Another busy week had finally come to an end.  Twenty-seven-year old Daniel "Pace" Morgan hummed a song under his breath as he briskly walked along the crowded New York sidewalk.  After spending the week at the downtown SIR studio, helping his buddy Dan re-master tracks, he was more than ready to throw in the towel for the week and go home and do what he loved to do best.  Write songs.  He'd started out eight years ago, a virtual unknown, and now he was one of the best in the trade.  He wrote country songs, rock songs, heavy metal songs…you name it, Pace could write it.  And that was what made him famous.  Pace had the ability to reach in and pull what was dark on the inside out for everyone to hear.  No one knew how he could write the songs he wrote…Pace didn't know either.  It came from some deep, dark place within him that he could barely even touch.  A place that he didn't really want to touch.

Pace stopped and waited with the hordes of pedestrians on the street corner for the light to change so that he could cross the busy intersection.  It was five-thirty on a Friday afternoon and traffic, motor and foot, was hell.  The light changed and he quickly crossed the street, visualizing his black leather couch that sat in front of the huge picture window at home…waiting on him.  It was where he did all his composing and contemplating.  It was his sanctuary. 

Pace reached his apartment complex, darted out from the crowd, bounded up the stone steps and rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor.  He got off, walked down the hall to his apartment, 3007, and unlocked the door. 

"Hey C.C.," he called, shutting the door with his foot as his chocolate retriever bounded up to him, wagging his tail excitedly.  Pace had named the dog, a gift from his sister Kristina, Chocolate Chip because his coat was the exact shade that the confection was.  He reached down and patted the dog affectionately on the head.  "How was your day?"

C.C. wagged his tail and barked once.

Pace laughed as he threw his leather jacket over the back of the couch and went to the kitchen to get something to drink.  "Well, mine wasn't so great.  Dan and I had to remix one song at least ten times!  I thought we never would get it to sound perfect!  In fact, I spent eight hours in a sound booth trying to fix two chords that didn't jive!"  He took a bottle of water out of the fridge and crossed back over to the couch and sat down.  Chocolate Chip hopped up next to him and lay his head on Pace's thigh who stroked the dog's head thoughtfully.  C.C. was pretty much the only friend he had.  Other than the few from the studio and his longtime friend from his last year of high school, Skip Maxwell, who also lived in New York and worked in the art industry.  Pace was somewhat of a loner and he rather preferred it that way.  He was an enigma to the music industry.  Interviewers had tried to figure him out, colleagues had literally ripped their hair out trying to understand him and women flocked to him like kids did to Santa Claus at the mall each Christmas.  Pace got a kick out of everyone's determination to figure him out.  He hadn't thought he was that difficult to read but maybe he didn't have to try.  Pace did not have many friends because he spent most of his time at the studio or locked in his apartment writing songs. He'd had a few casual relationships with women but they had never gotten serious. Pace took his sister to all the awards shows and functions he attended, he'd never been involved in scandal…never done anything to catch the public's attention except write extremely gripping songs and frequently change his hair color.  And for some reason this made women go crazy over him. 

Pace finished his water and got up.  Yeah right a voice in his head mumbled.  Like you wouldn't like to know what happened to you.  Maybe what made Pace so intriguing was the fact that he never got personal when interviewed.  He only allowed recent pictures to be published, when asked about his family all he would say was that he was adopted by the Morgan family as a teenager.  The only people who knew the truth were the Morgans, his doctor, a few private investigators and government officials and his best friend Skip.  This was possible because Thomas Morgan was a well-known, well- respected New York businessman which, when translated, meant that he had enough money to keep things quiet.  The Morgans had always wanted a son and a brother for Kristina and the entire family had immediately taken to Pace.  They were supposed to leave from vacation on St. George Island the morning that Kristina found Pace and would be eternally grateful that they had decided to stay an extra day.  The extra day turned into an extra week and Pace grew fond of the Morgans and agreed to let them have temporary custody of him.  They had given him the nickname "Pace" because he could not sit still.  Eventually, when their efforts to track down his family proved futile, he agreed to be adopted by them.  When they had gone back to New York, Pace was tested to see what grade level he should be in.  His age had been guessed to be around seventeen and his new identity had been solidified as Daniel "Pace" Morgan. 

Pace had immediately taken to music.  He couldn't remember ever liking music but he was enraptured by it now.  It was like part of his brain had gone to sleep and another part that had been dormant awoke.  Pace quickly learned the guitar, drums and even began piano lessons with Sharon, who was a private instructor.  He did well in school and graduated with honors.  He then went to Julliard where he studied music from all aspects and sold his first song while still an undergraduate.  The song, much to Pace's surprise, had become a smash hit for a young singer named Sasha which had cemented his place in the music industry.  Now she was a bonafide rock star who sent him a Christmas card with concert tickets for her yearly New York show.  Pace stayed on at Julliard, writing and selling songs, and received his degree.  By the time he turned twenty-one Pace was well on his way to becoming the sensation that he now was. 

