"Another day, another dollar," Claire announced to the empty room. The solitude of the studio that had drawn her to work on the New Year's holiday suddenly seemed stuffy and confining. She rolled her stiff neck from side to side, and her eyes fell on the painting on the wall. It was crooked. She got up to adjust the frame and trailed her fingers across the surface of the glass. The view of her beloved lake at sunset sent a pang through her, as the sights and sounds of the day the painting had been created flashed before her.

She had been five years old, seated on a low stool beside her father at his easel in their tiny yard that edged the lake. She had soaked in the brief moment of silence and beauty. Then, her mother's voice had intruded.

"Robert, the phone. Mr. Jackson is asking about his drawings."

Suddenly the air was charged with emotion, but her father made no reply.

"Robert?" Claire's mother's voice raised in volume, but receiving no reply, she retreated inside, letting the screen door slap shut behind her.

Robert Shipley had given his daughter a bleary smile.

"All in a day's work, my pet," he said, continuing to paint.

Now alone in the studio, Claire focused on this one picture, bold with the colors of the sunset, the only tangible evidence her father's talent had existed. Her mother had cleared out the tiny room used as his studio, once Robert Shipley himself had gone.

Many times during her mother's last pain-filled years, Claire had longed to ask about the man that they had both loved and lost. Yet some unspoken agreement had caused Claire to keep silent. After her mother's death, Claire had found this single painting in the attic. Now, it hung as a quiet reminder of other days and hidden emotions more than 20 years past.

Claire turned away to look out the window at the clouds gathering for a glorious sunset. She could watch, warm with another cup of coffee, or brave the winds at the edge of the bluff. The urge to be outside won, and Claire quickly tidied her board and bundled up for the January chill.

Facing the reality of the relentless winds that swept over the Eastern shore of Lake Michigan to the town of St. Joseph above, she wavered. Then she resolutely tucked her hat about her ears and snuggled her hands deep into her pockets. At last she stood on the wind-swept bluff, perching on the fair-weather view park bench used by the residents of the retirement hotel across the street. The soft glow of lights appeared in the windows behind her, but she ignored the tug of the modern world. She liked to pretend that the lakeshore was as it had been long ago when her mother was a girl and rode horses up the lonely beaches to the very edge of the lapping waves.

Her sigh was an audible sound in the stillness, and suddenly she sensed that she was not alone. For a second, her heart climbed into her throat and her gloved hand felt the can of pepper spray kept in her pocket. But the intruder returned her gaze with a look of friendly curiosity that eased her fears. His eyes were as steel gray as the sky today, but his smile crinkled with laugh lines and his demeanor was non-threatening.

Claire was still wary, but distracted by the spectacular scene before her. As she watched, the setting sun spread streaks like marmalade, and blueberry edges flowed over pink cotton candy clouds. Claire licked her lips and then mentally admonished herself. "Cracked lips shun kisses," her mother's voice echoed inside her head. Engrossed in her own thoughts, the man momentarily forgotten, she started when he spoke. "The Sunset Coast lives up to its name once again," he said.

Claire's eyes followed his voice to where he leaned against a large oak tree. Taking a better look in the lingering daylight, she decided for sure that he wasn't a mugger. Mid-thirties and well-heeled - that thick jacket had set him back a bit - no hat controlled the dark hair that tousled in the breeze. She'd bet his ears were freezing.

"Is this your spot?" he asked in an apologetic tone. "I didn't expect to see anyone else out today. Everyone else seems to be sleeping off last night's celebrations."

"Not me," Claire said in a flat tone of voice, adding, "I don't drink."

"People with aching heads are probably resolving to give it up this morning."

"Hollow promises. Besides, the road to..."she stopped, embarrassed.

"That's something about intentions, isn't it?"

She shrugged, "That's what my mother used to say."

"My grandmother told me those same bits of homey advice. I used to visit her years ago when she lived up here on the bluffs."

Claire averted her gaze. "We lived down below."

"My buddies and I spent a lot of time on the beach, but I don't remember seeing you there."

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop," she quoted and then smiled. "My mother sure that I was busy with homework and chores. But I didn't really mind, once I learned to sew."

"But you had time for sunsets?" he asked.

"I made time," she replied and then turned to leave.

