I do not own Grey's Anatomy… *big sigh*

Once in a Lifetime

Chapter 4: Touch the Sky

I sit here in the quiet of my darkened bedroom, the only light emitting is from my cell phone which I can't stop gazing at.

I'll admit, when April didn't answer my message right away, making me wait over ten minutes for her reply, my ego took a hit. I'm a confident man, charismatic, good-looking. I'm used to women fawning over me, so when I sent her those texts and saw the read receipt after each entry, I had proof she'd seen it. I'd expected an instant response after I extended an invitation for us to get together, but when there was such a long delay, I wondered if I'd done something wrong. The thought that I'd been rude toward her in any way bothered me. Our introduction was kismet if you asked me and finally coming together after all this time, I'll be the first to admit, I was shook. She certainly wasn't what I'd expected at all and to say that I'm excited about the prospect of seeing her again isn't even the half of it.

April Kepner has been on my radar for quite some time. I'm not a reader of Sasse magazine but became aware of it through a woman I'd been dating. I had spent the night over at her place and found a copy of it on her nightstand. Curious, I flipped though it and came across her article, Sex and the Single Woman: It's Not All It's Cracked Up to Be. While my companion lay next to me naked and snoring like a freight train, I thumbed through it until I saw her byline. I'm not usually one to read fluff, but after the first few lines, I knew that this was someone who had something to say. She didn't paint the single woman as someone whose main goal was catching a man, her ultimate objective to marry him and have 2.5 kids with a house in the suburbs and a summer home in the Hamptons. April described her as a woman who had goals and aspirations of her own. Who could have the family and career just as a man did and shouldn't be made to feel guilty for it. I was immediately intrigued and after we met, I knew she was something special.

Women flirt with me all the time, but April was different. Sure, I felt and immediate attraction between us and she seemed interested, but apparently, she wasn't going to make it easy. I like that she challenged me. She didn't bat her eyes and pretend to melt at my every word and when she basically implied that I was a spoiled slutty jerk, I wanted to swoop her up in my arms, kiss her hard, place her back up against a wall and fuck her brains out. Damn, she was hot. I was hoping that after our dance we could go somewhere and end the night on a high note, but she ducked out before I got the chance to extend an invitation. Luckily, Carina was still there, and she was a woman who was charmed by my mannerisms. It didn't take much convincing for her to give up April's digits and to be honest, I couldn't wait to get in contact with her.

So, here I am now, it's late, but I don't feel like sleeping. After those few hours spent with her, I'm amped. Pumped with adrenaline, I take my newfound energy and try to expend it on something worthwhile.

It's too late for me to work out and I certainly didn't feel the need for any female companionship, so I grab the key from my office desk and unlock the door to my secret room. Even though I'm alone in my apartment, I lock the door behind me even though I don't expect anyone to barge in uninvited. I know that the idea of someone walking in on me is illogical, I live by myself and I never enter this room when I'm entertaining guests. Whether that be a member of my family, friends or a woman sharing my bed. This room is sacred to me and I'm not ready to share what's behind these walls.

I move around the space taking in everything before me. Paintings both realist and abstract. Sculptures made from a variety of media to include metal and clay. I even have some drawings and photographs I've taken, black and white my chosen medium. Most items are unfinished while the ones that have been completed are safely tucked away. The space is becoming a bit congested, but I don't know what to do with them. Hell, my family hasn't even seen them and I'm in no rush to share this side of myself with them. I'm not ready to show them to the world and I'm not sure I ever will be. I know it's vain to critique your own work, but if I say so myself, I think they're damn good. I'm not sure what I'm waiting on, but my workings will remain unseen for the time being. I haven't found the one thing that feeds me the inspiration to create my masterpiece.

I end up spending quite some time in my studio, the minutes passing by unnoticed as they always tend to do. It's two hours later when I finally emerge and crawl into bed, exhausted and as I drift off, I can't help but picture April when I close my eyes.

I wake at noon after a decent amount of sleep with a smile on my face having dreamt of ivory freckled skin, long red hair, moss green eyes and a dimpled smile. It's Sunday and I don't have much planned other than family dinner at the estate and there's no way I'm going to be able to get out of attending that. For as long as I can remember, we've held Sunday meals at my grandparent's home and though our family isn't huge on tradition, this is one ritual that is a mainstay.