Pace had recently been offered a classical recording contract of his own but had turned it down.  He wasn't ready to perform yet…if he ever would be.  Plus, performing would mean that people would surround him twenty-four hours a day and he'd never have any peace.  That was not the kind of life Pace wanted.  He wanted to be successful but not so successful that he couldn't even walk down a crowded New York street, like he was doing now, without having to worry about being ambushed. 

The Morgans had retired and moved to Pensacola, Florida where they had a secluded beach house with a private beach.  Kristina had gone to Boston where she was studying to be a neurosurgeon.  Pace chuckled as he remembered their conversation the night she'd told him of her decision.

"A neurosurgeon huh," he asked, giving her a big grin.

Kristina nodded.  "Yep.  You're the one that inspired me."

Pace looked at her, surprised.  "Me?"

"Yeah.  You can't remember your past…and seeing you on the beach that morning, it just made me want to take care of you."

Pace stared at her.  "Wow."

"Yeah.  Anyway, who knows, maybe we could even discover a way to connect with your memories."

Pace nodded slowly. 

"Wouldn't that be something?"

"Yeah."

The clock chimed and Pace snapped out of his reverie.  It was seven o'clock!  He was supposed to meet Skip in fifteen minutes at Sweet and Vicious.  Pace jumped to his feet, grabbed his keys and jacket and raced out the door.  You think too much Morgan, he mumbled to himself as he waited for the elevator.  One day you're gonna make your head explode.

Joey Potter listened to her headphones as she finished arranging a piece of artwork.  Satisfied, she stepped back and inspected the exhibit.  It was perfect.

Knock 'em dead Potter.

Joey jumped at the voice inside her head.  "Dammit," she muttered, smiling as she took one last walk around the gallery.  "Ten years and I still can't get your voice out of my head.  Go bug Doug!"  She was glad that no one was around to hear her talking to herself.  But, it didn't matter where Joey was, Pacey always seemed to be with her, stuffed in the background of her thoughts. 

Tomorrow was the opening of an art show of New York's young artists of which Joey's work was included.  Much to Joey's surprise, her wall had drawn attention from all over and a scout from NYU had come to see her and offered her a full scholarship.  Needless to say, Joey had taken the offer.  During her tenure at NYU, she'd received overwhelming recognition for some of her artwork.  Now, years later, she was one of the most respected young artists in the world.  She'd sold several pieces to many influential people.  Joey's publicist, Tammy, had told her that the president had bought one of her sculptures.  Joey found that quite amusing.  She'd been working on some pieces to have her own show that was set for May of next year.  Joey checked her watch.  It was seven o'clock.  She was meeting Jen at Kelly and Ping's for dinner at seven-thirty.  Joey quickly locked the door of the West Broadway gallery and set off down the Tribeca streets.

Jen had come with Joey to New York to study interior design.  Now, nine years later, they were both well-respected individuals in their career fields.  Jen had recently finished decorating a loft for the famous MTV veejay from their teenage years, Carson Daly, and was bursting to tell Joey all about it.  Joey grinned as she pictured Jen waiting for her, watching the chef cook, impatient to tell her all the little details.  Now that Joey was thinking about it, all of them had gone off after graduation and made something out of their lives. 

Dawson had fulfilled his dream of becoming a screenwriter/director fairly early.  After Pacey's death, Dawson had written a script about life in Capeside with Andie, Jack, Jen, Joey, Pacey and himself all recreated in the story.  It had been his ode to Pacey.  Mr. Gold had been so impressed that he'd allowed Dawson to work with Andie, who was now head of the theater group, and the play for their senior year had been Dawson's story.  Luckily for Dawson, a scout from a Hollywood production studio had been in the audience and had immediately recognized his talent.  The rest, as they say, was history.  Dawson had bypassed college and gone straight to Hollywood where he'd met with the Weinstein's of Miramax Pictures who bought his screenplay, much to Dawson's shock and jubilation.  The further shocker had been when the Motion Picture Association of America, The Hollywood Foreign Press, a collection of peers and the American public had rewarded him with both Golden Globe and Oscar nominations for his work and he'd won both.  After that, Dawson's place in the movie industry had been firmly established.  He'd met a young actress and they'd married.  That happiness had been short-lived and they'd been divorced for six years now.  Dawson was now living the great life and loving every minute of it.  Joey was anxiously awaiting the trip that Jen and she were taking to fly out to Los Angeles and see him for a week.

Joey grinned as she picked up her pace, weaving through the crowd of pedestrians.  Jack had went to college on a football scholarship and received a degree in English.  He had turned down an offer to play for the Dallas Cowboys to become a freelance photographer.  Jack had been surprised by the fact that he had been offered the chance to play, considering the fact that he was gay and an English major, but the other's had just laughed at him. 

