Her original watercolor of Positano on the Amalfi Coast of Italy had captured the way the town’s pastel buildings layered up the side of a cliff like a fancy wedding cake. It was where Tate had first introduced the Patton family to Karen, and where he’d proposed to her. Beside it now hung a painting of the house the couple had bought and restored a few years back—a gingerbread-laden Victorian mansion perched on a bluff over the Pacific Ocean. Laurel had tried to evoke the same style and palette, so that the two canvases were obviously meant to be a pair. Since she didn’t work with watercolor very often anymore, it had been a nice challenge to her artistic skills.

She tilted her head and eyed her work critically. Not too bad. The first painting was done while she was taking a watercolor class as part of her Fine Arts degree from the Rhode Island School of Design. She’d loved her years at RISD, and trying to recapture that frame of mind for the new canvas had taken her back to those times.

Ben bumped his shoulder against hers. “They’re going to love it. It blows my gift to them out of the water.”

“Thanks.” She winked. “I like kicking everyone else’s ass with my awesomeness.”

He snorted. “Your modesty slays me.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned to walk into the kitchen, going to the fridge for a bottle of water. It was probably her last chance to get anything before the catering company took over for the anniversary party that night.

Ben followed and settled back against the enormous island, shoving his hands in his suit pockets. He looked every inch the ambitious young lawyer now, but he’d still been in his gawky teen years the first time they’d met.

All grown up now, he’d just passed his bar exam and joined her brother’s firm the month before, and she’d bet Ben would be stellar in the courtroom with his resonant bass voice that could rival James Earl Jones. Considering his voice had cracked on every other word when they’d been introduced, she’d been pleasantly surprised his tone had deepened so much. No one wanted a squeaky-voiced lawyer defending them.

She waved her bottle at him. “What did you get our siblings?”

He cocked his head. “It sounds a little incestuous when you say our siblings, even if it is technically correct.”

“What did you get my brother and sister-in-law, aka your sister and brother-in-law?” She rolled her eyes. “It was faster my way.”

“A date night while I babysit Nick. They get gift certificates for a movie and dinner at their favorite restaurant.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded. “That’s a pretty good gift. I think any couple with a rambunctious toddler would love that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a piece of art from a famous painter.” He widened his eyes as if to indicate any idiot would agree with him.

“Pfft. Fame is relative. I’m not exactly Van Gogh.”

“Says the woman who got invited to be an artist-in-residence at The Creative Enclave.” He wagged a finger at her. “Don’t think Tate wasn’t bragging about you after you told him that.”

She felt a rush of heat hit her cheeks. Her, Laurel Patton, blushing. There was a novel experience. Of course, she blew any semblance of modesty by offering a cocky grin and throwing her hands up in victory. “I am a badass, what can I say?”

“Tate pulled up their website and read the list of names for artists who’ve been part of their program.” He gave a low whistle. “You’re in some august company there.”

“Some of my idols have been artist-in-residence for The Enclave. Okay…the idols who were around during the last century. I have some that have been dead since the Renaissance.” She took a swig of water. “It’ll be a whole summer of painting. Plus, I get to mentor an up-and-coming painter too. I’ve taught a few art classes over the years, but never individual mentoring. It should be fun. Unless they’re an asshole, in which case I will make their lives miserable for three months. Because: homework.”

“That’s the spirit.” He winked. “Always have a strategy for winning.”

“I like winning,” she agreed. Part of the fun of this trip was that she would get to spend time with other artists. Not just painters, but sculptors, potters, photographers, videographers, writers…you name it. She liked the idea of having that kind of community, at least for a while. Painting was a pretty solitary profession.

“When do you leave?”

“Tate’s driving me to SFO in the morning. I just have to survive this party.” She couldn’t hold in a deep sigh, some of her excitement fizzling away.

“Your parents are coming, huh?” Sympathy reflected in his gaze.

“Let’s be honest. It’ll be just my mother. Daddy Dearest isn’t taking the time to come to a party with no political gain. The guest list isn’t A-list enough.”

Ben winced, but didn’t deny it. They both knew Robert Patton had worked Tate like a dog for years, trying to remake his son in his image, and it had nearly cost Tate his marriage. Laurel was grateful her brother had seen the light of day before he’s lost the best thing that had ever happened to him. Karen was an absolute gem. Laurel had liked her on sight, somehow knowing this woman would be the only thing Tate loved more than the law. Well, now he had Karen, little Nick, and then the law. Which was how it should be.

Ben injected a note of cheer into his voice. “Well, my parents will both be here and they rock.”

“I know, you lucky bastard,” she groused.

He just laughed.

Dear God, she was going to have to deal with her mother. The two of them always brought out the absolute worst in each other. Francesca, the obnoxious socialite who insisted her daughter marry the right sort of man, and Laurel, whose inner rebellious teen came out with claws bared.

“I notice you got your hair dyed again.” Ben’s grin turned wicked. “I like the turquoise streaks—very fluorescent. Your mom’s going to love it.”

“Yep.” She fluffed her long tresses, not bothering to deny that needling her mother had been part of the decision-making process for refreshing her always colorful hair. She’d done green, blue, purple, fire engine red…pick a neon shade. It was her signature now. Sometimes she did streaks and sometimes she dyed only the tips. One time, she’d done just the left side of her head bright pink. Francesca’s eyeballs had nearly exploded out of their sockets when she’d seen the effect. Watching the apoplectic reaction had been awesome. Laurel grinned at the memory. “Let the games begin.”