He punched the Accept button before he could miss Aiyana’s call. He loved her more than any other person in the world—since Shiloh had passed away—which was why he’d agreed to come home and mentor several of her students. She felt strongly that a special few had the talent, as well as the desire, to do what he did, which was all fine and good, but he had a sneaking suspicion she’d scheduled it at this time of year on purpose, so that he wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.

That should’ve bothered him; he didn’t like it when she meddled in his life. But he was sort of glad she’d done this. Closeting himself away in his house, where he had a studio that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, was starting to get to him.

Maybe Aiyana could tell he was sliding into a dark place. His mother was nothing if not attuned to the needs of others. She always seemed to know when he was in trouble, even when he denied having a problem.

“Hey, Mom.”

“How close are you?”

“Just arrived.”

“Thank God.”

“What do you mean? It was only a six-hour drive.”

“That may be true, but the way you run yourself ragged, I had no idea if you’d even slept before starting out.”

He didn’t comment on the sleeping aspect of her statement. He’d always struggled with insomnia. It’d been several days since he’d had more than a few hours of sleep, so the drive had been much more difficult than he was making it sound. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m going to nap for a few hours before you come over.”

“Good plan. By the way, I have the art supplies you shipped to my house. Cal and I will bring that stuff over to you in his truck.”

“I really appreciate it. There was no way it would all fit in my car.”

“You barely fit in that car,” she said, joking. “Anyway, it’s not a problem. Cal’s an old cowboy. He’s used to hauling things.”

“Cal’s a good guy. I’m looking forward to seeing you both tonight.”

“Eli and Gavin and their families are coming, too.”

“Good.”

“I’ve missed you—and I’m excited to see the house.”

It was a gloomy, overcast day. He flipped on the light and found himself standing in the middle of a giant marble entryway with twenty-foot ceilings. A huge chandelier hung over a pedestal table featuring a soapstone sculpture he’d created himself, and two flights of stairs made with black iron railings, one on each side, curved up to a second story. The aviary that housed the bird was on the other side of his Young Man Dreaming.

“It’s nice,” he said. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here.”