Andie, on the other hand, had been the one to surprise them all.  She'd come back to Capeside at the end of August and after graduation had gone to Stanford.  She had received a degree in psychology, of all things, but had come back to Capeside and was now a professor of Psychology at UMASS.  Andie was the only one of them still living in Massachusetts.  Their ten-year high school reunion was coming up in about eight months and everyone was planning on attending.  Needless to say, they would be the crème of the crop.  Joey was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the tall man that was walking around the corner….

Pace hurried down the sidewalk, politely weaving through the crowd.  He was already late and Skip would be wondering where he was.  He turned the corner and ran smack into someone.

"Ouch," a startled voice yelped.  A female voice.

Pace's hands reached out and grabbed the woman by the shoulder's to keep her from falling over and felt chills course up his spine.  He stepped back and looked down to see whom he'd run into and he gulped.  Whoa.  Standing before him was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen and he'd seen plenty of them.  Intense brown eyes met his and Pace felt his heart beat speed up.  "I-I'm sorry," he stammered.  "I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going."

Joey stared at the man in front of her and her eyes widened.  Pacey…no, Pacey was dead.  He'd been dead for ten years.  Her mind was playing tricks on her.

"Are you okay," the man asked her, concern evident in his voice.

Joey blinked and looked at him again.  It wasn't Pacey but the man did resemble him.  He was taller and more muscular than Pacey had been.  His hair was a dark red and his eyes were blue…but they were a darker shade, full of secrets.  His voice was a bit deeper too.  He was wearing leather pants and a white T-shirt with a black leather jacket and boots.  Pacey would never wear an outfit like that.  Joey shook her head as if to clear it.  The man wasn't Pacey but he was definitely attractive.  "Y-yeah," she finally said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  "It's my fault too.  I wasn't paying any attention.  Sorry."

Pace nodded and stooped down to pick up the leather satchel that she'd dropped.  As he picked it up Pace thought of what he had seen in the woman's eyes when she'd first looked at him.  No, he scolded himself.  You gave up on that a long time ago.  Pace stood up straight and handed her the bag.  "You dropped this."

She took it from him, biting her lip nervously.  "Thank you."

"Sure.  Sorry for bumping into you."  Pace took the moment to study her, his eyes sweeping over her, and Joey felt tingles shoot up from her toes.  The woman was almost as tall as he was.  She had a curvaceous body that was accentuated by the pair of black pants, red top and leather jacket she was wearing.  Her hair was dark and was piled upon her head even though a few tendrils managed to escape and blew around her face.  She had the most bewitching eyes he'd ever seen.  He could see the tragedy and pain that was buried deep inside and couldn't help but wonder what had happened to make her so sad.  And the way she was chewing on her lower lip was unbelievably sexy.  Pace felt himself getting dizzy and looked away. 

"It's okay.  Happens all the time," Joey said, giving him a warm smile.  She couldn't get over how attractive he was.  "I should go."

"Me too," he said, stepping by her.

"Yeah," Joey agreed.

Pace started walking away when she called out to him. 

"HEY!"

Pace turned around and looked at her curiously.

"It was nice talking to you."

Pace blinked as a feeling of déjà vu swept over him.  "Yeah," he finally called back.  "It was nice bumping into you."

Joey smiled and rounded the corner.  Why didn't you ask him what his name was her mind screamed as she put distance between them.  Oh shut up Joey, she thought.  Like a man like that would be interested in someone like you. 

Pace let out a frustrated groan and continued walking.  Why didn't you ask for her phone number you dumb ass his mind yelled at him.  Or even get her name?  Pace told himself to can it.

Jen had already gotten them a table when Joey arrived.  She took one look at her friend and said, "What the hell happened to you?"

Joey sank to the seat across from her and stared at Jen.  "You are not going to believe what just happened."

Jen rose an eyebrow.  "This is New York.  Try me."

Joey took a deep breath.  "I ran into this man."

"So?"

Joey shot Jen a killer look.  "This man…he reminded me of Pacey."

Jen's face took on a sympathetic look.  "Oh Jo, I'm sorry."

"Yeah."  Joey looked down at the menu in frustration.  "But that's not even it.  I mean, it obviously wasn't him but…"

"But what," Jen prodded.

"I don't know, Jen.  There was something about him."

Jen smiled.  "It's about damn time you woke up and started looking at some of the hotties there are in this city."

"Shh.  You're a married woman.  You can't say things like that."

Jen grinned.  "The hell I can't!"

"But what would Henry say," Joey joked, taking a sip of water.

"Henry is completely satisfied," Jen said with a smirk.  "He has absolutely nothing to worry about because I'm completely satisfied as well.  But that doesn't mean that I can't look!"

Joey smiled, thinking back to the day that Jen and Henry had told her they were getting married.  Joey hadn't been shocked.  Jen had come a long way since Joey had met her and Henry had been along for the majority of the ride.  Joey and Andie had been bridesmaids and Jack had been the best man.  Dawson had attended once he knew for sure that he would be protected against an onslaught of fans.  The Parker's had been married for five years now and Joey had never seen Jen so happy.  "Yeah."

