EPILOGUE: In Which He Paints His Future [Reed's POV]

EPILOGUE: In Which He Paints His Future [Reed's POV]

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Song for this chapter: Disclosure ft. Sam Smith, 'Latch'

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One Year Later

A year ago, I wouldn't have been standing here. So comfortable asking Daniel Sheehan how his wife was doing and not cowering in the corner like a kicked puppy – wasn't that how someone had so eloquently put it? – whenever someone came up to me to tell me how much they love my work.

But I wasn't the same man I was a year ago and this art exhibition proved it.

Sheehan's was packed to capacity and it gave me a sharp sense of pride to know that everyone was here tonight because of me. And Tina, I guessed.

She came bounding in my direction, a big grin on her face, as if she knew I was thinking of her and had to remind me of how keyed up she always was. Tina was the kind of person that found the best in everyone and everything, which was probably why she hadn't given up on me after all these months, even when I'd been such an ass to her when Daniel had introduced us.

She had hair the colour of grass, was almost as tall as me, and insisted her staggering height still baffled her Chinese parents, whom I'd met countless times and liked. They were both conservative professors in Ancient History and their only daughter was a green-haired artist with Madonna's face inked on one bicep and the propensity to eat Cheetos when she painted. Go figure.

"Isn't this great?" she exclaimed, looking from Daniel to me and back again. "My first showing ever and it's all thanks to Hot Stuff over here, my hero."

I could feel my face heating up at her words and cursed. That was the one thing no amount of sheer willpower could stop: The way my skin could turn red at the drop of a fucking hat. Tina got a real kick out of that.

"You're talented, Miss Zhou," Daniel told her, always insisting on being so formal, "otherwise Lancaster over here would die before putting your work up beside his."

"True, true. He's such an art snob," Tina agreed, playfully slapping my arm.

"Am not," I muttered, although this was true. A familiar face in the crowd caught my attention and I smiled to myself. "Listen, I'll see you both later. Someone I've been waiting for just got here."

I slipped away from them and made my way to Wyatt, who was now standing beside a piece I was most proud of.

"What do you think?"

He turned at the sound of my voice, giving me a wide grin. "I think you're a talented young man."

"Thanks, Uncle Wyatt. That really means a lot to me."

"Only speaking the truth, son." He was so short he struggled to give me a pat on my shoulder before returning his gaze to my painting. "So...is this who I think it is?"

"That's for you to speculate," I said without missing a beat. Like hell was I going to confirm his assumptions out loud and sound like...well, like what a guy who paints a thousand portraits of the same girl and displays them sounds like.

Wyatt gave me a sly look and it hit me that he was looking even better than he had when I'd last seen him, which was just last week. For a man who'd lost everything when he'd gone to prison, I had yet to see him look bitter or full of regrets. His illness had been all in his head, though, and it had taken a few months for his subconscious to let the idea of it go away once Nate and I decided to buy him a comfy home by the beach to spend his retirement.

But this new burst of youth? It had nothing to do with the little science project he was doing in the garage of his home.

"You're seeing someone," I declared, finally figuring it out. It wasn't completely implausible. Wyatt was in his sixties and, now that he'd cleaned himself up and was in therapy, could probably snatch up a golden oldie at bingo night.

The huge grin on his face said I was right. "Her name's Sandra and she should be here in about..." His voice trailed off as he glanced at his wristwatch. "Maybe twenty minutes."

I laughed. "Still got the moves?"

"Like Jagger, son."

I spent the next ten minutes listening to Wyatt wax lyrical about this Sandra woman, who had, apparently, been a cop back when her neighbour discovered fire. The irony that she was now dating an ex-con wasn't lost on me but I wasn't going to mention it.

Wyatt excused himself to make a phone call after sharing another Sandra anecdote. I was getting worried on his behalf, worried that he'd been stood up – kind of like how I was probably being stood up.

I almost wished I'd been drinking something a little stronger, but the thought disappeared as soon as it came. For as long as I'd live, I'd smell the alcohol on my mother's breath as she crouched down low to tell me that we were going for a drive. Nothing on earth could make me touch a drop of the shįt.

