"The story is truly an inspirational work. Reading  William and Michelle's interaction  reaffirms my belief of the singular greatness of actually meeting your soulmate. I thank you for brilliantly writing an actual romance novel, without the unnecessary embellishment of the sexual expression of their love. So many of the novels I read today (and I read a lot of them) are so focused on including as many explicit sex encounters as possible, that more often than not, the romance gets lost. Usually, at the end of those, I am left yearning for a missing something and feeling like there should be more. So, thanks again for a well written inspirational romance!!!! It gives me hope, yet!!!" - M.B. from Mississippi

"Amazing story. I was drawn to how well you described each character, their personalities definitely shone through your words. I am in awe of how you wove this story. William is the perfect gentleman--it's also good to see the struggles he has and the past he's come away from. I really adore your tale. A favorite in my book (literaly)." - C.D. from FictionPress

"I've just finished the second chapter and I've completely fallen in love with the story. You write beautifully and the story seems to flow smoothly almost like a slow dance. I'm so glad I stumbled on this, because it gives me something new to read over Christmas break. Wonderful job. I can stress that enough. I skipped over to your author's note at the end and I agree heartily, you should definitely write a sequel to this." - B.C. from FictionPress

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Draw Me a PIcture ~ Sample Chapter ~

Michelle traveled with a singular happiness along her route to work; she wore her patched coat and a brown, corduroy skirt, with thermals underneath. Her boots were clean, but scuffed, her dark red/brown hair all tucked beneath her floppy-brimmed, gray, canvas hat; a gray scarf and mittens rounded out her ensemble.

“If this next week goes well I just may have enough to shop at the illustrious Goodwill store for my Winter wardrobe,” Michelle thought. The notion made her smile.

Walking with new-found energy, Michelle arrived at her corner. The location was not so desirable for panhandlers due to the fast pace and general snobbishness of the passers-by. Michelle was never bothered by other vendors wanting to stop there; the crowds just moved by too quickly. The pedestrians did stop for pictures, however, their eyes caught by a cartoon or drawing; even the most staunch, stern-faced Brooklyn-ite seemed to want a bit of brevity in their lives. Having set up her display, Michelle pulled out a wrapped picture from her bag; with bright eyes she slid the thin package behind the display, out of sight.

Through the morning hours the stream of foot traffic did not lessen. For the first time since she began selling portraits on the corner, Michelle was unable to concentrate on her sketch-pad; she fidgeted and nervously bit her lip. At 12:00 she could wait no longer. Fetching the mystery package out, Michelle pulled the wrapping from the blue-eyed man’s portrait; she fixed it to the display with care. She put it near the top, where it had the most advantage of being seen. Looking into the oncoming crowd, Michelle scanned it quickly and then glanced at her watch; it was 12:05. Michelle wondered if he’d even see the portrait, let alone recognize the picture as himself. It wasn’t much of a flag but at least she had raised it.

12:06... her mouth went dry. Michelle picked up her water bottle and took a small sip, keeping her unblinking gaze on the moving crowd. People walked forward, seven or eight deep, each keeping an inch or so of ‘personal space’ around them. Michelle realized her heart was racing.

“Stop,” she chided herself. “Calm down; he’s just another person walking to lunch.” Taking a deep breath she watched, waiting.

He was late. Michelle’s hazel eyes searched the crowd at a faster pace. 12:08. She wondered if she’d chosen the one day to bring her portrait and he decided to call in sick; he was never late. Another two minutes went by; Michelle’s heart sank in disappointment. Then, through the crowd she glimpsed his face but it was instantly obscured again. Sitting up, a smile crept over Michelle’s mouth as she waited for the man to come closer; he was walking somewhat slower than the other travelers.