"Hey, wait a minute," he called after her. "How about a cup of hot chocolate to celebrate the first sunset of the year? I left my car at the coffee shop down the block."

Claire shivered. A warm cup of anything sounded great, and a lonely evening lay ahead. Why not enjoy a few moments of conversation with an attractive man? She threw caution to the winter winds and said, "Sure."

They braved the icy sidewalks together, soon arriving at the little shop where they sat at a table near the door.

"The view was worth the chill, but at least you dressed to keep warm," he said after they had placed their orders.

Claire removed the hat from her head and caressed the soft gray wool. "It was the first thing I noticed about you," she said.

"What was?"

"That your ears were freezing."

He laughed, and his warmth seemed to fill the room. He poked his ears carefully with his fingers. "Are they still there? I don't feel anything."

"They're a little red, but not frostbitten, I'd guess."

"A Christmas gift?" he asked, gesturing at the hat.

"This? Oh, no. Actually, I made it," she said, instantly regretting the words.

"You're a designer, then?"

"I'd like to be," she admitted. "But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

He smiled. "Mom's words of wisdom? Well, my granny always told me that if you could dream it, you could do it. So what's keeping you from reaching your dreams?"

To her horror, Claire felt tears pricking the edges of her eyes. Holiday stress and workload pressure had pushed her harder than she had realized. She took a deep breath before she answered. "I guess I've never taken them seriously. I just knew they were impossible."

"What would it take to turn them into reality?"

Caught off guard by the unfamiliar probing, Claire found herself listing her needs. "A workshop, equipment, and the time to devote to designing."

"What's stopping you?"

"Money, I suppose, and the nerve to leave my job."

"You're in luck," he said, taking out his wallet and extracting a business card. He scrawled a name and number on the back and handed it to Claire. "This lady specializes in helping women get started in business. Tell her I sent you."

Claire squinted at the small print that wouldn't come into focus. Without her glasses, she couldn't read the printed name, only the company logo "DREW IMPORTING" and the handwritten "Susan Morris" above a local number. She didn't know what to say. She guessed he was from Chicago, making a sentimental journey to the Michigan side of the lake and felt sorry for her. She wondered how she was going to gracefully disengage herself, when he stood up, foam cup in hand and dropped some dollars on the table with the bill.

"I've got a long drive ahead, so I'd better get moving. Thanks for sharing the sunset with me. Do give Susan a call. She's quite the miracle worker."

Claire painted a pleasant smile on her lips, tucked the card in her pocket and wished him a good evening. She chided herself for being so foolish, blaming it on the after-effects of a perfect sunset. She finished her hot chocolate and slipped out the back door, a short cut down the bluffs and home.

***************************************************************

She had never intended to take the stranger up on his offer. Her job as creative director at a small ad agency wasn't high-powered, but it was comfortable and familiar. Then, on the following Monday, her boss, the owner of the small agency made a startling announcement.

"I'm selling out to Myra and retiring to Florida. I'm sure she'll want you all to stay on."

For Claire, it was a question how she could work for someone like Myra Ellis, his former assistant, and keep her sanity. After high school, with her mother so ill, Claire was grateful for the job so convenient to home that let her use her natural artistic talents. Even after her mother's death, she had stayed on, only occasionally wondering about a more challenging career.

She would feel disloyal abandoning the life that her mother had struggled to secure for them, after her father had left them to chase the will-o'-the-wisp of his own dreams. Although his death a few years after he had gone away had been reported an accident, Claire wondered as she got older - had his talents been overshadowed by his addictions?

She doubted her own ability to rise above a dubious background. The gap between the life on the lakeshore and the higher grounds of the bluffs seemed insurmountable. Her mother had left her the small house at the foot of the bluff, free and clear, and her job took care of other necessary expenses. She was doing just fine.

But within a few days of the change of ownership, Claire knew that she and Myra could never co-exist in their new relationship. she had to try something else, and she thought of the business card. Curiosity had compelled her to read the same print when she got home that New Year's evening and learn the name of the man on the bluff. "Justin Drew," had been the imprint on the card. But even if she knew his name, he'd never bothered to ask hers.