Their waiter appeared and Jen and Joey ordered their food.  When they were alone again, Jen looked at Joey.  "So, tell me, what did he look like?"

Joey smiled.  "He was very attractive.  He was tall, with dark red hair, deep blue eyes, muscular…and he was wearing leather pants so I can assure you that he had a very nice ass."

Jen burst into laughter.  "You always did have a thing for a man's ass Joey."

Joey pretended to be hurt.  "Not all guys asses," she protested.  "Just Pacey's."  She got a sad look in her eyes and Jen felt for her.  It had been ten years and Joey still had not found anyone to take Pacey's place in her heart. 

"Yeah.  So…what's his name?"

Joey grimaced.  "I didn't get it."

Jen looked at her, incredulous.  "The first man that you have been seriously attracted to in ages and you don't even find out his name!"

"Sorry.  I was startled.  I mean when I first looked at him, I thought he was Pacey."

"You're not attracted to him because he reminds you of Pacey are you?"

"No!  Like I said, he just resembled Pacey when I looked at him the first time.  He's like a grown-up version of what Pacey could have been like.  Except…he seems so mysterious."

"Ahhh.  Mystery men!  Always one of my favorites."

Joey rolled her eyes.  "Jen!"

Jen's eyes lit up.  "I bet you met that songwriter…I can't remember his name.  I saw him on the cover of a magazine once and did a double take myself.  He even has a name similar to 'Pacey' if I'm not mistaken."  Jen wiggled her eyebrows.  "Extremely sexy guy."

Joey nodded.  "It could have been him."

Jen picked up a roll and took a bite of it, chewing thoughtfully.  "You know Joey.  Maybe you'll run into him again."

Joey smiled wistfully.  "Maybe."

Jen reached over and grasped Joey's hand in hers.  "You've done an incredible job of moving on with your life Joey.  You've got your success, your family, and your friends…the only thing you're missing is someone to spend the rest of your life with…to come home to.  And he is out there…somewhere.  You just have to find him."

Joey looked up at Jen.  "When did you become so romantic?"

Jen rolled her eyes.  "My adorable husband, Henry, the pediatrician."

"He working late again?"

"Yeah."

Joey thought back to a conversation that they'd had in a diner years ago.  "Hey Jen?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember the day we went to the beach and to that little diner a few days after Pacey left?"

"Of course."

"Well…now we're both bimbo's from New York."

Jen burst into laughter and Joey followed suit.   People in the restaurant glared at them and they each clamped a hand over their mouths. 

"We gotta stop that," Jen scolded.  "Or we'll be banned from every restaurant in the city!"

"Then we've always got the bars," Joey said, wiping a tear off her cheek.

Jen snorted and that got them going again.  They finally calmed down when the food arrived and both of them dug in.

"So," Joey said around a bite of rice.  "Tell me what happened with Carson's pad."

Jen's eyes sparkled with excitement.  "Oh my god Joey!  You would not believe that place…."

Skip Maxwell glanced at his friend as he sank onto the stool next to him.  "What the hell happened to you," he asked curiously.  "You look like you met Cleopatra on your way through the garden."

Pace sighed and ordered a beer from the bartender.  "I think I did…sort of anyway."

"Well tell!"

"This woman was…she was breathtaking.  I mean, she had this gorgeous body and the most bewitching eyes I've ever seen."

Skip rose an eyebrow.  "Man, I've never heard you talk like that about a woman before."

"I know.  It's crazy.  And, I'm not one to gawk but…damn!  I don't know what it was about her but it really made me notice."

Skip raised his mug.  "To my friend Pace for finally finding a woman that interests him.  It took you long enough."

Pace shot Skip a warning look.  "You know why I don't."

"Yeah.  But still, you can't live the rest of your life alone."

"But I like being alone."

Skip shook his head.  "No.  No, you don't.  You just think you do."

Pace glared at him.  "Could we not go into that now?"

Skip shrugged.  "Sure.  But, I'm serious man, you've got to stop shutting people out."

"I don't shut people out."

"Pace, you're closest friends are a dog named Chocolate Chip and me!"

"I don't shut people out," Pace exclaimed.

"Okay," Skip said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring pointedly at his friend. "When you met this woman today, did you get her phone number?"

"No."

"What's her name?"

Pace groaned.  "I didn't ask."

Skip stared at him.  "What?  You met a beautiful, intriguing woman and you didn't even ask her what her name was!"

Pace took a drink of his beer.  "Nope.  I was too shocked."  He paused and lowered his voice to a confidential level.  "Skip, when I met her, I felt something."

Skip stopped picking and stared at him.  "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure.  She just…when she looked at me for the first time, I saw something in her eyes.  It was gone in a flash but when I went to leave she yelled something out to me that made this sense of déjà vu wash over me."

"What did she say?"

"'It was nice talking to you.'"

"That's all," Skip asked, skeptical.