Like always, thoughts of my mother brought on thoughts of the rest of my family and a dark cloud descended over me. I'd lost Brenda as well, in more ways than one. Although I hadn't been to her funeral three months after I'd fired her, I'd been to her grave once, just to close that chapter of my life. She'd suffered a fatal heart attack, I was told, and her body hadn't been discovered until the stench alerted tenants in a neighbouring apartment.

Sad and alone. I sure as hell didn't want to end up like that.

And then there she was, more beautiful than anything I could ever hope to create.

She was different, though. Of course, after a year everyone changes. I took my time to take it all in, the Lena she was now, without her noticing me.

Her hair was much, much shorter. It was cropped to her skull and in the light of the gallery, her ruby highlights practically flamed. My fingers itched right then, to paint that colour; bring it life on a lifeless canvas. It just made her cappuccino-brown eyes seem that much bigger. The dress she wore – and I knew that this was the second time I'd seen her in one – was way too short to be appropriate. It was black and it was tight and for the love of God, she was killing me and didn't even know it. I knew I was staring. Knew it and didn't give a shit.

But then the bubble was popped and I noticed that she was leaning against some guy with his arm wrapped around her waist like a fucķing boa constrictor.

I saw red. Literally.

Crimson and burgundy, scarlet and maroon – they burst before my eyeballs even before I realised I was marching over to Lena and the man glued to her side. Could I explain the way my heart thudded in my chest with adrenaline? The way my hands became fists? Because the headlines the next day were going to be about me pounding the ever-loving shit out of a guy I didn't know from Adam. My jealousy was so stifling it constricted my lungs, made it hard to breathe, so that by the time Lena's wide-eyed stare met mine, I was right there.

Imogen chose that inopportune moment to sidle up next to me, cradling Luke in her arms.

"Lena, my God, you look stunning!" she exclaimed, and she shoved my nephew into my arms so that she could extricate Lena from fucķhead's grasp. "I didn't think you'd make it!"

"Neither did I, to be honest," Lena said softly, looking at me over Imogen's shoulder.

Her voice poured over me and lessened the dark cloud of rage that loomed over me. I threw a glare at the man she was with, sizing him up. Shorter. Younger. And his hair styled into a fucķing mohawk?

You've got to be kidding me, Lena.

"This is Dylan, Dawn's brother," she was telling Imogen once they'd pulled apart. It took everything in my power not to say something. Could I say something? It had been so long that I was struck dumb in her presence.

"Lena's told me so much about you," Mohawk said, a little too animatedly for my liking.

"Funny, I've heard nothingabout you and you're such a doll," Imogen said in that shrill tone of voice that sometimes got under my skin. Like now. Traitoress wench.

Luke writhed in my arms at the sound of his mother's voice and stole my attention momentarily. I was a sucker for this kid and for a four-month-old, he already knew he had his one and only uncle wrapped around his pinkie finger. Wide blue eyes met mine and he flashed me a toothless grin, thumping his tiny fist against my chest.

"What is it, little guy? You're too tiny to give me a bro fist." I probably sounded ridiculous speaking in that singsong voice I automatically acquired the second I was with my nephew.

I felt eyes on me and looked up. There it fucķing was. I was blushing. I knew I was, from the way Lena was looking at me. Dylan and Imogen were talking animatedly about the heat wave we were experiencing and I was being my awkward self.

I cleared my throat. "I –"

"Jesus, I've been looking everywhere for you, Reed," Tina huffed, appearing out of nowhere. She folded her arms across her chest and gave me a look I vaguely recognised as one of her rare I'm-gonna-cut-your-dicķ-off-and-use-it-as-a-crutch looks. "Holding a baby that's making you look a billion times cuter will not make me any less mad at you, Hot Stuff."

"What did he do this time?" Imogen wanted to know.

"He didn't tell me The Chronicle was coming and now the photographer wants my picture and I look like dog shįt." Tina was pouting when she finished. She jerked a thumb at me. "Spent the whole night with this one and I have freaking bags under my eyes."

She didn't have any fucķing bags under her eyes, the drama queen, but when I caught someone else's gaze on me, I felt like I'd been torched. Because that was exactly the way Lena was looking at me, like her eyes were twin lightsabers capable of searing my skin.

"The whole night, huh?" she commented, eyes on Tina. Imogen and her new best friend paused mid-sentence.