The crowd parted and the reason for his tardiness suddenly became clear; walking next to Michelle’s mystery man was an elegant, older woman, beautifully dressed. She held onto the man’s arm and spoke to him with a smile. He inclined his head to one side as if to hear her over the sounds of the street. The woman’s face was similar in feature and form to his; Michelle assumed the lady was his mother. Her artistic eye missed nothing; the older woman was well-dressed, her manner and walk exuded British sophistication from her deep-red suit-dress and black, fur-lined coat, to her button-up boots and tasteful garnet jewelry. She was easily a matron of considerable social status.

Looking at her, Michelle felt conscious of every stain and hole in her clothing; even the scuffs of her shoes seemed to leap out into view like never before. The older woman’s face seemed kind, but Michelle just wanted to disappear, feeling every inch the bedraggled street artist. Eying them from under her hat brim, Michelle watched as they walked closer. The man from Michelle’s portrait must have said something humorous as the older woman laughed, and looked around with a smile. Something next to Michelle caught the lady’s attention; she paused, her face dressed in mild surprise.

“Oh, no...” Michelle thought. She had forgotten all about the portrait. Ducking down quickly, Michelle squeezed her eyes shut, all bravery draining away rapidly. She prayed that the lovely, rich lady and her gorgeous son would just keep walking. A few seconds ticked by; she opened her eyes again. Two, polished boots stood in front of her mat.

“That picture there, William,” said a pleasant voice. “It’s you! I am certain of it...” Michelle wanted to die, hide or fall into a sidewalk crack... anything but look up.

“Ahem.”

A masculine voice sounded out, somewhere far above Michelle’s head. Taking a big breath, she peered up from under her hat. She had a long way to look. Twin sapphires met her gaze; the man’s eyes were as inviting as tropical waters from a travel magazine. He appeared momentarily surprised, then amused. “My mother favors this picture,” he said, pointing at it. Michelle glanced at the woman next to him; the lady smiled down at her.

“Well, aren’t you a dear...” the woman murmured in a soft voice, a gloved hand to her chest. Michelle blinked. Under the lady’s kind gaze she felt unduly juvenile... despite her twenty-two years; her meager diet made her look slight and with her hair all tucked away, Michelle supposed she looked a little middle-school-ish.

“The sign says five dollars,” came the blue-eyed man’s delicious voice again. “It does look uncannily like me, I’ll admit.”

“Five dollars?” his mother repeated, still looking at Michelle. “It’s worth much more than that, my dear. Really well done. How nice it would look on the ballroom wall... I could never get you to sit for a portrait.”

“Dammed waste of time,” the blue-eyed man said, grinning. “That’s what cameras are for.”

“He walks by here each day at 12:06,” Michelle heard herself saying. “Where did that come from?” she thought; she bit her lip to keep more words from coming out. The blue-eyed man’s eyebrows rose slightly; his mother clapped her hands together and smiled.

“I knew it!” the lady said, happily. “It is you... a mother knows. Would you be so kind, my boy? I’ve no paper money with me... I don’t suppose she takes checks. It must go in my gallery.”

The man chuckled at her enthusiasm, digging in his pocket for money.

“For five dollars, I can buy it for you,” he stated, counting out the bills. Though she hadn’t breathed in over a minute, Michelle forced her arms to move; carefully, she unpinned the portrait, wrapped it swiftly and tied the twine. Looking up again at the man, she held the package up to him; their eyes met a second time.

William Montgomery had allowed his mother to guide them over to a street artist; the huddled figure sat next to a simple cardboard display with pen and ink drawings pinned onto it. Some of the pictures weren’t bad but his mother pointed to the one in the top corner; his own face looked back at him. The portrait was very good. Curious, William looked down at the artist, sitting so small on her mat with her back to the building. The girl’s odd, beautiful eyes struck him as she looked up from under her dingy hat; they shone out from her fair skin like greenish-gold gemstones. He’d never seen their equal.

