Free Waters Fall by Becky Doughty

spot right up close to the entrance, and waited for the song to end before she turned off the engine. It was one of her favorites, a song called Reckless , about the kind of love that made you do crazy things. It always made her feel a little pumped up, and she climbed out of her car with a saucy grin on her face, still humming the chorus.
    “Good song.”
    Startled, she spun around, dropping her keys. A man leaned against the wall just outside the doorway of the studio, reminding her a little of Jake leaning against the kitchen wall, and it made her stomach do a quick shimmy. She hadn’t noticed him when she pulled in, but obviously he'd been there at least long enough to hear her choice of music.
    “Yes. It is. One of my favorites,” she said, regaining her composure. She bent over and picked up her keys, wondering why she wasn't even a little embarrassed by her juvenile behavior. How long had it been since she'd driven around with her music as loud as the speakers could handle, singing at the top of her lungs? She'd kept the windows rolled up today, but only because she had paperwork and sampler books in the backseat. She smiled as she straightened up again. Nope. She wasn't embarrassed at all. In fact, she was feeling just a little reckless herself right now, thanks to Mr. Adams.
    As though reading her mind, he asked, “ Reckless , huh?”
    “You know Seth Adams?” she asked, looking over at the man. He just stood there, watching her, an appreciative grin on his face. She thought perhaps he was flirting with her.
    “I know his music.”
    “Do you like him as an artist, or just my song in particular?”
    “Your song?” He raised a dark eyebrow in question.
    “My song,” she confirmed, closing her car door behind her. “I've claimed it.” She strolled jauntily toward him, daring him to challenge her. She knew she looked good today, in spite of the terrible situation she’d just run from. She was wearing one of her favorite dresses, an apple green vintage Lana dress, with a wide-belted waist and a snug bodice, softened by the periwinkle sweater she layered over the top of it. The skirt was full, the hemline falling just above her knees, and her peep toe sling-backs showed off a flash of bright pink toenail polish. With all the rush of getting the kids to school on her own shoulders this morning, she’d only had time to brush out her hair and leave it hanging in sleek straight lines around her face, but even wind-blown, she knew it was her best look. At least, Jake always said so.
    “And how do you go about claiming ownership of a song?”
    “Exactly the way I just did,” she stated, shrugging one shoulder with a little toss of her hair. “I guarantee you the next time you hear it, you'll think of me.”
    Where did that come from? She could hardly believe those words popped out of her own lips.
    “In that case, I like your song in particular.” He was definitely flirting with her. “So, what can I do for you today?”
    Oh, good grief. Pick up lines? She stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of him, and was somewhat unprepared for how tall he was. Even in her heels, she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze, and she was grateful for the gigantic sunglasses she wore, covering much of her face, and hopefully, most of her blush. The way he was smiling made her think he had a good idea of what was going through her head, glasses or no glasses. She had to get back to business with him, quick, before he misinterpreted her behavior altogether.
    “Does that mean you work here?”
    He was casually dressed in a pair of jeans, not something she'd expect an art gallery curator to wear. “I saw your sign out front when I was driving by, and it says you show local artists' work. I'm a decorator, and I'm always looking for good art. I'm hoping to find some here,” she finished lamely, running out of words.
    He looked out across the parking lot toward the sign, as if trying to remember what it said, then nodded.