"Shįt, forgive me – I'm Tina, Reed's partner." She stuck her hand out and waited for Lena to take it. "Um, you must be the woman from the paintings," Tina continued, awkwardly letting her hand hang out there until she realised Lena just wasn't going to take it.

"Partner? Is that what they're calling it these days?" Lena's tone was icy and I had no idea why she'd hate Tina on sight. "And what paintings? Because I –"

"The gallery's kind of a shrine to you tonight, sweetheart," Imogen put in slowly. "Look around."

A shrine? Seriously? I was going to kill Imogen and she was just unlucky that Nate was stuck at home with actual chicken pox and couldn't protect her.

I watched as Lena's eyes took in painting after painting of her face on the walls, all from memory. She was the only thing I knew how to paint without covering my eyes and from what I'd heard on the scene, people were raving about this nameless girl; my muse, my Mona Lisa.

Lena's mouth became a tiny 'o' and I noticed the colour rise in her cheeks. My small smile became a sneer when Dorian or whatever-the-fucķ touched her shoulder.

"I'm dying to meet Reed, Lena. Point him out," he said excitedly.

"Hold your baby, Im," I said through clenched teeth, handing a half-asleep Lucas to his mother. "And you can fucķing come with me," I snarled, quickly aware that I was losing it.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" she growled back. "Reed, goddammit!"

Maybe I shouldn't have grabbed her arm. Maybe I shouldn't have looked at her like I wanted to rip her apart or, more likely, rip her clothes apart.

But I did and I didn't give a damn what everyone thought as we meandered through the crowded space.

"I swear to all that is holy, I will knife you right here, right now, if you don't get your paws off me," she spat, and I let her go. The reality was that she probably had a knife somewhere on her person. At least in this empty corner, no one was really in earshot and I didn't necessarily have to manhandle her.

"You think it's funny to flaunt some kid in my face at my showing?" I bit out, and my hands automatically balled up. I could still see that guy's face as if he were standing right in front of me, so smug and self-assured and all over Lena like green on grass.

Lena's eyes narrowed at me. "Hypocritical jackass," she hissed. "You knew I was coming tonight and yet you don't even bother to give me a heads-up that you're dating Mike from Monsters, Inc." She mistook my confusion for something else. "You know, the ridiculous green hair? Same exact shade as Mike? I've been babysitting my friends' kids most weekends."

Realisation hit me. "You...you think I'm dating Tina?"

"Don't play dumb with me, asshat. If you want to make me jealous, the least you can –"

"She's not interested in me," I calmly told her. Well, as calmly as I could say anything when it was to this woman. "She's not even interested in my gender."

Lena's brow furrowed. "But...she said she was your partner and you were together last night..."

"She's an artist and I'm...I guess I'm her mentor," I said. "Her stuff's up on the walls with mine and we spent last night helping the guys arrange it all. Samuel drove her home first, then me. OK?"

A blush heated her cheeks once again. I wasn't used to that but I was sure as hell going to milk it for all it was worth. Later.

"So how long have you been with...with the Backstreet Boy over there?" I couldn't even bring myself to say his name. Probably because I couldn't even remember it.

Lena gave me a wide grin. "That's Dawn's little art student brother," she brightly informed me. "He's a huge fan of the elusive indie artist a.k.a. Reed Lancaster, and insisted I bring him. Too bad his idol hates him and thinks he looks like a member of a nineties boy band."

I flushed. "He had his arm around you and I got...you know, jealous. I apologise."

"That's because of these babies," she told me, pointing at her shoes. "They're too damn high and if he hadn't been holding me up, I probably would've fallen flat on my stupid jealous face."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I feel dumb."

"Yeah? Well, so do I, though I won't say I'm sorry." She let out a loud sigh. "OK, maybe for the hair comment. It's a cool colour."

"I like your hair." The words just fell past my lips, as unpredictable as ever. "I m-mean, you looked great b-before b-b-but... Shít." I took a deep breath. "I stopped stuttering but one second with you, and it's back like it never went."

She smiled and that smile made everyone in the room disappear until we were the only ones standing there, frozen in time. "I like your hair, too. Different." She closed the distance between us and reached up, running her fingers through the rumpled mess on my head. No matter what I did, my hair just wouldn't behave and not for the first time did I regret getting it cut in the first place.