She was a young woman; far too young to be out here peddling drawings, in his opinion. William was instantly glad the girl had the sense to dress so plainly, lest she attract the wrong kind of attention. She’d caught his attention, however and he was drawn right in; he wanted to know all about her. Questions were on the tip of his tongue as he counted out the money. Why was she out here? Where was her family? When she lifted her eyes again to his, holding out the wrapped portrait, William decided to get a better look at her. Instead of taking the picture, he clasped her wrist and gently pulled her up to stand.

Michelle felt like she was in some kind of trance; the man just reached out, took her hand and made her stand up... she didn’t say even one word in reprimand; her voice wouldn’t work. Up close the man was even better looking, if that were possible. Unlike most of the British men she’d seen on TV, he was tall and broad-shouldered, possessing a manly chin along with those incredibly blue eyes. He seemed to be scrutinizing her closely. Giving the young woman an encouraging smile, William pressed the money into her slender hand; her gloves were stained and worn. He had a strange urge to cover her hands with his own and keep them warm. His mother spoke up.

“You’re very talented, my dear,” she said, softly. Glancing at her, Michelle was comforted by the kind look in the lady’s eyes; she had blue eyes like William’s, though a little paler.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Michelle managed to say, resisting the temptation to bite her lip.
The woman lifted her gloved hand and touched Michelle lightly on the side of her face; the gesture was natural and concerned, but it caught Michelle off guard.

“So young,” the lady said, smiling sadly. Michelle blinked; she struggled not to cry in front of these people.

“We should go, Mother,” William said, soberly. He saw the young woman stiffen at his mother’s touch; he knew his mum meant it kindly but there were times he’d seen homeless people 'flip out'. This girl was pretty and shy, but she could easily be mentally ill. His mother looked up at him and nodded.

“Please take care of yourself, my dear,” she said, looking back at the young woman. Michelle just nodded, stupidly; her tongue seemed frozen. William and his mother began to walk away, Michelle left staring after them; she saw William bend down a little towards his mother.

“You have to be careful; the homeless here are very touchy about their lifestyle.” His words, though quietly spoken, drifted back to Michelle’s ears. Wound up already, her emotions brimmed over and something in her snapped.

“I am NOT homeless!” she yelled after the retreating pair.

The pair ahead stopped at once, looking back at her in surprise. Michelle felt her face flame but the embarrassment merely fueled her outburst.

“I live in a nice hotel!” she continued. A few pedestrians stopped and stared as well. “I just can’t find work! I’m a CPA! I went to Stanford! And I... take care of myself just fine!”

Tears welled up, blurring Michelle’s vision; she did, however, see William’s shocked expression perfectly well. Shame hit her like a slap in the face; she flung the dollar bills over the heads of the crowd and turned around, needing to escape.

Grabbing her things in one, swift movement, Michelle darted headlong into the throng of moving people, weaving among them as fast as she could, in the opposite direction as William and his mother. Though no one followed her, she did not stop running until she reached the Waldorf’s back alley. Samuel was not on duty, and Michelle was glad of it; she knew she appeared distraught, but didn’t feel like explaining herself at the moment.

It was not until she’d reached the sanctuary of her room that Michelle fully realized what had taken place. Collapsing on the floor, she caught her breath and began sobbing. What the earth had she done? Calm, steady Michelle Gregory never acted like that. Making a scene was not in her nature, let alone running away like a spoiled child. She was mortified, in the ultimate sense of the word. Not only did she yell and throw money at the man she’d been hoping to impress, but his mother was there to witness her unhinged behavior. Well, if William was wondering whether or not she was mental, he knew what to think now.

Hanging her head, Michelle allowed her tears to flow unchecked.

“Oh... my... stars. I’m such an idiot,” she said, pressing her fists against her forehead. William wouldn’t want anything to do with her now, she was sure of it. Sighing, Michelle wiped her eyes on the corner of her coat. Staring at the edge of the worn garment, she decided to take off her things; she carefully put them away and started the water going in the shower. She got out a towel automatically and stepped into the bathroom. Letting hot water pour over her Michelle was assailed by sobering thoughts.

