From that day on, you met with Michael once a week. This routine lasted for a month. Then you saw him two times a week . . . then three. It had been four months since you agreed to teach him, and they had been the happiest you had spent in years.

You couldn't get enough of teaching art again, but more importantly, you couldn't get enough of Neverland and its owner, which was why you were preparing to leave your studio to spend the day with Michael.

You checked yourself in the mirror one last time, grabbed your bag, and headed for the door.

Richard called after you. "Where are you off to? I thought you had a job to work on." You turned to him. He was standing in the middle of the room with a puzzled look on his face.

You kept walking and searched the floor for your sneakers. "I have an appointment with Michael today," you muttered, wanting nothing more than to avoid this conversation.

"But what about the commission for that actress?"

You pulled your sneakers on, taking the time to double-knot them so you could avoid meeting Richard's gaze for a few more seconds. "Don't worry about it."

"Why not?"

"I . . . canceled it."

Richard slapped his hands on his face and shook his head. "Are you crazy? You're canceling all your jobs! There's not enough money coming in. I know Michael's amazing – trust me, I know – but you have to tell him you can't do this anymore. He's not paying you enough to cover the rent. (Y/n), you could lose the studio if you don't -"

"I don't care about the money anymore!" you shouted. "I want to be happy for once! And I'm happier now than I've been in so long. I love these lessons, and I won't give them up."

Richard paused for a moment. The anger faded from his face. "Do you love the lessons . . . or do you love Michael?" He wasn't teasing this time. He was serious.

Heat rushed to your face as you stood in the doorway. "Our relationship is strictly professional," you said. You left the studio, shutting the door gently behind you.

Strictly professional. The words echoed in your head as you got in your car and started the engine. You squeezed the steering wheel in your fists.

Strictly professional.

It was the lie you told yourself every day, but you never believed it. Richard was right, and you knew it. You were in love with Michael.

And if it meant being happy with him, you were willing to risk it all.

Despite your argument with Richard, you managed to arrive at the ranch on time and without a speeding ticket. Michael greeted you in front of the main house with a hug instead of a handshake.

"Hi! How are you?" he asked, hugging you tight.

You tried your best to smile. "I'm alright. How are you?"

"Excellent now that you're here. Let's go up to the mountain later today! We can paint the sunset. Do you want to?"

It was one of Michael's favorite places on the property, a high mountain that loomed over a lush, grassy valley. The view was spectacular, especially at dawn and dusk, Michael's favorite times of the day. The first time he had brought you there, he told you he only brought his closest friends to the mountain. You had felt like you could fly when he said he considered you one of those special people.

The memory lifted your spirits. "I would love to."

The two of you spent the whole day in the studio, chatting about anything and everything. But as the light began to fade from the sky, you loaded up a golf cart with two small easels, canvases, chairs, and paint supplies. As Michael drove across the ranch, you sat quietly in the passenger seat, frowning the slightest bit. Richard's words would not leave you alone. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Michael glance at you every few minutes, his lips taut with concern.

Michael parked at the base of the small mountain, and each of you gathered your materials. The short walk to the summit was quieter than it had ever been. The uneasiness was palpable. You breathed it in with the chilled evening air. You saw it in the way Michael walked tensely, so unlike his usual carefree stride.

When you reached the summit, you swept your gaze over the valley below you. The sun was about to begin its descent beneath the horizon; the two of you had made it just in time. You began setting up your easel, expecting Michael to do the same. You felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned. Michael grinned, but it was a sad sort of grin.

"Don't worry about setting up just yet." He hesitated before speaking again. "I want to talk to you." He gestured for you to follow him as he walked to the very tip of the mountain and sat down. He patted the ground beside him and looked up at you expectantly. You sat down, but your guard went up.

You had always felt uncomfortable in heart-to-heart conversations. You prided yourself on being tough. Well, you liked to pretend you were tough. In reality, though, you were terrified of someone taking a hammer and chisel to your stony surface and revealing the pain underneath.