"Thanks." My hand shot up to take hers and her eyes widened.

"Reed –"

"There's a scar on your forehead. What happened?"

Her free hand automatically went to the narrow line that ran down one temple. "It doesn't matter."

"I want to know."

She bit her bottom lip, seeming to have an internal debate with herself. "Car accident," she finally said through gritted teeth. "The night I left your place. My father suffered a stroke behind the wheel and...I don't want to tell you this because –"

"Because of what happened to me? Lena." I traced the lily-white scar with my forefinger and her eyes slid shut, forcing her to remember. "You didn't tell me. I wish you had."

"There are people around. You can't make me feel like this after so long," she said, her voice breathless.

"Like...like what?"

"So out of control. Like the old, wild Lena." Her eyes opened as I took my hand back. "I want to jump your bones and just be near you and hear how you've been. I'm tired of texting you inane movie quotes and one birthday message, OK?"

I let out the breath I'd been holding and held her instead. "That was a shitty idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"You think you had to let me go," I whispered, feeling her heart thud against mine, "but I had to let you go. I needed to be something to be with you and every day, I had to fight not to call you. Because I wasn't ready." I raised my head, searched her eyes. "I'm ready now. Can I show you something?"

She nodded. "Why not?"

So I led her to the back room Henry reserved for the few times I'd ever come in to paint at the gallery because I was going stir-crazy in my basement. It was out of the way and the noise from the main room dimmed and became silence when I closed the door behind us. The lock clicked automatically and Lena surveyed the room; the paintings on the floor that were leaning against the wall, the long, wooden paint-spattered table in the centre of the room.

Her heels echoed on the tiled floor as she made her way to the table. She paused at it, studying the half-finished painting lying on it.

"This is you," she said, looking at me over her shoulder. "Self-portrait, huh?"

I came up behind her. "I started working on it the night you left."

"And never finished it," she said, sounding almost disappointed.

"I stared in the mirror for a good ten minutes, wanting to see what you saw in me," I confessed, and it burned my tongue to say those words. "Longest time I've ever looked at myself."

I heard her sigh. She whirled around, surprising me. Our faces were inches apart in that moment. I froze.

"I see Reed and Reed is so beautiful and so kind and even now, without knowing for sure where we stand, I can't imagine not knowing him." Lena paused, her nose wrinkling. "I sound like a Hallmark card."

"A little," I teased, my hands itching to touch her again. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you." I moved past her and picked up my unfinished project. Beneath it lay our project.

"You finished it," she said on an exhale. She leaned over the table, tracing the lines of what I could only hope was her reflection.

"Yeah. Finally. Do you...do you like it?"

This was the moment of truth. Each time I saw this painting, I remembered. Remembered how silky smooth her skin had been that day, how her belly tensed when my fingers dipped into her navel. Remembered how she'd been the perfect canvas, how her puşsy had tasted of my two favourite things in the world: Blueberries and her.

Fucķ, how I remembered.

Night after night of fucķing my own fist and resisting the urge to call her had nearly driven me insane. It was like going back to a time before her and I'd hated it.

She was silent for too long, probably imagining what kind of pervert I had to be to have spent hours and hours just trying to get her puşsy right. It was obscene but it was beautiful in its obscenity, of that I was sure.

But then the longer her silence grew, the more unsure I became.

"Lena? Jesus, say something. Anything."

"I do. Like it, I mean," she murmured, putting me out of my misery. "It's... You're incredible, you know that?"

"It isn't for sale, like the others," I was quick to let her know. "Like I s-s-said, it's yours."

"Did you know I'd come tonight?"

Her question threw me. "W-What?"

"Did you expect me to make an appearance?"

"Imogen s-said you'd t-told her you'd c-come." Three, six, nine, twelve... "She said you'd be coming. I was hoping you wouldn't be a coward."

She snorted. "Oh, but I was, back then. Wasn't I?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"Smart ass." She still wouldn't look at me. She was staring at the face I'd painted as if it was the key to life or something. "I was scared I couldn't be the kind of girl that mattered. The kind of girl a guy could love."

"You matter," I heard myself say, because she did and she needed to hear me say it. Again and again, if I had to.

"I know that now. You showed me that. Tonight," she said, and I couldn't believe that Lena Anosova was...crying.