"Yeah.  But it wasn't the words entirely.  It was the way she said them and the position we were in.  It was weird."

Skip stroked his chin thoughtfully.  "You think she knows something about you?"

Pace sighed.  "I seriously doubt it.  It just-she-she just kind of freaked me out and aroused me at the same time."

"Now that takes some woman," Skip joked.

Pace glared at him.  "Shut up you cretin."

Skip laughed and took another swig of his beer.  "So, I have something that could cheer you up."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah.  An art exhibit tomorrow night.  It's by invitation only.  I've got tickets.  An artist friend of mine gave them to me.  Her work's going to be displayed."

"You're not trying to set me up again are you," Pace asked warily.  "You know what happened the last time."

Skip shook his head.  "Don't worry man.  After seeing that sideshow I'll never try that again."

"So…where is it?"

"Tribeca.  It's being held at a nice little gallery over on West Broadway.  It's a young artists exhibit.  Some of the best known ones in the country…could be fun.  You might even find something you like."

Pace thought about it for a moment.  "Yeah, it could.  Count me in.  What time?"

"Eight."

"I'll be there."

It was after ten when Joey closed the door to her apartment.  She was exhausted but she couldn't sleep.  Her mind was on the man that she'd run into this evening.  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't erase his image from her head.  There was something about him that screamed out to her.  Joey had no idea what it was…it was just there.  She mentally kicked herself for not having asked his name.  Lot of good a face would do her going through the phonebook.  Joey turned on her studio light and went over to her sketchbook.  Only it wasn't just any sketchbook.  It was her special sketchbook.  She sat down on the window ledge and opened up the worn cover.  Inside were sketches that she'd done years ago.  Sketches of Pacey.  Joey thumbed through the book, feeling tears sting her eyes. 

"You're the witch riding the broomstick."

"Why Pacey Witter?  Do I turn you on?"

"Yeah.  You do."

"You look great in black underwear."

Joey sighed and closed the book before tears could smudge the pages.  What had made her think that the man she'd run into today was Pacey?  Maybe she was just lonely.  Maybe it was the aura he gave off.  Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her.  Joey had no idea.  All she knew was that she couldn't stop thinking about their encounter.  Jen was right.  She did want someone to spend the rest of her life with.  But the person that she wanted was gone forever.  Joey put the sketchbook back in a drawer and turned out the light, headed for bed.

The sun shone brightly as the sailboat glided across the blue water.  Joey stood at the front of the boat, staring out at the horizon.  It was a beautiful sunset.  One that she hadn't seen the likes of in a long time.  A hand touched her shoulder and she turned around.  It was him.  Joey wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. 

"I'm so glad you came."

"Me too," he said softly, running his hands through her hair.

Joey pulled back and looked into his warm blue eyes.  "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he said, tilting her chin so that he could kiss her. 

She melted against him, running her hands through his soft hair, loving the feel of him.  His hands ran up her back, until they plunged into the mass of hair at the nape of her neck.  Joey sighed and pressed against him, wanting nothing else than to stay there forever. 

He pulled away and gazed into her eyes adoringly.  "I have to go now."

"No.  Don't leave yet!"

"I have to Joey."

"But-but-I love you!"

Too late.  He vanished.

Joey jerked awake, her body shaking.  "What the hell?"

Joey got up and padded back to her studio.  She flipped on the light and walked over to her easel where a flip pad was set up.  She grabbed a piece of charcoal and furiously began sketching her dream. 

The darkness swirled around him and the air was heavy.  He couldn't see anything but his gut told him that he was going in the right direction.  Something grainy was under his feet and he realized that it was sand.  It began to get lighter and he saw the waves come rolling in.  He stopped short.  There was no way he was going out there.  A hand touched his shoulder and he spun around.  She was standing before him in a black wispy dress with a veil over her face.

"Let me see you," he whispered.

Her voice was whispery and disconnected but he could still understand what she was saying.  "I can't," she said softly.  "Only you, yourself, have the power to see me."

Pace bolted up in bed.  He'd had this dream for as long as he could remember, at least once a week.  And it was always the same.  The ocean, the veiled woman, her words to him…his fear.  Pace had been afraid of the ocean ever since he'd recovered consciousness that morning on the beach.  He wasn't sure why but he couldn't go too far on the sand and he could never step foot in the water.  It was a mystery that he might never solve. 

Pace got up and went to the living room.  He turned on his lamp by the couch and stared out his window, thinking about the dream and the woman that he'd met today.  Why couldn't he get his mind off of her?  She was just a woman.  There were thousands of them in New York.  Why was he fixated on her?  He'd never met her before and he had no idea who she was.  So why did she intrigue him?  Baffled, Pace picked up his notebook and hastily began scribbling down lyrics.

The darkness swirls around us and I can't see your face
I'm trying to figure out how the hell we got in this place
My mind screams out that I should recognize your embrace

Lost in this darkness that I can't escape
Your love surrounds me
I feel the walls closing around us
And I'm powerless to stop this wave of emotions 

Pace closed the notebook and turned off the lamp.  He sat back on the couch; his feet propped up on the onyx table, staring out at the city. 