Still, she had tucked the card away and knew just where to find it on this fateful day, only the third day of Myra's first week as the boss. After Myra had interrupted her work for the third time in an hour with the same inane question, Claire put on her coat, snapped off the light over her board and announced that she was ill and going home.

Once there, she found the card. It was just one in the afternoon. The woman would be at lunch, or in a meeting.

"Susan Morris," was the brisk reply on the second ring.

"This is Claire Shipley." Claire overcame her surprise to respond. "I'm calling you on the recommendation of Justin Drew."

"I'm so glad you called," Susan Morris's voice was low and pleasant. Justin told me that you might."

"I don't think I gave Mr. Drew my name..."

Susan laughed. "No, and he was embarrassed by that. But he'll be pleased we made contact."

"I guess I'm not quite sure where to begin."

"Why don't we meet, then," Susan cut in smoothly. "My office is in the bank building, second floor, third door on the right. I'm free all afternoon."

Claire agreed to be there at three. It wouldn't take long to walk the few blocks uptown, but she wanted time to collect her thoughts, to prepare herself. Nothing ventured; nothing gained, she reassured herself.

She began organizing sketches of her designs, photos of outfits she had made for friends, and a few sample accessories that she had done. Maybe it was all a waste of time, but it would do her good to talk, get it out of her system, and just go back to work tomorrow. A change of the magnitude she was contemplating just didn't happen so easily. But she was wrong. Susan Morris was indeed prepared to help. Calm and confident, she skimmed Claire's materials with a professional eye.

"First we'll prepare a business plan, and then we'll get approval from the trustees," she told Claire. "Funds for start-up will come from a small foundation that I administer for the bank."

They set up a time to meet again.

Claire left the bank with a handful of forms and a heart full of hope and nearly slipped on a shadowed patch of ice outside. It brought her up short. What had she gotten herself into? A breath of chill air cleared her head, and she realized that she had stopped just outside her favorite art gallery. Tucking her papers into her case, she went inside and wandered toward several new seascape paintings hung on a far wall. Her heart skipped a beat, but as she drew close enough to read the signature, she felt a familiar disappointment. The hope of discovering another Robert Shipley painting faded once more.

"So, we meet again," spoke a voice over her right shoulder.

Claire turned to face a smiling Justin Drew. He scrutinized the paintings. "Pleasant, but not Lake Michigan, I'd guess," he said.

Claire, so close that she could breathe in the aroma of his after-shave was momentarily disconcerted, but then found her voice. "No, not our lake at all."

"Did you come for the opening?"

"Opening? Oh, no, I had an appointment at the bank and was just passing. I want to thank you for your introduction to Susan Morris. I met with her today."

"And?"

"We have another appointment for next week. It does sound promising, and I admit it would be a welcome change from drawing cans of corn and windshield wipers."

"Someone has to rescue you from that," Justin agreed. "Susan is pretty amazing, even if she is my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Oh, I thought Susan would probably have told you. I'll admit she is the prettier one."

"You really look nothing alike."

"No, we take after different sides of the family. She got the better temperament, too."

 Claire's heart made a little jump as the door behind them opened with a great burst of wind and a vibrant voice boomed across the room.

 "Justin!" cried a tall woman in a luxurious black fur coat and matching hat who advanced on them with great strides in her high leather boots.

 "Hello, Minda," Justin said. "This is Minda Althoff,"  he began, and Claire, realizing that he wouldn't know her name, spoke up quickly.

 "I'm Claire Shipley."

  "Hello," Minda greeted Claire. "Has Justin shown you the new exhibit?"

 "Actually, I just got here myself," Justin answered.

 He turned to Claire. "Minda is sponsoring a showing of local sculpture."

 "And Justin, modest man that he is, has managed to restore some long-lost local treasures," Minda exclaimed, steering Claire and Justin toward a graceful bronze of a sailing ship.

 "I only made a few phone calls," Justin protested, but Minda waved away his excuse.

 "Nonsense, without you, we'd never have found them!"

 Justin appeared amused at the effusive compliments, but he seemed as relieved as Claire was for the distraction of the arrival of more people to view the displays. As Minda moved toward the newcomers, Justin and Claire walked to the rear of the room.

 "Is this a private showing," Claire asked, glancing about.

 "Not really, just an open house sponsored by the city fathers," Justin replied. "Are you interested in collecting?"