"Hey." I gently turned her to face me and tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I missed you," she replied, as if it was supposed to be clear as day to me.

The air left my lungs. "You did?"

"Don't make me say duh, Reed."

I laughed and then I wasn't even laughing anymore because Lena suddenly did what I knew she did best: She kissed me.

I had been hard since the moment I'd set eyes on her that night but it felt like I'd burst in my pants when she moaned softly, her hands cupping my face. I heard myself growl into her mouth when she ceded control to me, let me kiss her the way I wanted. Her hands fell from my face and fisted my shirt.

"Missed you," I whispered against one corner of her mouth.

"I know," she said, and I could barely contain myself when her hand rubbed against my erection through my jeans.

Don't embarrass yourself, idiot.

"Don't," I said aloud, catching her wrist. I pulled away from her and we were both panting for air. "I need to...I want to show you what you saved me from."

Her brow creased with confusion and I reached into my back pocket, pulling out a strip of black silk. Her eyes lit up.

"You want to blindfold me?"

"I do. Only if you want to."

She nodded and I wasted no time tying the fabric over her eyes. In my dreams, I'd imagined her hair long and wild, the way she'd kept it, but I was fascinated by the way she'd cut it and the way it had streaks of red in it.

"Reed?" Her chest was heaving, her breathing erratic.

I went for her mouth again and she whimpered, kissing me back as hungrily as I was kissing her. Before I could come in my pants, I moved lower; my tongue tracing one side of her neck, her quickened pulse.

Her hands found purchase behind her, holding onto the table, and my mouth sought the cleavage she was offering to me. I held onto her hips and lowered my mouth to both swells of her breasts.

"Please," she croaked.

"Want me," I began, drawing circles on the skin just below her hemline with my fingertips, "to eat you out?"

I watched her throat move as she swallowed. "Please," she repeated.

"Because I want to, Lena. I will always want to taste you...right here." Her teeth sank into her bottom lip when my hand slid up her dress and cupped her puşsy. Whatever lacy underwear she was wearing was drenched already.

"Plea- Shit!"she cried out, because I'd just hoisted her up and set her on the table. "Maybe give me a warning before you throw me around again?"

I smiled. The woman was already working her panties down her legs. "Now where's the fun in that, Lena?" I pulled them the rest of the way and parted her legs, her dress riding up.

She was already so wet and her scent was filling my nostrils, sweet and tangy.

I had to taste her, remind myself of good it was.

The first swipe of my tongue along the lips of her puşsy made her back arch. The bittersweet taste of her excitement settled on my taste buds and I groaned, the throbbing in my boxers becoming unbearable. Lena made a muffled sound and I shook my head.

"No, where's that scream of yours, baby?" I asked her, flicking her clįt. She whimpered. "This room's been soundproofed and...there are no cameras."

A smile crept onto her face. "Don't remind me."

"Then I'll just keep doing this until you do scream." My head went down again and I dipped a finger inside her, sucking her clįt into my mouth. She screamed. I had to smile.

"Don't stop," she breathed, tilting her hips up. "Please, don't stop."

"Never," I whispered, so softly she probably didn't hear. Pleasuring her like this... It made me mindless with lust, with the desperation to have my fill of her.

My tongue dove into her as my fingers held her apart. She was crying out now; cursing, saying my name. Her flesh was becoming slicker, hotter. I could feel her entire body tighten, wanted to feel her explode in my mouth, and finally, she did, and it was so much better than any fantasy or memory I'd had in the past year.

I placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh, my hands around her legs as she shuddered with her release.

"Don't take the blindfold off yet," I murmured, straightening.

"That was amazing," she said, her voice soft and full of wonder. "I wanted to see you."

"You will." I was fumbling with my belt buckle. Eagerness controlled my movements and I was fucķing glad she couldn't see me just then. "Do you want me inside you now?"

Her tongue ran across her swollen bottom lip. "Yes. Please. Now."

I let out a sigh of relief. Somewhere in my mind was a little voice that had said she'd get up and walk away after that.

"I want that, too," I said, finally getting out of my jeans. "You're going to listen to everything I'm going to say in a minute, Lena."

"What?"

"You still using that IUD bullshít?"

She shook her head. "No. Don't need it. Haven't been with anyone. Couldn't."