I yawn then stretch and literally roll out of bed onto the floor where I immediately start doing pushups. I knock out two hundred then turn onto my back and do three sets of twelve repetitions of crunches. Now fully alert, I get up off the floor, peek out the window and gage the weather. At this point, I'd usually jump on my treadmill to round out my workout routine, but I'm in a good mood and elect to venture outside. The temperature is moderate this afternoon, so I throw on my Nike tracksuit and sneakers then head out the door.

My building sits right at the edge of Central Park today I'm grateful about the proximity. I've run through the park more times then I can count, making use of the various terrains and beautiful scenery. When people think of Manhattan, they normally picture crowded streets, pollution and rude concrete everywhere under their feet. But the park is majestic. There are thousands of trees in every color imaginable this time of year. Ponds, foot bridges and arches. The backdrop alone is enough to get my creative juices flowing.

Today I choose to run the loop which totals exactly 6.1 miles. I opt out of listening to any music and take in the sounds of the park, nature and people around me. I'm in my head a lot and in moments like these, I use the time to center myself. I'm not religious by any means, but I do subscribe to meditation. For me, it's not so much about spirituality, but focusing my mind to achieve clear mental and emotional thoughts. But on this run, I quickly notice that things are a bit different. No matter what how my thought process begins or how hard I try to align my thinking to one area, it always ends with the same image.

Positive visualization… April.

Specific thoughts or objects… April.

Concentrating on my body's movement… April.

Honestly, I'm baffled. I mean, I'm not the type of guy to get infatuated. At least that's not what I thought and it's certainly not the impression I provoke.

When I get back home, I winded and drenched in sweat after pushing myself hard the last two miles. I take a long, relaxing steam shower to soothe my aching muscles then make myself a protein shake to tide me over until dinner. I spend the rest of my afternoon answering text messages and listening to voicemails. Responding to those I can give brief response too, putting off until tomorrow those that are more important and ignoring then deleting people I don't want to be bothered with.

I have about twenty minutes before I'm plan on calling April, so I decide to do some recon in hopes of gaining a little knowledge about her. It's never bad to have the upper hand so I peruse her social network pages to see what information I can garner. She has a Facebook but barely uses it from the looks of it. Its main use appears to be to stay in contact with friends she'd met in college. Her Twitter account is a sampling of friends, a few celebrities, political figures, television shows and some other random things thrown in. It gives me an idea toward her leanings. She has two Instagram pages. One for work and one personal which is marked as private and I'm dying to know what she had to keep that's so secret. Thankfully, her work page is a goldmine. Pictures around the city, meals at restaurants, motivation quotes, pictures of her at events and so on. While all this paints a picture of who she is, she remains a mystery to me.

It's three o'clock and before it gets any later, I dial her number and she answers on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"April? Hi, it's me, Jackson."

"Hi, Jackson. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I hope this is a good time?"

"It is. I've been waiting on your call. Well, not waiting. You said you'd call this afternoon so…"

I can't help but snicker quietly to myself as her voice trails off as she tries to disguise her eagerness.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?" I press on, not calling attention to her being flustered.

"No, not really. Just taking care of a few things."

"Things. Like what?"

"I'm working on an article for an upcoming issue of Sasse about the MeToo movement."

"Now that sounds interesting," I respond wholeheartedly.

"Does it?" she asks me skeptically, "Have you ever read any of my pieces?"

"I have. You did a piece on sex and the single women I believe, that I found very intriguing. Actually, that's what made me want to meet you. I've heard your name around town on various occasions, so I knew of you, but I wasn't familiar with your writing I must admit. Sasse is not typically a magazine I'd purchase."

"Oh yeah. Let me guess. You're the GQ, Men's Health and Maxim aficionado," she says with a giggle that I find endearing.

"Yes, but I also read Time, Esquire and National Geographic."

"Huh," she states as she ponders, "So how exactly did you come across my article?"

I clear my throat, hesitant on giving her the details. I don't have anything to hide and I don't want to lie to her, but she doesn't need to know that I had just finished having sex and picked up the magazine out of boredom, so I left out a few details.

"I was at a friends house and I spotted your magazine on the table and decided to flip through it when I came upon it."

