It would take me two days to finally talk to Erik in person. At least he saved me the trouble of having to make that first move by calling me first, saying that Olivia told him I had stopped by while he was at work. He asked me to meet him at his house, and to bring Michael with me, too, as he and Olivia wished for the children to meet.

When I arrived at Erik's house, there was a lot of activity going on in the studio. I relished the idea that I now had a studio that I could call my own, even though I'd yet to figure out how I could repay Erik for his generosity. I still couldn't believe he was doing this without any expectation of payment on my part other than having me paint again. There had to be a catch somewhere, I thought. There had to be.

Olivia and Bella were in the living room, sitting on the floor surrounded by toys when Michael and I walked in. Soon, both children were playing together, and I was relieved that they got along so well.

"Erik should be right out," Olivia said, handing me a glass of water before sitting down on the couch. A few minutes later, Erik walked in from the direction of the studio, shaking sawdust from his hair.

"Did Miles finally kick you out so he could finish the job alone?" Olivia asked.

He grinned. "Is it that obvious?"

Olivia chuckled. "You're my brother, Erik. I know you too well."

Erik said hello and washed his hands at the sink before joining us on the couch.

"I'm sorry about the other day," I said. "I was being a pain in the butt."

"Don't apologize," Erik said. "You were just doing the right thing. I'd have asked the same questions as you did if someone offered me a place of my own without even knowing who I was and vice versa. I could be a serial killer for all you know."

"Erik!" Olivia exclaimed. "Don't scare her!"

"As long as we're both clear about this," I said. "I want to do something for you in return."

"Whatever you want," Erik said.

"You could always paint him a picture," Olivia said as I followed Michael, who was now exploring the living room on his own, already bored of the toys on the floor.

"I probably could, yes," I said, wondering why I hadn't thought of it sooner. "In fact, maybe I will."

"I'd love to see how you'd paint Erik," she added.

I stared at her, surprised that I hadn't even thought of painting a portrait of Erik, though I did think of painting her and Bella, the sudden vision of a madonna and child coming to me. I would love to paint Erik, but I'd probably be too nervous and make a fool of myself by running away like I did when I first met him.

"Oh, God, please don't paint me," Erik said, blushing. "There's the whole ocean right in front of you. You can paint that. Look, the last thing Liv and I want to do is tell you what to paint, so just paint whatever you want. And if you need the name of reputable art agent, I can give you the name of someone. He's a good friend of mine."

Olivia shot a glance towards her brother, as if he wasn't supposed to mention the topic. But Erik only shrugged his shoulders.

"She's going to need one eventually, Liv," he said. "No point in hiding good talent."

"Only if she decides to paint professionally again, Erik," Olivia said.

"Thanks for the offer," I interjected. "Erik is right about me needing an art agent. But I'll let him know when the time comes. For now, I just need to start painting first."

"As long as my brother didn't twist your arm for you to come to that decision, then I'm okay with it," Olivia smiled. "My brother can be, shall we say, quite persuasive at times without any consideration to what others might feel."

"I wouldn't worry about it," I said. "I was actually thinking of signing up for an art class at the community college so I could use their studio."

"Really?" Olivia said, arching her eyebrows. "Perfect timing then! Well, now you've got your very own studio, right here on the Strand! Why don't you go check it out? I'll watch Michael for you."

As she spoke, Michael walked towards Bella and sat down. I called his name, but he was engrossed in one of Bella's toys, a colorful piano that was now playing Twinkle,Twinkle, Little Star.

"Go on. Michael will be fine with us here," Olivia urged, smiling. "That way you can tell my brother exactly how you'd like the studio to be built. Let someone tell him what to do for a change. He needs that now and then."

I would never dream of imposing my demands of what I thought a studio ought to be, but I kept such thoughts to myself. After all, my old studio, if one could call it that, had been the garage, complete with cans of motor oil and boxes destined for Goodwill.

"C'mon, then," Erik said, beckoning me to accompany him as he took a step back towards the door. "Tell me if there's anything you need for me to do. I know nothing about artist studios. Nothing."

A few minutes later, we were standing in my new studio. Other than a hole in the wall leading to a small garden and a cement wall, as well as a man hammering on a door frame, the space was just about finished. The rest of the room was bare except for a brand-new-looking futon, a coffee table and a small refrigerator. Two folded drop cloths were arranged along one corner and towards the back of the room, there was a bathroom with a full bathtub. He had also gone through the trouble of having an industrial-sized sink installed outside the bathroom, and for a few minutes, I found myself standing in front of it.

There was nothing like having an industrial sized sink for a painter like me. As long as the plumbing was done right, I might as well have been given a glimpse of heaven.

Eunice had taught me how to paint using oils, but after she died, I switched to acrylics. I missed oils, but with a studio of my own, who knew? I'd probably go back to them.