"Haven't been with anyone, either. There's only ever been you." I snagged my wallet off the floor and took out the lone condom inside, staring at it for a second.

"What the hell's taking you so long?" Lena wanted to know, snaking a hand down her stomach. So fucķing beautiful.

"Just...just let me get this thing on," I said under my breath, sucking in air when my hand gripped my dicķ to roll the condom on. I was so hard that just the smallest touch was like self-mutilation.

Fucķ, Lena.

She was rubbing her clįt in slow circles, trying to goad me into doing this fast.

"Stop that," I growled, stepping between her parted legs and pushing her hand away. My dicķ was begging to get inside her but my brain was thankfully still in charge. "You want to know what I learned while we were apart?"

"What?"

I pulled her down the table, slowly wrapping her legs around my waist. Her heels dug into my back and the pain only made it that much harder to keep from pushing into her.

"I finally got my driver's license," I told her, settling my erection against her, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make her moan. "I discovered that I can give talks at universities without shitting my pants and that I'm pretty awesome with kids. I found out that I can visit my brother in the UK and fly Economy. Oh, and I realised that I'm in love with you, Lena Anosova, and that you love me, too."

I chose that exact moment to sink my dicķ into her, feeling how tight she was and pausing. Her breathing was coming out in harsh breaths, a sheen of sweat coating her exposed belly.

"You OK?" I choked out, hissing when her inner walls contracted around me. "Holy shįt, you feel so good."

She nodded quickly, her fingertips trying to dig into the table. "Move. You...can...move."

I slowly drew out of her before plunging back in, her heat enveloping me. "You remember what you said about lovemaking?" I bit out, pulling out to stroke myself against her lips. "That it doesn't exist?" I pushed into her, torturing her with my slowness and depth. She cried out, her back bowing, her entire body responding.

"Do you think this is fucķing, Lena?" I whispered, unable to resist rubbing her swollen clįt. "I love doing this to you because...because I love you."

Her hips bumped up to meet mine as my thrusts became deeper, more furious. I couldn't help how the rhythm changed, how the pace quickened. I could only move with it, fall into step and fill this stubborn woman I loved so much until we came apart together.

"Feels so good," she hissed, and then she was tearing the blindfold off, her eyes meeting mine. She was going to cry. Again.

"Shįt, please don't cry," I pleaded, my voice gruff, but I couldn't stop thrusting into her, wanting to feel her around me.

She shook her head, laughing softly. "I'm just annoyed."

I stilled. "You cry when you're annoyed?"

"I wanted to say it first, Reed," she said, "because I do. Love you, I mean. And maybe I'll be the worst girlfriend ever but...I know I'll try.I'll try because I want to."

I let out a breath. "You're the only girlfriend I've ever had." And, hopefully, my last.

She gave me a smile. "Oh, I know, and I love you even more for it. Feels so good to say it out loud."

I pulled her upright, our groins still joined together and my arms around her. "I love you, Lena." I pressed my forehead against hers. "So, so much. Don't ever forget that."

She was breathing heavily now, her breath heating my skin. "How will I ever forget the crazy, hot and incredibly talented artist I fell in love with? No chance." She took a deep breath. "I'm yours. Only yours, Reed Lancaster."

I'd never get tired of hearing her say the words she couldn't say a year ago. To know I was loved by someone else in this world, someone whose love for me was borne out of being with me... It was a feeling I wished I could put into words. Or onto canvas.

"But I'm going to break up with you if you don't finish what you started, boyfriend," Lena said, wiggling her hips impatiently.

I rolled my eyes at her but there was no way I wasn't going to oblige her. After all, she still had no idea that, thanks to Dawn and her spare key, I had a crew of movers packing up Lena's stuff and bringing them over to my place later tonight...because one other thing I'd learned while we were apart?

Only an idiot lets the woman he loves live miles and miles away from him.

How many orgaşms will it take for her to not get mad at me once she finds out? I thought, already feeling her climax erupt around me, so fast and intense it surprised her. A shitload.

Yeah, it was going to be a long, long night and I didn't mind at all...

~FIN~

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A/N: I LOVE YOU GUYS. Thank you heaps for reading Reed and Lena's story to the end. Each and every comment has made me smile and laugh and occasionally mutter, "Seriously?" Thanks again, people! xo -Kim