"A friends house?" she asks, and I can hear the teasing tone in her voice and it makes me smile that she's being so playful with me.

"Yes, just a friend," I reply and leave it at that.

"Well, Mr. Avery, I can't say that you are much of a mystery to me."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right," she responds smugly.

"Now, I don't think that's fair. You assume you know me, and I can assure you, you don't, but I'd really like for us to get to know each other better."

"We'll see," she retorts, "So what are you up to today?"

"Me? Nothing much right now, but tonight I have to attend a weekly dinner with my family at my grandparents house," I offer freely.

"Aww, isn't that sweet."

"Are you making fun of me?" I question.

"No, I'm not. I find it endearing. Not many single men would even bother to spend time with their grandparents, let alone make a point to go see them every Sunday."

"Trust me, at this point, it's more of a directive then a choice and see, there's something you didn't know about me nor expect."

"I guess it is. I get it though. My family is close, so I completely understand. I miss them."

"They're not here in New York?"

"No, I'm originally from Ohio. My mom, dad, sisters and our extended family are all out there."

"You don't have any family here?" I wonder.

"No, but I have a close nit group of friends that are like family to me, so I'm okay."

"Well, I'm glad to know that you're not all alone. Now, back to me and you. I know we didn't get a chance to really talk last night, but I'd like to take you out to dinner."

I held my breath as she hesitated and for a second, I thought she was going to refuse me.

"I'd like that."

"Great," I replied excitedly. "How does Friday sound? I'll make reservations at Morimoto and I can pick you up at seven."

"Morimoto? There's almost a six month wait to get a table. Our food critic even had to wait three weeks before she could get a seating at his restaurant."

"I happen to know the owner, so I pretty much have a table reserved anytime I need one."

"You know Masaharu Morimoto? Well, look at you," she says, and I think she sounds impressed. At least that's what I hope. I don't want to come across as if I'm showing off because that's the furthest from how I want her to see me. For some reason I can't yet explain, I want to make a good impression on her.

"That sound good, but I'll meet you there."

I'm a little offended that she doesn't want me to pick her up. That's not usually the response I get. Then again, it's refreshing, and I realize in this moment that April isn't like any of the women I'm used to dating.

"Okay, then. We'll meet at eight o'clock?"

"That sounds great. Eight o'clock it is."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, April," I state truthfully.

And when she responds, "I'm looking forward to seeing you, too," I hope she means it.

"Talk to you soon. Bye, April."

"Goodbye, Jackson."

A wide smile graces my features as I hang up the phone and a strange, unfamiliar feeling descends upon me. Yes, I'm eager to see April again as the brief time I spent with her left such a lasting impression and I can honestly say that no woman has ever done that before.

I check the time and see that I have about an hour and a half before I need to leave so I spend ninety minutes arranging my itinerary for the upcoming week and by five o'clock I'm downstairs as my driver pulls up to take me to the family estate.

Once we're out of the city traffic, the ride is serene, so I close my eyes and enjoy the ride. Besides, it's the only peace I'll be getting for the next few hours.

When I arrive, I sit for a moment, take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I already know how this evening is going to go as the sequence rarely varies, but as soon as my driver opens my door and I step over the threshold, I feel like I'm five years old again. This place has always seemed massive to me and even with my adult eyes, I feel like I've entered a magical world and am about to be swallowed alive by the opulence and decadence which surrounds me. Imagine spending your childhood growing up in a place like this which often felt more like a museum then a cozy three-bedroom cottage. To say running around inside was forbidden is an understatement. I guess that's why I took to my sleuthing. Both David and Braylen were too old to play with me, so I had to find other ways to entertain myself. Truthfully, I could have gotten away with murder as the staff were willing accomplices to my nefarious deeds. The ladies thought I was as cute as a button while the men appreciated my desire to buck the system. If it weren't for them, the days that I did spend here would have been miserable.

The first person that greets me in the main hall is my father and brother. My father is an affable man, the walk softly but carries a big stick kind of guy. He and my mother seem like polar opposites, yet they manage to make their marriage work. Don't get me wrong, my dad isn't meek by any means, it's just that my mother is strong-willed yet somehow, he's managed to tame that fire within her. And believe me, she only does it for him.