 "Only what my pocketbook can afford," Claire said.

 "Then hold my pocketbook, please, I can't afford to drop this," a feminine voice said, and Susan Morris appeared, balancing a tray loaded with glasses of champagne. "I've been pressed into service before I can even shed my coat," she announced, handling the tray to her brother. "It's a good thing that I'm so civic minded."

 Susan hung her coat on a nearby rack and retrieved the tray. "Now, take a glass before I spill some. Justin can testify to my lack of motor skills."

 Justin obliged, but Claire merely smiled and shook her head. Susan turned to distribute more glasses and promptly collided with Minda Althoff, spilling most of the champagne over Minda's elaborately beaded dress, now released from its fur covering.

 "Oh, Minda, I'm so sorry!" Susan exclaimed.

 Minda snatched up a cloth napkin from nearby table. "Don't fuss," she insisted. "This old thing just wipes off, and I'm sick of it anyway. Now that my seamstress has gone to Florida for the winter, I'm stuck with a tired old wardrobe."

 "No need for that," Susan said, motioning to Claire.  "Claire is a designer and will soon open her own shop. If you play your cards right, you can be first in line."

 "I'm always first," Minda said, tucking her hand under Claire's arm and chattering happily away. Claire got one last amused look from Justin as Minda whisked her away.

************************************************************

During the weeks that followed, Susan Morris and her silent compatriots made the wheels of finance turn at an alarming rate. On the day that Claire had been summoned to Susan's office to sign the final papers, Susan had an urgent question. "All we need is a name for the business," she told Claire.

"Sunset Coast Originals," Claire responded with a fond thought for the lake shore that she and her mother had both loved. Then, almost before Claire could become used to the change Susan wasted no time, once funding was approved, educating Claire on the finer points of what needed to be done to set up the studio/shop and literally pushed her through the door of the perfect location in the trendy, restored uptown area.

 "What do you think?" Susan asked as they stood in the doorway of the empty shop. Claire couldn't say anything for a long moment, but slowly made her way to the expanse of the building that overlooked the lake. Although the front of the building faced the busy side street, the back room had a view that Claire knew would inspire her best work. She was speechless. Susan gave her a hug. "It's your big chance, and I know you'll do well!"

************************************************************

The next few weeks were a bustle of activity, but Minda Althoff couldn't wait. Once she had learned of Claire's talents, she insisted upon coming for a fitting and stood patiently in the center of the empty room while Claire took measurements. The newly painted white walls gleamed, and boxes of equipment and supplies were everywhere.

Claire was nervous, but Minda put her at ease. "I don't even want to see sketches," she said. "Just make the outfits we planned for my cruise. I want to be pleasantly surprised."

 And that was that. Claire had made the transition from full-time employee to full-time designer. She cut the ties to Myra without a backward glance and did not reveal her plans to her, or the others. They'd all know, soon enough.

 With Susan's help and the apparently unlimited funds of the foundation, Claire's dreams became reality. Furnishings, materials, and even an assistant were in place in short order. Claire concentrated on the designs for her first official commission. Minda Althoff, with her connections to the town's old money was the ticket to acceptance and future success. A deadline loomed, for Minda needed the wardrobe completed within ten days. Claire had promised to deliver everything on a Friday afternoon in time for Minda to wear the new evening gown at a dinner party in her home that evening.

 "You'll join us for dinner," Minda had told Claire.  "It's a celebration thanking everyone involved in the exhibition. I won't take no for an answer!"

 Claire had agreed, but now on the evening before delivering the finished creations, she fretted alone over last details, having sent her assistant home at five.  The streets outside were deserted, but the shop window was ablaze with lights when a tap came at the front window. Claire opened the door to a familiar figure.

"Hello," said Justin Drew. "So, this is what you and Susan are up to."

 Claire felt a warmth in her cheeks and put up a hand to tidy her hair. "What do you think?" she asked.

 Justin fingered a bit of material and picked up one of her art boards. "I like it very much."

 Claire brushed a bit of lint from the table to cover the sudden awkwardness she felt. "I've never properly thanked you..."

 "No need for that. It's thanks enough to see talent rewarded. But why are you burning the midnight oil, as Granny would say?"