You knew Michael had his chisel and hammer ready.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "You haven't been yourself lately."

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight. "No, I'm . . . I've just been thinking."

"I'm worried about you," Michael said.

You avoided his gaze as though his eyes could see through the titanium mask you wore. When you remained silent, he pressed his lips together and looked away.

"I'm sorry for prying," he continued. "I just thought . . . well, I wanted to let you know you could talk to me. I know how hard it is to find someone who cares. And, well . . . I care about you." He stared sadly toward the horizon.

You wanted to be honest with him, and the longer you looked into his melancholic eyes, you believed, for once, you could be vulnerable. There was something about him, an honesty, a realness he had that made you want to open up, to tell him all the silly wishes of your heart. Something about him that convinced you he would handle you with care.

You had no idea what that something was, but it melted your titanium mask.

Keeping your gaze low, you played with the grass. "Something is wrong."

He turned to you, surprised. He laid his hand on yours. "What's the matter?"

His touch sent a shiver up your arm and straight to your heart. It gave you courage. You took a deep breath. "I've been canceling other jobs to come do these lessons with you. I'm scared because money's getting tight." The words came out hurried, as though they burned your tongue as you spoke.

Michael sighed and closed his eyes. "(Y/n), why didn't you tell me? I would have understood."

"I didn't tell you because . . . because I wanted to keep spending time with you. I've been so miserable the past few years. I abandoned my teaching job and the students I adored to chase my dreams. I worked so hard to become a professional artist only to find that doing commissions didn't make me happy. And all of a sudden, painting – my greatest passion – became a chore."

You smiled at Michael and intertwined your fingers with his. "Then you came." Michael's body and soul seemed to gasp, and his eyes sparkled. "When I painted that first portrait of you, it reminded me why I love art," you said. "You made me happy again. That's why I made you my priority. But because of that, I'm probably going to lose my studio. Everything I've worked for." Tears stung your eyes, but you fought them back. "Richard thinks I'm crazy, but it's worth it, you know. You're worth it. Because . . . because . . ." Your tears fell like raindrops, and you looked up at him, hoping your face would tell him what you were too afraid to say.

Michael sprang forward and kissed you.

Your heart spasmed for a second, but soon every muscle in your body relaxed. Your eyelids fluttered and closed, and you let yourself fall against him. You kissed him until you both needed air. He pulled away and you both gasped, resting your foreheads against each other, touching noses.

"I love you," you whispered, clutching the back of his shirt. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said breathlessly as he stroked your hair.

You kissed him again. This time, he pulled away before his breath ran out. You opened your eyes, perplexed. You could almost see the light bulb glowing above his head.

"I'll hire you," he said.

You traced little hearts on his hand and shot him a sultry look. "You wouldn't have to pay me."

Michael's hand flew to his mouth and he snickered. "Oh my God, no that's not what I meant."

You nudged his shoulder with yours. "I'm joking."

He grabbed your hands in his. "Please, say you'll be my personal artist. Don't worry about losing the studio. You can live here. You can have my studio. I'll give you an entire guest house if you want. I'll make sure you're taken care of. If you're happy here, stay. Please. Stay."

Within you, a small spark of hope grew into a raging flame. You couldn't believe this was happening. "You'd really let me do that?" you asked. A teardrop slid down your cheek.

Michael wiped it away with his thumb as he caressed your face. "Nothing would make me happier."

You smiled, tasting salty tears. You laughed, a laugh of utter joy, of purest relief. You leaned forward and flung your arms around Michael's neck. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you!"

He nestled his head against yours. He chuckled, and you felt his hot breath on your neck. "No," he said. "Thank you."

You let him go, sat bolt upright, and put on a serious face. "Mr. Jackson, I accept your offer." You smirked and extended your hand to him.

Michael laughed and shook it. He leaned back, pulling you over with him until you were lying on top of him in the grass. He placed a kiss on your lips and then on your forehead and wrapped his arms around you, interlocking his fingers on top of your back.