My brother is the more serious of the three children. He's always been that way and he'd be hard-pressed to change. He's settled in his ways and if I can recall, he'd always been more astute then his age portrayed. Being then years older than me, we rarely spent time together in our youth. He was already off to boarding school as was my sister by the time I was born and on weekends and holidays when they would return home, their focus surely wasn't to entertain me.

By the look on his face, I know my brother is about to dive into his spiel about how I should take on a more active role in the family business, a tirade usually given by my mother when I'm bum-rushed by two tiny humans who attack me around the knees.

"Hi, Uncle Jackson!" the voices say in unison.

David's six-year-old twin daughters, Annalise and Tegan are spitting images of their mother, Sophie and just as lovely as she is. Following them is his son, Reggie who greets me as usual with our own specially devised dap. He tells me all the time how I'm his favorite uncle, being that his mother has three brothers of her own and though I have no plans in the near future to have any children, if I did, I'd want one to be just like him.

As we all head toward the dining room, I can hear my mother, my sister and grandfather deep in conversation. I don't have to guess what the topic is as it's probably one of two things. The family business or her upcoming nuptials. I make it a habit to stay clear of both.

Rounding out the trio is Brayden's fiancé, Mike and David's wife, Sophie. They've wisely opted to steer clear and have created their own tête-á-tête. Moments later, my grandmother enters from the kitchen, but, entered isn't quite the right word. She sort of glides through. My grandmother always felt ethereal to me and I assure you, her coming from the kitchen is not because she'd been cooking. More than likely she is giving the staff instruction on how diner was to be presented. She's very formal in that way and she has no plans on changing. She greets me as she normally does with a kiss on the cheek and an admonishment for not visiting her often enough. She rarely goes to the city anymore as she considers it gauche, only enters for special events such as opening season of the Metropolitan Opera. Otherwise, she'd rather stick to her tea parties and social events in Greenwich.

As we settle in at the lengthy and ornate dining table and partake of the sumptuous meal set before us, it doesn't take long for talk to turn once again to real estate. My grandfather, parents, bother and Mike discuss possible acquisitions while Sophie and Brayden are engaged in in-depth discussion about the Prada's new spring line. The kids find their own ways to amuse themselves and as usual I tune them all out.

It's not that I hate the family business, my heart's just not in it. I exceed at the tasks they present to me, but my mother wants me to take on a larger role. I'm managed to avoid committing to anything more than the time I've allotted per my agreement with them, but I fear her patience in wearing thin.

As we dine on rack of lamb, I offer up a few yes' and un-huh's to give the impression that I at least care. I'm no fool. I know that my lavish life style is contingent upon me at least playing apart in this farce of a career they've crafted for me. It's not like they would cut me off if I were honest with them, but I'm sure my standing would be greatly diminished. After dinner drinks are customary and it's then that we finally catch up with each other's lives. My grandparent's main activity these days revolve around the country club and golf. My parents don't offer much but instead lavish their attention on my nieces and nephew. David's kids will be out of school in the next few months, so he and his wife are planning to take a weeklong vacation to Switzerland to ski before enrolling them in the elusive Little Wonder day camp for children in New York for the remainder of the summer. Brayden and Mike's wedding is set for September and they tell us how they are finalizing the last details before RSVP's are to be sent out. Then as expected, all eyes shift towards me and I already know what's going to come out of their mouths before they utter a word.

"When are you going to get serious about your career and fully devote yourself to the company?"

"When are you going to get serious about a woman and finally settle down instead of parading around town like a playboy?"

"I have the perfect woman I think you should meet."

"It's time for you to grow up and take on some real responsibilities."

I close my eyes and groan internally as their voices all meld into one. It's the same rhetoric I've had to listen to repeatedly and the song never changes. I used to speak up for myself and try to defend my lifestyle and choices. Explain why I do what I do but I found it was like talking to six equally minded, brown and blue-eyed brick walls. So, by the time I down my last drink, I bolt out of there like my ass is on fire and head back home to some much-needed solitude. Unfortunately, it's not what I'm afforded as a familiar face greets me in the lobby of my apartment building.

Sabrina.

I thought I'd seen the last of her when I deposited her in a cab Friday morning. I never did call her, tossing her number away in the trash bin right after she deposited it in my hand and I would have assumed she'd taken the hint and understood that what happened between us was a onetime event. So, to see her here waiting for me like we'd had planned to meet is unnerving.