 "A stitch in time saves nine," Claire replied. She laughed. "I'm finishing Minda's gown for tomorrow night."

 "That's why I'm in town," Justin said. "Minda insisted that I attend the dinner. She says you've agreed to come."

 "If I finish everything in time."

 "I'll pick you up at seven, then."

 "That's not necessary."

 "Of course it isn't, but Susan and Minda suspect that you won't show if you don't have a proper escort. So, that's me. Don't turn me down. Those two will never forgive me."

 "All right," Claire replied and bent her head to work.

 "I'm dismissed?" Justin asked in an amused tone after a quiet moment.

Claire nodded. 

"Till tomorrow," Justin said with a grin, and left.

 After Justin's departure, Claire's fingers flew, and soon the last bit of trim was completed. She held up the gown and studied it with a discerning eye. Made of a soft, flowing fabric in a pale gray-green color that she knew matched Minda's eyes, it was styled in an understated fashion. She felt it was the best thing she had ever done.

 Totally simple, it would bring out the best in the person who wore it. She wrapped it carefully in a flower print tissue paper and folded it into a bag imprinted "Sunset Coast Originals." She could hardly wait to see the look on Minda's face when she delivered it tomorrow. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep, and dream perhaps, of a certain dark-haired man.

 Early the next morning, Claire loaded her car with the bags that held the outfits she'd completed for Minda. The morning air was chilly, but refreshing, and a light dusting of snow reinforced that it was January still. But Claire didn't mind. At least she'd taken a positive step toward her dreams.

But upon her arrival at Minda's home at the edge of the bluff, the early promise of a pleasant day began to unravel. The maid admitted Claire to the parlor and had gone to alert Minda to her presence. Glancing about the room, Claire noted the lush fabrics and fussy style of the furnishings and accessories. Everything was in distinct contrast to the simple but elegant wardrobe of clothes that Claire had created. Even allowing for the fact that they were intended for the more relaxed lifestyle of a cruise, Claire began to have second thoughts.

Minda had come to her shop for fittings, so Claire had never had a chance to see her in her own environment, but why hadn't she paid attention to the obvious style that Minda preferred? Then she heard Minda's booming voice through the half-open doorway of the next room. Her voice was impossible to ignore, and upon hearing her name, Claire's senses were acute.

"Yes, Claire is here now with my dress for this evening. Are you and Justin finally going to come clean about the Foundation tonight? She has a right to know,  and it could affect how she feels about him."

Suddenly Claire understood. How could she have been so stupidly unaware? Susan and the Foundation were just cover for Justin's good works. My God, she thought, how desperate I must have seemed. She felt humiliated that he could have felt such pity for her. What a fool she'd been to think that she was succeeding on her own merits.

She would wait no longer. There was no need for final fittings, for she instinctively knew that everything would fit perfectly. But she had badly misjudged her client's preferences. She would leave the clothes, having promised them for today, but she would not wait to see Minda's disappointment firsthand. A phone call would appraise her of the rejection; she would lose her first important commission, and she would cut her ties to the Foundation. The business had failed before it had really begun.

Quietly she slipped out the front door, before the maid returned.

Back at the shop, she glared at the phone, making a quick decision. She'd turn off the ringer and let the machine answer. She'd finish the work on the dress that she'd planned for herself, but of course, she would not attend the dinner. How could she have thought it was so easy. Like her father before her, she was a failure.

Engrossed in her work, she did not notice the passage of time until the gathering darkness forced her to switch on the light over her worktable in the back room. Her dress was long finished, but she poured over it again and again, examining seam by seam, stitch by stitch, like a ritual to pinpoint the reason for her shortcomings.

A tap on the front door went unheeded, as Claire had tuned out her surroundings. It was only when a ker-chink sounded on the window behind her that overlooked the lake that she finally looked up. Realizing that the back of the building was accessible only by a narrow ledge of land, she was astonished to see Justin's face pressed against the pane.

She could barely hear his words through the glass, but it was easy to read his lips.

"Let me in," he said.

Concerned for his safety on the icy edge, she nodded and got up quickly to go to open the front door in the darkened shop. Even in her depressed state, the sight of him, handsome in evening clothes and a topcoat registered in her mind.

 "Hi," he greeted her as he stepped inside, clutching a large brown wrapped package. "Did you forget the time?"

