5-minute romance
When retiree Joni Carter visits the Blue Ridge Mountain overlook, she's looking forward to a quiet spring afternoon of sketching the incredible vista. But when a charming painter named Richard comes along, Joni feels a new sense of hope blossom in her heart
“Just magnificent!” Joni Carter sighed as she reached the Blue Ridge Mountain overlook, gazing at the trees blossoming in the valley below.
Breathing in the fresh air, she got to work setting up her sketch pad, charcoals and pastels. Joni’s home held several sketches of this vista, but this was the first time she’d been able to come during spring.
“Mind if I join you?” a voice interrupted. Joni turned to see a man with salt and pepper hair and eyes as green as the foliage she was trying to capture carrying an easel, canvas and case of supplies.
“I think there’s enough scenery here for the both of us,” she smiled, trying hard not to stare as he set up beside her.
“I’m Richard,” he said, a twinkle flashing in his eyes. “Not to be cliché, but…do you come here often?”
Joni chuckled, her face flushing. It had been so long since she’d flirted, she wasn’t sure she remembered how anymore. “Once a year,” she told him, grinning. “I used to just come in the summer, but now that I’m retired, well, I do whatever I like.”
With that, Joni found herself telling Richard her story. For 30 years, she’d taught art class at the local high school, but after taking early retirement, she was looking forward to a bit of travel—starting here.
Richard studied the valley, then executed a few deft strokes with his brush. “Does your husband like to travel too?”
“Husband? Oh…” she said, glancing at her wedding ring as she shook her head. “Dan died five years ago. I just never saw any reason to take it off.”
“I’m so sorry,” Richard said, his voice so tender Joni had to turn away. “How about your wife…does she like to travel?” she asked, not daring to hope. “She did, at first,” he answered wryly. “All the art shows got too much for her though, so now I’m like the kids say— footloose and fancy free.” The two drifted in and out of conversation until the sun crested, bringing on the afternoon glare. “I think I’ll finish this tomorrow,” Richard said, packing up his things. Even with all his own supplies, Joni was flattered when he carried her chair to her car. Parked alongside her sedan was an RV with a white cat curled up in the open
“Joni shivered as Richard’s strong hand brushed against hers”
screened window. “That’s Vincent van Gogh,” Richard said, as Joni laughed.
“How did he lose part of his ear?” she exclaimed, as Richard came toward her… so close she could smell the rich scent of his cologne. Joni shivered as his strong hand brushed against hers.
“I found him that way,” he smiled, handing back her chair. “But I like to think he was battling for the paw of a lady-fair.”
After saying farewell, Joni had planned to drive back home, but something told her to get a room at a bed and breakfast nearby. The next morning, her pulse quickened when she saw Richard’s RV parked at the overlook, Vincent purring in the window.
Up the trail, Richard was adding the final brush strokes to his canvas.
“It’s beautiful!” Joni blurted.
“Hope the people at the D.C. art show think so too,” he beamed back at her.
While Joni turned the page on her sketchbook, Richard pulled out a pad of his own. “Done painting?” Joni asked.
“Don’t want to start something I can’t finish,” he said, his pencil poised and ready.
As the sun grew high, Joni stood to go. “Where are you headed now?” he asked.
“Home, most likely,” she answered, surprised at the glimmer of disappointment she felt to be parting ways again. “You?”
“I have two days at the D.C. art show,” he reminded her. “Then, I’m scooting to the Eastern Shore. After that, who knows.”
At her car, Richard gave Joni a long hug before handing her a rolled up piece of paper. “Something to remember me by,” he said, meeting her gaze knowingly.
With that, he climbed aboard his RV and roared off. Joni sat gazing at the overlook as she tried to quell her mounting sadness, programming her GPS for home before reaching for Richard’s gift.
He’s a professional, it’s probably better than mine, she thought idly as the drawing unfurled. “Oh my…” she gasped. It wasn’t a landscape at all—it was a sketch of her.
How completely he’d captured her soul in just a few strokes: the years of grief finally subsiding in her brow, the emerging wanderlust now so visible in her gaze. And that wasn’t her diamond solitaire on her hand: Instead, Richard had drawn a tiny “forgetme-not” string looped around her finger.
“Recalculating,” the car’s GPS spoke as Joni turned out of the parking lot. “I’ve never seen the van Gogh collection at the National Gallery in D.C.,” she smiled, the wind dancing through her hair. “Maybe I’ll check in at that art show too, and after that…well, who knows?”