"Sabrina. What are you doing here?"

"Hello, my sweet," she answers with her French accent.

"I was supposed to fly out to Miami this evening for a photo shoot tomorrow evening, but I missed my flight and the next one isn't until the morning and I don't really know anyone else in the city," she purrs.

Her hands braced possessively on my chest, she practically paws at me and I'm already regretting sleeping with her. I know her type and I'm sure she'd have no problem with making a scene. This is quite awkward for me. I'm a model tenant and while I don't have a bevy of beauties strolling through the lobby, one can't help but notice that I am often in the company of a gorgeous woman. So, to avoid any ugliness, which somehow always manages to end up in the tabloids, I reluctantly take her upstairs with me.

Once we're behind closed doors, I question her reasoning.

"Sabrina, you seem like a nice person, but I don't know you and I don't appreciate you showing up at my place unannounced," I pronounce.

If it's one thing that I am, it's that I'm upfront with the women I date or sleep with. I have no intention of having sex with Sabrina again and I want to make myself perfectly clear on that point.

"Please don't be angry with me, mon amour. I had no where else to go and yours is the only address I could remember. My girlfriends all made the flight and I was staying with one of them. She didn't leave me a key to get back into her loft and I couldn't afford a hotel room for the night."

I'm sure the story she's feeding me is bullshit, but I don't have it in my heart to kick her back out on the street. What I do is offer her the use of a guestroom and the resulting pout I receive does nothing to sway me. I have no intention of inviting her into my bed and to guarantee that whatever devious plan she had cooked up in her mind goes astray, I bid her goodnight and lock my bedroom door for good measure.

I'm awaked the next morning by a familiar sound. Mariana is already here and has started her duties. I get out of bed intent on starting my day off at a decent hour for once. I promised my mother that she'd see me in the office this week and I figure I might as well do it today. I'll stay long enough for the staff to get a good look at me and know that I still exist and long enough to appease my very demanding mother.

I unlock my door and make a beeline for the room Sabrina slept in because I want her out as soon as possible. I don't want her to feel in any way comfortable so when I see that she's very much naked and still asleep, I rouse her by pushing her shoulder. She groggily asks me what time it is, and my response is to ask her about her flight. I tell her that she's welcome to a shower, some breakfast and I call an Uber to pick her up at nine, so she makes it to her plane on time. By the time she's ready to leave, I have the bag she carried with her last night deposited by the front door and she surprises me with an unwanted kiss on the lips plus a vow to come see me the next time she's in town.

I hustle out the door not long after she leaves in an attempt to at least show up to the Avery offices at a respectable hour. I get there at ten after a few hellos, go to my office which surprisingly isn't caked in a layer of dust considering the amount of time I spent actually using it. A few people wave to me as they pass by my open door or pop in to chat, but they mainly leave me to myself. I'm sure it's a shock to see me at all as they're more apt to see a flying monkey then catch me at my desk for more than a few hours a week. I end up spending most of the day working on several of the properties I oversee and overall the hours pass by uneventfully. I end up not seeing my mother at all as she's wrapped up in whatever she's doing and quite frankly, I can't wait for the day to be done.

Before I know it, I'm home again and just as the day had been, the rest of the week passes by in a blur.

On Tuesday I spend a few hours working from home then head over to the Boys and Girls Club after school lets out to spend some hours volunteering. On Wednesday I have a meeting at Clay & Paper to discuss fund raising opportunities and outreach to local artists in the community. Thursday is spent finalizing some real estate holdings before I head out to meet the fellas for drinks and before I know it, it's Friday. Date night.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been anticipating this evening with April. She's been on my mind off and on throughout the preceding days and tonight, I take extra care when getting myself ready for our date. A fresh new cut and shave from my barber and a new shirt, slacks and shoes from Hugo Boss.

I already have a table reserved for us, but I get there early anyway in anticipation of her arrival. When I think about it, I feel a bit silly. It's almost like I'm going on my first ever date and I hope that my nervousness doesn't show. I don't know anything personal about April. She could be a raving lunatic for all I know, but somehow, I know she's the complete opposite. I look at my watch and see that it's almost eight and she should be arriving shortly and the moment she enters the restaurant I can sense it.

