.” He said it proudly.

“Who is she? Do I know her?” Charlie was curious who the woman of the hour was. But whoever she was, Gray looked happy, Charlie had noticed. He looked relaxed, and pleased with life, very content, almost complacent. He looked as though he were on tranquilizers, or happy pills, but Charlie knew he wasn't. But there was an almost euphoric air about him.

“You've met her,” Gray said cryptically, still stalling, thinking of Sylvia's warnings.

“And? Do we need a drumroll?” Charlie teased him.

“You met her in Portofino.” He finally spat it out, but still looked nervous.

“I did? When?” Charlie's mind suddenly went blank. He couldn't remember anyone that Gray had dated on the trip. The only one who had scored on the trip was Adam in St. Tropez, Corsica, and Capri. Neither he nor Gray had dated anyone, as he recalled.

“Sylvia Reynolds,” Gray said calmly. “She was part of that whole group we met up with in Portofino and Sardinia.”

“Sylvia Reynolds? The art dealer?” Charlie looked stunned. He remembered Gray liking her and Adam teasing him about it, saying she wasn't his type, that she wasn't crazy enough, or in fact at all. Charlie remembered her perfectly. He had liked her. And apparently so did Gray. It was hard to believe that they had gotten into mischief somewhere along the way. “When did that happen?” he asked, still looking somewhat astounded. He had suspected on the trip that they liked each other, but not necessarily enough to see each other after.

“It happened when I got back. We've been seeing each other for nearly a month. She's a lovely woman. She introduced me to Wechsler-Hinkley, and two other galleries, as soon as she saw my work. The next thing I knew, I'd been signed. She doesn't let much grass grow under her feet,” he said admiringly, smiling at his friend.

“Well, you certainly look happy,” Charlie said, adjusting to the concept. Gray had never spoken of any woman as he had now. “I hate to admit it, but I agreed with Adam. I didn't think she was your type.”

“She's not,” Gray laughed ruefully again. “I guess that's a good thing. I'm not used to being around a woman who can take care of herself, and really doesn't need me for anything except a good time and a roll in the hay.”

“Is that what it is?” Charlie asked with a look of interest. He was going to have a lot to report to Adam when he saw him the following night.

“No, it's not. Actually, it's a lot more than that. I've been staying with her every night.”

Charlie looked shocked. “You've been seeing her for a month, and you moved in? Isn't that a little hasty?” It sounded to Charlie as though Gray had traded places with the little birds with broken wings.

“I didn't move in,” Gray said quietly. “I said I'm sleeping there.”

“Every night?” Gray felt like a naughty schoolboy again. Charlie did not look pleased. “Don't you think things are moving a little too quickly here? You're not giving up your studio, are you?” Charlie sounded panicked.

“Of course not. I'm just having a good time with a wonderful woman, and enjoying her company. She's a hell of a woman. Smart, capable, normal, decent, funny, giving, loving. I don't know where she's been all these years, but in three and a half weeks, my whole life has changed.”

“Is that what you want?” Charlie asked him pointedly. “From the sound of it, you're in it up to your neck. That can be a dangerous thing. She could get ideas.”

“About what? Like she'd want to move into my shit-hole of an apartment? Or steal my thirty-year-old luggage maybe? She has better art books than I do. I guess she could always steal my paints. My couch is pretty well shot, and hers looks pretty good to me. My plants died while I was in Europe. And I don't have a decent towel to my name. I own two frying pans, six forks, and four plates. I'm not sure what you think she could get out of me, but whatever it is, I'd actually be happy to give it to her. Relationships can be difficult, but believe me, Charlie, this is the first woman I've ever gone out with who doesn't look dangerous to me. The others definitely were.”

“I don't mean she's after your money. But you know how women get. They have a lot of illusions, and construe things differently. You ask them out to dinner, and the next thing you know, they're trying on a wedding dress, and registering at Tiffany. I just don't want to see you get dragged into anything.”

“I promise you, Charlie, I'm not being dragged anywhere. Wherever this thing is going, I'm a willing passenger on the train.”

“Good Lord, are you going to marry her?” Charlie stared at Gray, his eyes huge in his face.

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “I haven't thought about marriage in years. I don't think she wants to. She's been married, and it doesn't sound like it was a great experience for her. Her husband walked out on her with a nineteen-year-old girl, after twenty years of marriage. She has kids, she says she's too old to want more. Her gallery is a huge success. She has a hell of a lot more money than I ever will. She doesn't need me for that. And I have no desire to take advantage of her. We can each support ourselves, although she better than I. She has a terrific loft in SoHo, a career she loves. She's only had one man in her life since her divorce, and he committed suicide three years ago. I'm the first man she's been involved with since. I don't think either of us wants more than we have right now. Would I ever marry her, one day down the road? Probably. If she was willing, which I doubt, I'd be nuts if I didn't give it a shot. But right now, our biggest decision is where to have dinner every night, or who's going to cook breakfast. I haven't even met her kids,” he said calmly. Charlie was staring at him wide-eyed. It was quite a speech. He hadn't seen Gray in slightly over three weeks, and he was not only living with a woman, but talking about possibly marrying her one day. Charlie looked as if he'd been shot. And for a fraction of a second, seeing the look on his face, Gray realized that there was a distinct possibility that Sylvia had been right. Charlie was very obviously not pleased with the recent turn of events in Gray's life.

“You don't even like kids,” Charlie reminded him, “of any age. What makes you think that hers are any different?”

“Maybe they're not. Maybe that will be the deal-breaker for me. Maybe she'll get tired of me first. They live three thousand miles away, they're both grown up. And maybe at that distance, I can even stand her kids. All I can do is give it a shot. That's the best I can do. Maybe it'll work. Maybe not. All I know is that it's working now, and we're having a great time together. Beyond that, who the hell knows? I could be dead by next week. In the meantime, I'm having a hell of a good time. The best in my life.”

“Hopefully not,” Charlie said somberly, referring to his comment about being dead in a week. “But you may wish you were, if she turns out to be different than you think she is, and by then you'll be trapped.” He sounded ominous, and Gray smiled at him. Charlie was looking panicked, and Gray wasn't sure if it was for himself or on Gray's behalf. Either way, it was unnecessary. He was feeling anything but trapped. At the moment, he was a more than willing love slave in Sylvia's elegant loft.

“I'm not trapped,” Gray said quietly. “I'm not even living there. I'm just staying there. We're trying it out. And if it doesn't work for either of us, I'll go back to my studio, and that's that.”

“It never works that way,” Charlie said knowingly. “Some women cling, they hang on, they accuse, berate, they get hysterical, they call lawyers. They claim you made promises you never made. Somehow they get their claws into you, and the next thing you know they think they own you.” Charlie looked utterly terrified for him as he said it. He'd seen it happen to other men over the years, and didn't want something like that to happen to Gray. He knew how innocent he was at times.

“Trust me, neither Sylvia nor I want to be owned. We're too old for that. And she's a lot healthier than you give her credit for. If she walked away from her husband of twenty years without a backward glance, she's not going to be hanging around my neck like an albatross, trying to get her claws into me. If anyone walks, she's a lot more likely to do it first.”