The warehouse turned gallery was brightly lit with dividers separating each artist's work.  The floor was wooden and had been polished until it shined.  The room was huge and square-shaped with a high ceiling.  People milled about, talking with the artists and inspecting their work. 

Pace arrived at nine, gave his ticket to the doorman and entered the gallery.  He saw several familiar faces and nodded to the people he knew.  Pace was not an art fanatic but he did love to come to an art show every so often and occasionally found something he wanted.  He waved at Skip who was chatting with some artists and decided to explore, making his way around the room, stopping to look at a few pieces that were nice.  Pace made it halfway around the room and nothing had really interested him.  He came to the exhibit in the center of the back wall and stopped in his tracks. 

Pace looked up and searched for the plaque with the artist's name: Joey Potter.  He'd heard a lot of good things about this guy but had yet to meet him or see any of his work up close.  Intrigued, Pace looked at the first painting.  It was an oil on canvas of a shoreline with waves rolling calmly in.  The time must have been early afternoon because everything was illuminated.  There was a figure standing close to the water.  Pace realized that it was a woman.  She had dark hair that was spiraling out behind her in the breeze and a white gauzy dress that clung to her body.  Interesting he thought as he moved on to the next piece.  It was a small marble sculpture of a sailboat.  But the kick to it was that the right side was perfectly proportioned and the left side was disfigured.  Pace stared at it intently, intrigued by the artist's perspective. 

"This guy kicks serious ass," he muttered, walking over to the next piece. 

It was a framed pastel of a field that seemed to stretch on beyond the boundaries of the paper.  Beautiful wildflowers grew everywhere and danced in an invisible breeze.  Clouds dotted the sky and Pace had fun trying to decipher what they were. 

The next piece was a collage consisting of various newspaper and magazine articles that were arranged in a spiral pattern.  In the middle of the piece was a drain so that it seemed that everything was being sucked into it.  Pace chuckled.  The message to that one was clear.  He moved on to the next piece.  It was a black and white photograph of a paper bag that was dancing in the wind, obviously taken on a New York sidewalk.  What made the piece stand out was the fact that there was a ray of sunlight glinting directly down on the bag, casting its shadow on the concrete.  Under this picture and all around it were charcoal recreations of it. 

"Wow," Pace mumbled, his eyes roaming over to the next to the last piece. 

Pace's breath caught in his throat.  It was a large charcoal sketch of what appeared to be a man but his face was not defined.  Only his jaw line could be made out because of the way he was standing and the shadows that were sketched across his face and around him.  He was standing, barefoot, on a twilight beach staring out over the water. 

Pace stared at the sketch, a strange feeling creeping through his body. 

"It's over, isn't it?"

The words rushed through his brain, causing him to gasp.  Where the hell had that come from?  Pace blinked and stared at the sketch.  Something had triggered his memory. 

Joey sighed, wishing that the night were over so that she could go home and pull off her dreaded heels and hose.  She'd been talking to another artist and had lost track of the time.  You probably missed out on a big sale Joey scolded herself as she made her way back to her exhibit.  There's probably a load of people wanting to talk with you.  She only found one person at her exhibit when she got there.  Nice one Joey.  There's no telling how many potential buyers you missed.  Joey noticed the man crouched on one knee, staring at one of her pieces.  Maybe she still had one person that was interested.  Joey walked over until she was standing next to the man and waited for him to notice her.

Pace heard someone stop next to him, looked over and saw a pair of strapy black heels.  Pace slowly stood up, his eyes traveling up a pair of long legs, a relatively short black dress…until he finally stood eye to eye with the person. 

Joey blinked in surprise.  It was the man she'd bumped into the previous evening.  Joey quickly ran her eyes over him, taking in his appearance.  He looked good enough to eat in his black trousers, boots, and dark blue Oxford shirt that was untucked.  The first few buttons were left open, giving Joey a tantalizing glimpse of his bare chest.  She realized that she was staring and quickly looked over to see what piece he had been inspecting. 

Pace stared at the woman in front of him.  Maybe my luck's not as bad as I thought he mused.  She looked incredible in her simple black sheaf and heels with her hair knotted on top of her head.  He wasn't surprised to see that the only makeup she wore was fingernail polish and lip-gloss.  The gloss made her mouth look so enticing that Pace had to restrain himself from grabbing her and kissing her luscious set of lips.  Calm down buddy his mind scolded.  "Hello," he finally said, forcing back the wicked thoughts he was having.

Joey's eyes turned back to his and once again Pace noticed the sadness that was buried in their brown depths.  "Hi," she replied, smiling.  "At least we didn't run into each other this time." 

Pace smiled.  "No, we didn't."  He gestured towards the sketch.  "You like art?"

"Very much," Joey said softly, watching him closely. 

His hand swept over the exhibit.  "This guys work is amazing."