"I can't believe this is happening," you said. "You've brought me here so many times, and every time I wanted you to hold me like this. I thought it might never happen."

He brushed your hair out of your face with slender fingers. "Believe it. 'Cause now that I have you, I'm never letting go."

The breeze blew, sending goosebumps up your arm. Or maybe it was his words. The rustling of the grass in the valley below caught your attention. "Look, the sun is setting." You crawled off of him and the two of you sat up, still holding each other. From where you sat, high above the world, the valley looked like an ocean of green, and the sun's fading golden light flashed on every wave.

In spite of the cool night air, you felt warm from your head to your toes. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Michael grinned and nodded. "The sunset gives way to darkness, a time of fear and uncertainty. But just when it feels like you'll be in the dark forever, the sun rises again, bringing new hope and happiness." He winked. "You can count on that."

Sitting beside him, wrapped in his arms, you knew you could. You knew his arms would keep the cold away. You knew his light would lead you through any darkness.

"I know I can," you said. You kissed his cheek. It felt indescribably good, knowing that now you could kiss him whenever you wanted.

I can't wait to tell Richard, you thought, chuckling.

You woke up in Michael's bed.

Someone was gently shaking your shoulder. "Hey, wake up," the familiar voice whispered.

Groggily, you opened your eyes and sat up. "What is it?"

"Breakfast is ready."

You rubbed the sleep out of one eye and glanced at the alarm clock with the other. "Breakfast? Michael, it's 5 o'clock in the morning."

"And?"

"No one eats breakfast this early."

"We do. Today, at least," he said.

"Uhh . . . no," you said, putting a pillow over your face to block the light.

Michael laughed, crawled onto the bed, and started shaking you. "I gave you an entire guest house to yourself. Sleep there if you don't want me to wake you up."

You peeked out from under the pillow and pouted. "But I'd rather sleep in your bed."

Michael grabbed the pillow and tossed it. He hovered over you for a second before he swooped down and pecked a kiss on your lips. "Please come eat breakfast with me. You have a busy day ahead of you, and you'll need your energy."

You grinned up at him sleepily. "And why is that?"

Michael smirked. "I have a commission for you."

"Oh, really? And what would you like me to paint?"

He crawled off the bed and traced a canvas in the air with his finger. "Me standing on the mountain, looking out over the horizon at the sunrise. I called a camera crew to get some reference photos, and I want you to be there." He tossed a change of clothes onto the bed in front of you. "So, put these on quick."

The corner of your mouth quirked upward as you studied him. "You're acting weird."

"I always act weird. You of all people should know that. Now stop stalling and hurry up!" He left the room, and you heard his bare feet on the stairs. He hollered up to you. "We'll miss the sunrise if you don't!"

You groaned and took five more seconds to bask in the warmth and comfort of the bed, then you swung your legs over the side and grabbed the pair of leggings Michael had tossed at you. You reached for the shirt next. Your blue flannel. You recognized the outfit immediately. It was the outfit you wore the day you began Michael's portrait, which now hung over the fireplace in the library. It was the day he complimented your lipstick, the day of awkward hugs. The memory made you smile. You quickly ran a brush through your hair, and in less than two minutes you walked down the stairs.

After eating breakfast – a rather hurried breakfast, you noticed – Michael ushered you outside where a golf cart awaited you. Michael stepped on the gas a little harder than usual. When he stopped the cart at the foot of the mountain, he Michael practically ran up the path to the summit.

"Hurry, (Y/n)!" Michael urged.

"Michael, I just woke up. Cut me some slack. You know there'll be another sunrise tomorrow, right? This isn't the last one ever."

Michael laughed. "No, this one will be special. I know it."

You ran after him.

At last, you reached the summit, breathing a little harder than you would care to admit. A small crew of four people was already there, setting up cameras, tripods, and white lighting umbrellas. You tried to stay out of the way as they did their work. Michael, meanwhile, practiced poses, his back to the rest of you. He was a black silhouette against the pale morning sky. The sun had not begun to show itself, but the gorgeous color of the heavens proclaimed its coming.