She couldn’t go back now... sitting at the same corner would be impossible. Thanks to her brave effort at being seen he blue-eyed man was aware of her presence. If she went back he might yell at her for scaring his mom, or something. Even if he said, or did, nothing, Michelle knew she wouldn’t be able to bear him passing by each day knowing she’d so royally screwed up her chance at making a good first impression.

“Ah well,” she thought, her eyes shut tight. “It’s not like he would’ve asked me out anyway. I’ll find another corner.” Enshrined in melancholy, Michelle sank down to the floor. “Hopefully, he’ll forget all about me.”

She sat in the shower a long time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Behind his broad, mahogany desk, William Montgomery stared out the windows of his office, but he did not really see the splendid view. A pensive look marred his features, his blue eyes troubled; piles of papers sat on his desk, unnoticed. The altercation with the pretty street artist at lunch bothered him and he couldn’t escape the urge to do something. Like most people would have been he was startled by the girl’s outburst, but her look of acute pain and embarrassment struck William like an arrow. For the entire lunch hour following, his mother had done nothing but say she hoped the young woman was alright, where was her family, etc; she was mortified that they might have inadvertently caused the ‘poor girl’ additional suffering. She wondered if the girl really had gone to Stanford and if so, what was she doing selling drawings on the street. After seeing his mother to a cab, William returned to the corner; the girl was nowhere to be found.

Standing, William walked over to a window and stood, his hands clasped behind his back. Grimly, he pondered why he’d assumed the young woman was homeless. The idea apparently insulted her. To be sure, she was sitting on the street, but she wasn’t panhandling; her clothes were worn but they were clean and she did look as though she took care of herself. Perhaps it was her jobless condition; once she admitted she’d seen him each day, it was easy to draw the conclusion that the girl was otherwise unemployed. Maybe it was her stained, drooping hat.

William smiled, recalling the lovely eyes suddenly looking up from under the brim. It was if the sky had opened, pouring a single ray of sunlight down on her face. Though slight, the young woman possessed a haunting beauty that William could not shake from his mind; not that he tried. He appreciated a bona fide distraction the same as any man, let alone a pretty mystery-girl; one whom may need rescuing. Perhaps she might return to her corner; it was also probable she would never come back.

“Perhaps she wants to be found,” William murmured, looking down; his window went all the way to the floor, offering a substantial view of the streets, far below. As he stared as the moving cars, he wondered about the girl. Why was she out there? The young woman certainly didn’t like her unemployed situation and was clearly mortified at being called ‘homeless’.

The heated words she'd shouted came floating back to him; William returned to his desk. When angered, people usually give out far more information than they intended to.

“A nice hotel... CPA... Stanford,” he said, as if reciting notes in a meeting. In his profession, remembering all the minute details meant the difference between losing a client and making the deal of the century. Picking up the phone, William decided that if the mystery-girl could draw an exact portrait of him without even meeting him, he could find her with just a bit of effort.

Taking out his cell, he dialed a familiar number.

“It’s William. Fine. What’s the name on that portrait you got today? Yes, I’ll wait.” He tapped his foot on the wood flooring, impatient to put a name to the face in his mind.

Yes? Got it…” William wrote the name given on a nearby notepad. “Thank you. No, I’ll be working late. Alfred will drive you to the station. You as well. Get plenty of rest. Good bye.”

Closing his phone, William read the name he’d hastily scrawled, a boyish look of satisfaction crossing his eyes. “Michelle Gregory,” he said, to himself. The name fit her; she looked like a Michelle. Ambling absentmindedly to the window again, William fingered the paper awhile before folding it and putting it into his pocket. Looking down at the streets, he smiled to himself. He had no idea what he’d say to her if he ever saw her again.

“First,” he thought, “I have to find her.”

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Book one of a series; 30 long chapters. Buy PDF eBook with PayPal, secure transaction. Nominated for a round five SKOW (Some Kind Of Wonderful) award in 'Best Chemistry' category.