Joey bit her lip to keep from snorting laughter.  "Yeah," she managed.

Pace pointed to the sketch of the man.  "This one is incredible.  What do you think would be the expression on his face if you could see it?"

Joey extended her arm in front of them, her index finger pointing at the sketch.  "I think he would have a very serious frown of concentration on his face.  His eyes would be full of loss.  He's trying to find purpose in his life because he feels that he has lost everything.  He's come to the seashore to contemplate, regain his strength and start anew."

Pace gazed at Joey as she spoke, lost in his own thoughts.  He was imagining his fingers tangling in the dark mass of hair on her head, pulling her out of the gallery and having his way with her in a dark alley.  She turned to face him and he guiltily met her eyes. 

"What do you think," she asked, curious to know what he thought of the sketch.

"I think you may be right," he said in a thick voice, quickly looking away from her curious gaze.  "What about that one," he asked, pointing to the last piece on display. 

Joey looked at the piece he was pointing to.  It was a half-sketch/half-painting of a long dark corridor.  At the end was a girl, her features blurred.  There was an amber ray of light descending from the top edge of the painting that fell on the girl, illuminating her.  It was a very personal piece of Joey's and it took her a moment to be able to speak.

Pace stared at the painting as he waited, extremely moved by the raw emotion that it held. 

Finally Joey spoke.  "The girl's lost in a darkness that she can't get out of," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady.

"And the light," Pace asked, gazing at Joey intently.

"The light is her salvation," she said simply, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You sound as if you're speaking from experience," Pace commented.

"I am," Joey said, her eyes shining with tears.

Pace gulped.  For some strange reason he wanted to open his arms to her and hold her until her sadness went away. 

"THERE YOU ARE," a voice boomed, causing them to break their intense gaze.  Skip walked over to them, putting an arm around Joey's shoulders. 

Pace's heart flopped.  Maybe she was Bianca, Skip's new girlfriend that he had not had the chance to meet yet.

"Hey Skip," Joey said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

Skip looked at Pace.  "You two know each other," he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Pace shook his head.  "No."

"No," Joey agreed.

Pace held out his hand to Joey.  "Pace Morgan."

Joey took it, feeling something like an electric current shoot through her body.  "Joey Potter."

Pace blinked.  "Y-You're the artist," he stammered, amazed.

"She would be me," Joey smirked, emphasizing the word "she".

Pace was shocked.  He'd been standing here for the past ten minutes telling her how great "he" was and she had not said a word.  "Why didn't you say something," he asked, perplexed.

Joey shrugged.  "Sometimes people will tell you what they really think about your work when they don't know you're the artist."

Pace grinned.  "And the fact that I have inserted my foot in my mouth big time has nothing to do with it?"

Joey smiled.  "Nothing to do with it."

"You must have thought Jo was a guy huh," Skip asked, a knowing smile plastered on his face. 

"Yeah," Pace said, more than a little embarrassed.  "You two know each other?"

Skip and Joey nodded. 

"Yeah," Skip said.  "Jo's the artist friend I was telling you about that gave me the tickets for tonight."

Pace let out a deep breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.  "Oh.  When you first came over I thought she might be Bianca."

Joey and Skip burst into laughter and Pace glared at them.

"Jo and I get that all the time don't we," Skip asked, calming himself down.

"Yeah," Joey agreed, wiping at her eyes.  "It's because we spend so much time discussing art that people think we're dating," she explained, noticing the look on Pace's face.

"Bianca was supposed to be here tonight so you could meet her but she got held up at work," Skip added.

"That's right," Joey said.  "She's an attorney."

"Yeah," Skip said, beaming proudly.  "She just won her first big case."

Joey noticed an elderly couple examining one of her pieces.  "Excuse me," she said, walking over to the couple and striking up a conversation with them.

Skip waited until Joey was out of hearing range then turned to look at Pace who was staring after her.  "You okay buddy?"

"Yeah," Pace said, his eyes finally resting on his friend.

"Just wondering.  You looked a little out of it a while ago."

"So I was," Pace admitted.

"What do you think of Joey?"

"Skip, you're not going to believe this…but she's the woman that I ran into last night."

Skip coughed and stared at Pace.  "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow.  Good luck, eh?"

"Very much so."

"Looked to me like some sparks were flying," Skip commented.

Pace rolled his eyes.  "Skip, shut your trap."

Joey finished talking with the couple and walked back over to the two men.  "Well, I sold The Seashore."

Skip gave Joey an enthusiastic hug.  "That's great!"

"Thanks."

"You see anything you like Pace," he asked, turning to look at his friend.

"Yeah, I did," he said, gazing at Joey for a moment before turning to point at the two pieces on the end.  "The sketch of the man on the beach and the girl…how much-"

"They're not for sale," Joey interjected.

Pace rose an eyebrow, surprised.  "No?"

"No."

