[b][i]Chapter Seven: Lemon [/i][/b]

She watched the autumn leaves fall from the trees from the balcony of her apartment. Sometimes, she could almost forget that she had a life that needed attending to. Such as the painting in front of her. She needed to pay that month's rent and everyone loved her watercolor paintings.

Once again, she stared at the canvas. She had only ever painted landscapes. They'd called out to her in all their beauty when she was still very young. This painting, though, seemed as if it was missing something.

She was desperately trying to pinpoint whatever it was when she heard a crashing sound coming from the apartment behind her. If it had been anyone else in her home, she may have even been bothered to look. As it was, she was pretending she hadn't heard anything.

"Elena!"

Unfortunately, the calling of her name meant that she could no longer ignore the craziness coming from behind her. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she pulled herself out of the comfy chair and through the doors where [i]he[/i] waited.

Just one glance and she was already wishing she had stayed outside. Her kitchen was a mess. Drawers and cabinets had been rifled through as if he'd been looking for something. She could barely contain the annoyance she felt at the sight. "Jake, what on Earth are you doing?"

"Where's your sugar?"

Clearly she'd heard wrong. This mess could not have been made in his attempt to find [i]sugar[/i]. But, as always, his eyes were serious as he questioned. She was going to enjoy the look on his face.

Slowly, she moved to the refrigerator, making sure his eyes stayed on her. As she stood on her toes, her fingers grabbed at the container of white powder that he'd never have found on his own. Tossing it to him, she smirked, "You should have just asked in the first place."

His answering scoff only prodded her to question his motives. "What are you doing? Why do you need sugar?"

"Lemonade."

Again, she thought she must have been hearing things. He was making lemonade? Before she could stop it, the, "Why?" burst from her lips.

Finally, he turned to her and she did not recognize the look in his eyes . If it had been anyone else, she would have thought he was worried.

"I know you've been struggling with your painting, and I remembered that you told me once that you loved sweet lemonade. I thought it might cheer you up."

She stared at him incredulously, not even bothering to hide her dropped jaw. He was trying to cheer her up? What? With lemonade? Did he even know how to make lemonade?

He must have sensed the doubt because he rolled his eyes and went back to cutting lemons in half as if this were an every day occurrence.

It was not.

Jacob Hill did [i]not[/i] care about anyone else. He must have felt some extreme guilt over something to be acting this way. That was the only explanation.

Still, she accepted the glass of lemonade, and though it was too bitter, drank it all. As it happened, it did cheer her up. She knew now what had been missing from her painting: the lightest twinge of yellow on the falling autumn leaves.

It was tiny, insignificant really, and somehow changed the whole picture.