"This wasn't here two days ago," I said, trailing my fingers along the porcelain. It wasn't like those ugly utilitarian industrial sinks. It was simply a larger than normal one, and still somehow fitting with the aesthetics of the space. Heaven forbid my studio ruined the value of a beachside house.

"I wasn't sure if you needed one, but since we were having some stuff done to the pipes anyway, I figured, you could use one. You do need one, right?"

I smiled. Since I no longer painted with oil, I didn't really need one, but it would make washing the paint brushes a lot easier. "I really appreciate all this, Erik. I don't know how I can thank you."

"Just paint. I wasn't using this room for anything anyway. And if you wish to hang anything on the walls, go ahead and do it." He handed me a set of keys. "This is for you. It's for the separate entrance door once it's finished, which will be tomorrow, Friday. You did say that you'd probably use it on weekends, when your ex has Michael."

I nodded, but I didn't take the keys. Instead, I pulled out a folded piece of paper from my pants pocket.

"What's that?" He asked, perplexed.

"It's an agreement. A rental agreement, just as a formality. I wouldn't want to just take the keys from you without any agreement to set up boundaries, expectations. That sort of thing," I said. "I went ahead and wrote down the basic stuff. It's the best I can do, legal mumbo-jumbo wise, but it should work. We just have to sign it."

"What does it say?" He asked, a bemused expression on his face.

"It says that I agree to use the space you are providing as a studio on a month-to-month basis. I agree to maintain the place and keep it the way I found it. If I decide not to use it anymore, I will let you know and..." My voice trailed. I was suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"...And what?" His voice was soft, as if he sensed my discomfort.

"I will reimburse you for the use of the space in the amount of-"

"Oh, for crying out loud," Erik grabbed the piece of paper from my hand before I could finish speaking. He walked towards the stepladder and laid the paper flat on one of the rungs, digging for a pen from his jeans back pocket. He scribbled something on the paper and signed his name at the bottom.

"Here. Sign it," he said, handing the paper back to me.

"Not until I've read what you just wrote," I protested. He had crossed out the amount of money I had written down and beneath it, wrote, an original painting of any subject Ms. Samantha Marlin chooses - well, any subject except Erik Maystrom.

"I hope I didn't insult you with the amount I put down. It was meant to be negotiable," I stammered, my face coloring.

"The painting, should you decide to quit this place and move on, will be non-negotiable," he said. "I understand your need to keep the boundaries between us, and I agree. My attorney actually drafted one for me, which includes liability clauses and all that, but I prefer your version, Sam."

"I hope you understand where I'm coming from," I said. "I don't want you to think that I'm taking advantage of your generosity."

He grinned. "I'm your benefactor. That's all there is to it."

"This really means a lot to me," I stammered.

"If you can use this space to create your art, I'd be more than happy."

"Will you be getting commissions on anything I sell?"

He frowned. "Why would I do that?"

I caught myself. It was what David always did. Under Erik's questioning gaze, I simply shrugged. "I don't know. I just wish I knew how to repay you."

"It's already on the contract, Sam. A painting of your choice, except one of me, despite what my sister suggested." He sighed. "This arrangement is so new to us, so why don't we take this one day at a time? You can move in your painting supplies as early as tomorrow and you can put whatever you want in the mini-fridge. Miles tells me that the door will be done tonight and except for a little bit of vacuuming, it will be ready to go by tomorrow afternoon. How does that sound?"

"It sounds fine," I giggled.

"And just because your studio is part of my house, don't feel that you have to be social if you don't want to. I probably won't be in the house as much anyway in the next few weeks," he continued. "But if I happen to be home, and your door is open, I'll be sure to say hi and not be a stranger. But if your door is shut, then I'll leave you alone. How does that sound?"

I shrugged. "It sounds good to me." Why would I ever close the door now?

"Good," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's shake on it, and then you can sign your agreement and I'll make copies for us."

We shook hands, and it felt good to feel his firm grip against my palm. I signed my agreement, feeling foolish for having even come up with my own sad version of one when Erik said his attorney had already drafted him one. While he went outside the room to make copies of the agreement, I inspected the rest of the space. Next to the sink was a kitchen counter that even had a brand new microwave. When I opened the cupboard above it, he'd stocked it up with plates, utensils, a jar of peanut butter, a bag of mixed nuts and tea.

I could feel the excitement slowly building, yet I tried hard to control myself. Soon, I thought, I wouldn't be able to stop grinning from ear to ear if this feeling kept up. When Erik returned, he handed me my copy and also the set of keys. Then before I knew it, he gathered me in his arms and gave me a huge hug that took my breath away.

For a few seconds, he held me and I didn't know what to do though my arms slowly went around him as well. Then he took a step back, a huge grin on his face.

"Well, Miss Artist-In-Residence, welcome to your very own studio," he said, and just then, every ounce of my self-control shattered. It was like I had just won the lottery, I thought, and within seconds, I was crying like a baby.

Just a quick look at a what I'd imagine Erik's house to look like in Manhattan Beach. The small street heading to the beach is called a walk street.