"(Y/n), what do you think? Should I keep it casual or strike a more iconic move?" Michael hollered. He did his famous toe stand.

"I think it would be cool if you stood on your head," you replied.

He turned to you and giggled. "You're always so helpful." You chuckled.

"All set, Mr. Jackson. Are you ready?" a man standing behind the camera asked.

"I'm ready!" Michael said, putting his hands on his hips. It looked like he decided to keep it casual. The camera guy was about to press the shutter button when Michael waved his hands. "Wait!" he said. "Wait, this picture needs something else."

He turned around and smiled at you. He beckoned you over to him.

You cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"I want you to be in the photo with me!"

You raised your eyebrows and gestured to your outfit. "I'm not exactly what you'd call picture-ready!"

He swatted your negative self-talk like a fly. "Oh, enough. You look beautiful! Please, will you be in the picture?"

You sighed in surrender and jogged over to him.

He wrapped his arm around your waist as you both stood, looking out over the valley together, the breeze of dawn rushing cool against your skin. He leaned in close to you, so close his lips grazed your ear.

"You know how you've never said no to me?" he said.

"Yes, why?" you said, giving him a skeptical look. You saw the expression on his face and furrowed your brow in confusion. He looked . . . nervous?

"Please, please don't start today," he said. He took your hands and squeezed them tight.

He got down on one knee.

Your heart stopped.

The sun rose.

The cameras flashed.

Michael reached inside his jacket and pulled out a little black box. He opened it with care, revealing the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. But even the sparkling stone could not pull your attention away from Michael's eyes. They glistened brilliantly in the light of dawn, and his tears sparkled. He smiled as he gazed up at you.

"(Y/n), will you marry me?"

Tears of joy filled your eyes, and you let them fall. Your legs grew weak beneath you, and you dropped to your knees. You threw your arms around Michael and kissed him so hard he fell backward onto the grass, taking you with him.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" you shrieked, sobbed, and laughed all at once.

Michael threw his fists up in victory. "YES!"

He hugged you as tight as he could and kissed you passionately. You lie there on the grass with him, laughing and crying. You didn't notice the cameras or the crew. You didn't notice the world. All that existed was Michael, the way he looked at you as though you were all he'd ever need.

Still lying there, Michael held the ring out to you. H slipped it on your finger, and you admired it. The stone was radiant, and the gold band shone magnificently. It was stunning.

"I love you," you said. "Not because of this." You held up your left hand, then you poked him in the chest. "Because of you."

Michael rolled his eyes playfully. "I know, I know." He smiled wide. "I love you too."

You caressed his face and kissed him, and your ring glinted in the light of the sunrise, the light of newfound hope and happiness.

"Are you ready, Michael?" you called. "Rich is going to be here any minute!"

"One second!" he replied.

"Don't worry about your hair! It's just Richard!"

"I know it's Richard, but it's a special day!"

The doorbell rang.

"Crap. He's here!" you called.

Michael ran down the stairs, groomed to perfection. "And so am I. Right on time."

You rolled your eyes. "You just got lucky this time."

The two of you opened the front door. Richard stood there, in a suit as usual, though Michael had become a familiar face by now. "How's it going, guys?" he said.

You smiled and hugged him. "It's so good to see you."

"Please, come in," Michael said, shaking Rich's hand.

"So!" Richard clapped his hands. "Where's my surprise?"

You laughed. "You're eager as always."

"Please, I can't take the suspense anymore," Rich begged.

Michael chuckled and shook his head. "Rich, we only told you about the surprise an hour ago."

"And let me tell you, it was the longest hour of my life," Rich said.

"Okay, okay!" you said. "We'll give you your surprise, but first you have to answer one question." You smirked devilishly. "Do you notice anything different about me?"

Richard examined you, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "You're wearing lipstick, which I still find really shocking."

You brought your left pointer finger to your lips and shook your head.