I'm drawn to her like a beacon in the night sky. I can't take my eyes off her. She is absolutely stunning. She's wearing a royal blue, off-the-shoulder dress that hugs her subtle curves in all the right places. Her hair is parted in the middle so that her red hair hangs straight down but what stands out the most are her ruby red lips and I am yearning for a taste.

"Hi," I say to her, as I approach her at the entrance, my voice cracking like a prepubescent teen.

"Hi, Jackson," she replies sweetly.

Without hesitation, I take her hand in mine and led her to our table.

"Wow, this place is amazing. I never thought I'd see the inside of it anytime soon," she states in awe.

"I think you look amazing," I say to her as a subtle blush creeps across her cheeks.

"Thank you," she offers shyly, "I hope you weren't waiting long."

I decide to lie, "No, I just got here actually and if you don't mind, I already ordered for us."

A strange look crosses her face and I'm worried that I've already messed up. April definitely doesn't seem the type to let a man make decisions for her and that was far from my intention. So, in an attempt to correct my faux pas, I clarify my actions.

"It was recommended to me by Masaharu that we order Morimoto Omakase which is the chef's choice. It's a multicourse tasting menu and I figured it would give us a sampling of the best that the menu has to offer," I declare and wait patiently as she considers my explanation and when her features soften, I relax.

"That sounds wonderful, as long as you let me select the wine," she says adamantly.

"I'm fine with that," I respond in agreement, "So, April Kepner, tell me about yourself."

"Oh, so we're diving right in, aren't we?" she asks cheekily.

"I don't believe in wasting time and I want to know everything about you," I say boldly.

"Are you sure about that? You might now like what you learn," she says cautiously.

She's testing me. I like it.

"I doubt that, but I'll take my chances."

"Well, I originally grew up in Ohio and I'm the second oldest of four sisters. My father is a farmer and my mother an elementary school teacher. I attended the University of Virginia and came to New York with nothing but a dream. Barely a cent to my name, I started at Sasse as a junior copywriter and became good friends with the editor. I worked my way up from the bottom to my position I hold now and look forward to expanding my journalistic endeavors over the next few months."

I stare at her, my mouth slightly parted and I can't help but chuckle. "April, I don't want your resume, I want to know about you. What do you do for fun? What are your passions? What makes you laugh? What makes you cry because I want to make sure I'm the man that never does that. You can be yourself around me. I swear, I don't bite," I say, but omit the part where I ask her unless she wants me too.

Her entire being seems to loosen at this point and opens up to me. She doesn't tell me any of her darkest secrets, but she lets me in. She mentions her love of animals and how she misses her horses at home. How she's been thinking about getting a cat but with her hectic schedule isn't sure that's the best idea. She tells me how she loves to run, and I can picture her in a pair of tiny pink shorts, ponytail bobbing away as she runs to the songs of Taylor Swift. She tells me about Cristina who has become like a sister to her and the odd way in which they met and became best friends. She tells more about the close relationships she's developed with her neighbors and coworkers who are like family to her, but thankfully steers clear of any boyfriends she's had.

As she speaks, I watch her intently. The way her eyes light up when she talks about her love of writing. The way she smiles when she tells me the about the personalities of her coworkers. How her hand gestures when mentioning how she loves living in the city and how eclectic it is as compared to Ohio, and as I sit there and take in all she's willing to offer, I can help but be mesmerized by her.

April is smart, talented, funny and very beautiful.

By the time our food arrives she realizes that she's been talking nonstop.

"Oh my god. Did I just monopolize the conversation? You must think I'm a blathering idiot. I swear, I usually don't talk this much. Especially about myself. I don't want to come across as arrogant, I just feel… comfortable around you, if that makes any sense" she explains as her eyelashes flutter and he bows her head in shame.

"Hey, there's no need for you to be embarrassed. I love hearing you talk and you're far from an idiot. I told you I wanted to know about you and this is exactly what I meant. Besides, I'm the one who's supposed to be arrogant, remember?" I say in jest trying to ease her discomfort.