 "No, I won't be going tonight."

 "Why not?"

 "Has Minda sent you to break the bad news?"

 "What are you talking about?"

 "I won't expect payment, of course. The dissatisfied customer never pays."

 "Who's dissatisfied? Minda can't stop extolling about your designs. When I couldn't get you to answer the door, I went by the party, thinking I'd mistaken our arrangements.  But you weren't there. Susan & I were worried, so I came back."

 "Don't worry. Minda's check will be immediately turned over to the Foundation. It won't pay for everything, but it will be a start. Once I close the business, I'm sure I can sell the equipment and pay you back."

 "What are you talking about?"

 "You, the Foundation. You ARE the Foundation. I overheard Minda on the telephone this morning. She felt I had a right to know who was financing me. After seeing her home, I realized that my designs weren't right at all."

 "That house isn't done in Minda's taste. She's Max Althoff's younger second wife," Justin explained. "The decorating was done by his first wife. I wasn't lying. Minda did like your designs."

 "You expect me to believe anything you say?"

 "It's the truth. I'm sorry I misled you about the Foundation, but Susan and I have helped a number of struggling, but talented people in the last five years.  When our grandmother died, she left us funds to continue to support her love of the arts, of artistic people, and that's what we've done."

"The grandmother you talked about?" Claire asked.

Justin nodded, "Yes, she was someone who believed in encouraging the creative spark in others and supplying the means for them to express it. But there was another reason."

 "What reason?"

 Justin didn't answer right away, instead he went to a wall where Claire had hung a group of framed photos. "Your Mother?" he asked.

 "Yes, on her favorite horse, Flame," Claire replied in a wistful tone. "She was riding him the day she met my father. He asked her on the spot to pose for him, and they were married a few weeks later. They were never really suited, but I guess I have him to thank for whatever small talents I have."

"His was a great talent," Justin said, placing the parcel in front of her. "I'd planned to give this to you tonight, and I think you need to see it now."

With momentary hesitation, Claire tore away the wrappings to reveal a view of sunrise over a lake. Tears filled her eyes, and her words caught in her throat.

 "Yes, it's the long-lost companion to the one you already have. Your father's signature is there in the corner."

 "But where did you..."

 "My grandmother left it to me, along with that trust fund. She did it in memory of a special young man who never lived to fulfill his promise."

 "My father knew your grandmother?"

 "She had been planning to sponsor him when he died. I know that his accident was very painful for you and your mother, Claire. But you should know that he was very close to making a good living for you and your mother."

 "I don't remember him very well," Claire admitted. But I know he was kind and gentle and that my mother got very angry when he drank. I was only seven when he had the crash." Claire stopped suddenly. "I always wondered how mother managed to keep the house, but then I suppose you know the answer to that."

 "Your mother refused all my grandmother's help, except for one thing. She let her pay the mortgage on the house below the bluff and for your education."

"It's come full circle," Claire replied. "But what made you think that I could succeed where my father failed?"

"Your dreams just needed a little push," Justin answered. "When I met you that night on the bluff and realized who you were, I had to take the chance. I knew you wouldn't accept my help, and that's where Susan came in."

 "She was the willing go-between?"

 "And now she's insisting that I stop hiding behind her and speak for myself. That's what I intended to do tonight. I brought you the painting, my grandmother's most treasured possession to show you my good faith." Justin held out the painting to Claire. "Maybe it's corny, but from the moment I met you, I knew it was what they would have wanted, your grandmother and my father, for us to meet."

Claire didn't reply, but her fingers slid over the rough surface of the oils.

Justin put his hand over hers. "With Minda's backing, you'll make a success of your dream because of your talents. You won't need my help, and you can even pretend that you don't know me from Adam. Can we make a fresh start, or have I blotted the page, as my granny used to say?"

Claire looked up, her heart making the quick decision.  "A turn of the leaf, Justin," she told him. "We'll start a new page. Let's see if the rest of the year lives up to the promise of the New Year's day when we met."

 "Can we go back to Minda's now and let Susan know that I've had the courage to speak for myself?" he asked.

Claire smiled, took his arm, and turned to open the door to their future together.

"You're still a little green," she told him. "But then, new leaves are like that."