Her mood brightens and as our food arrives and we begin to dine, I take over the conversation. I'm sure she knows my history, at this point, who doesn't? She's not the type of women who'd be impressed by my wealth, the celebrities I hang with or stature, so I regal her with stories about my youth. I tell her about my formative years in boarding school. About the Four Horsemen and all the trouble we'd gotten into during our formative years. I share with how I volunteer my time to various causes, but don't mention my seat on the board at Clay & Paper or that I am an artist myself.

"So, you spend time within the community and share your experiences with the disenfranchised youth. I think that's admirable, Jackson, but I'm curious to know why haven't heard more about this side of you?" she asks in wonder.

"It's not something I do to seek publicity or favor. Most of the kids I work with have no clue who I am, and they couldn't care less. I just think it's important for those who have more to share with those who don't. It's not always about the monetary value of things. It's your experiences, your time, the life lessons you impart on them, showing them that people do care and that they are of value on matter their circumstances."

When she gazes at me speechless, I have to ask, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm stunned. Jackson Avery, I don't know you at all," she proclaims.

I press on, "Is that a good thing?"

"It's a very good thing," she replies, happily.

We talk more about this and that. Hobbies that we have. Places that we frequent. How she's yet to see the musical Hamilton and I make a mental note to get tickets because after tonight, there's no way in hell I'm not asking her out on another date.

Our time together seems to go by far too quickly and as we end our evening, I take a chance and ask her if it would be okay if I took her home. I know she was adamant that we meet here tonight, but I want to spend more time with her and the thirty or so minutes it'll take to get through traffic is just fine with me.

I hold the car door open for her and climb after and my eyes are instantaneously drawn to her legs. The dress has crept up several inches as she's seated so that the hem now rests midthigh. I try my best to be discreet as I stare at her creamy skin, but all I want to do is reach over and caress her svelte legs. I don't though because if I'm not mistaken her posture appears rigid. It's not that she cowered over in the corner, but even though she's smiling, her body language is screaming hands off which is a clear signal to me to keep my dirty thoughts to myself. I confess though, I am perplexed. From how we danced up against each another at the party last weekend I thought she'd be more open to some heavy petting. The last thing I want to do after such a perfect evening is make her feel ill at ease with me, so I listen to her silent cues and we engage in light banter on the way back to her place.

When the driver stops in front of her brownstone, instead of him opening the door for her, I get out. I follow her up the steps to the entry door but stop on the stair before the main landing.

Key in hand, she turns to face me and if I'm not mistaken, I glimpse a something in her eyes. I don't know if it's uncertainty or fear, but it doesn't last long.

My mind automatically figures that she'd assumed I'd expect her to ask me up or that I would make the suggestion myself.

I have no intention of doing either.

"I had a really nice time tonight, Jackson," she tells me and by the look on her face, her words are true.

"Me too," I reply, just as earnestly, "I know this might be soon, but I'd like to take you out again."

She answers me quickly, "I'd like that."

We both stand their staring at each other like dopes before she utters, "I guess, I'd better head up then."

"Yeah, okay. Um, April…" I start to say.

"Yes," she responds with bated breath.

The combination of the streetlights and the moon bathe her in an iridescent glow and I have to stuff my hands in my pockets to resist the urge to wrap them around her waist and pull her close. But fuck it, I'm going to take a chance anyway and hope that she doesn't kick me in the balls after.

I lean in close and though my aim is headed toward her red, full, perfect lips I change direction and plant a gentle kiss on her soft cheek. I'm not sure if I do it consciously but I know that the first time I kiss April. I mean really kiss her, I don't want it to be here and even though it's night, I can clearly see her blush as I pull back from her.

"Goodnight, Jackson."

"Goodnight, April."

She waves goodbye to me and I waggle my fingers at her as I wait for her to enter her building safely then turn to my awaiting town car, a self-satisfied smile in place. April is unlike any woman I've been with in… ever and I am taken with her. She is literally a breath of fresh air.

When I get home, I hurriedly head to my bedroom, take off my clothes and change into a t-shirt and sweat pants. I've been stricken with inspiration and I want to take advantage of the momentum I'm feeling as it surrounds me.

I think at last, I've found my muse.

A/N: Story title song – Touch the Sky by Kanye West

FYI – When Jackson talks about he and his nephew giving each other "dap" this term refers to a greeting which consists of multiple hand movements.