Skip noticed the confused look on Pace's face.  "These two are from Jo's collection of favorite pieces.  Some of her first ones…if I'm thinking of the right ones.  They're here for conversation starters."

Pace gazed into Joey's eyes and knew that was not the reason the pieces were not for sale.

Skip noticed someone he knew and made his excuses.  "I gotta go.  Great to see you Jo," he said, giving Joey a quick hug.  Call me sometime and we'll do lunch."

"Okay.  It was good to see you Skip," Joey said, giving him a warm smile.

"Bye Skip," Pace said, shaking his friend's hand. 

"Bye buddy.  I'll catch you tomorrow."

Joey and Pace stood there in silence for a moment, not sure of what to say. 

Finally Joey broke it.  "You're a songwriter…correct?"

Pace nodded.  "Yeah."

"He never mentioned knowing you."

"Skip and I go way back," Pace explained.  He keeps his personal stuff…well, personal."

"He's not the only one," Joey commented, giving him a pointed stare.

"I could say the same of you," he replied.

Joey smiled.  "Yes, you could."

"Which would also explain why he's never mentioned you by name," Pace added.

"Bingo."

Pace turned his gaze back to the artwork.  "Sorry for the sexist comment earlier.  I just, well, when I see the name 'Joey' I automatically think it's a guy."

"Most guys do," Joey said, amused.

Pace looked at her for a moment then gestured towards the sketch of the man.  "Who was he," he asked softly.

Joey blinked, startled. 

"What?"

"Most people don't pick up on that."

"Oh," he turned to look at her face, trying to read the expression in her eyes.

She sighed.  "He was someone I knew a long time ago."

Pace noticed the waver in her voice and decided to change the subject.  "So, what about the sculpture of the boat?"

Joey gave him a grateful smile.  "That one is for sale," she said as they walked back over to the sculpture.

"What's it called?"

"Calm and Storm."

"Good title.  Another reflective piece?"

"Something like that."

"It's incredible," he said honestly.

"Thank you."

"How long did it take you to complete it," he asked, lightly running his fingertips over the cool marble.

"About three months," Joey said, watching his hand, imaging that it was her skin underneath his fingertips.

"How much do you want for it?"

"Thousand."

Pace looked at her, a small smile on his face.  "Done."

"Great," Joey said grinning.  "I hope you'll enjoy it."

"Oh, I will," Pace said softly.

Joey looked down at her shoes for a moment.

Pace took a deep breath.  "Look, Joey," he began.  "I'm not the world's best art critic…but I can tell you that your work is some of the best that I've ever seen."

"What makes you say that," she asked.

"It's the emotion that you put into each piece."  He looked into her luminous brown eyes.  "Honestly, I walked around half of this gallery without seeing anything that really struck me.  Then, I got to yours and it was like…BAM!  Something just grabbed me.  Something that makes your work stand out from the rest.  And I think that most of the people here would agree with me."

Joey looked at him, surprise etched on her face.  "Thank you," she said sincerely. 

"You're welcome."

Joey noticed that a crowd was starting to gather around her exhibit.  "I really should…."

"Yeah.  Sure," Pace said, nodding.

"Listen, it was really nice actually meeting you," Joey said, offering her hand.

 Pace took it in his.  "You too."

Joey slowly released his hand and walked away.

Pace stood there, alone, watching her as she talked to the group that had gathered.  A part of him wanted to stand there for the rest of the night and watch her but the darker part of him knew that he couldn't do that just as it knew that he could never have a relationship with her.  Pace sighed, turned away and slowly walked to the next exhibit.

Two hours later the exhibit was over.  Pace took care of his purchase and was waiting outside for a cab, too tired to walk, when he noticed Joey pulling on her coat and leaving the gallery.  She went over to him.  "Have a good evening Mr. Morgan," she said, giving him a smile.

Pace waved his hand.  "Please, call me Pace."

"All right," she agreed, reaching down and taking off her shoes.

Pace laughed.  "Not one for dressing up?"

Joey wrinkled her nose. 

God she looks adorable when she does that Pace thought.

Joey grinned.  "Not really."  She linked her fingers through the straps of her shoes and picked them up of the pavement.  "Well, Pace, I guess this is goodnight."

Pace gazed at her for a moment.  "Why don't you let me walk you home?"

Joey stared at him for a moment.  "Uh…."

"It's dangerous this time of night," he said, trying to explain to her and himself why he had just asked to see her home.

Joey rolled her eyes.  "It's dangerous anytime."

Pace had finally hailed a cab and it idled next to the curb.   He opened the door and gestured for her to get in.  "I insist."

Joey stood there for a moment, thinking.  "Well, okay.  But you have to let me help pay for the fare."

Pace shook his head.  "Nope."

Joey shrugged.  "Fine.  Goodnight."  She headed off down the sidewalk.

Pace got inside the cab.  "Pull up to where she is," he told the driver, who nodded and pulled the cab even with Joey.  Pace rolled down the window.  "Come on Joey.  Just get in the cab.  It's safer."

Joey scoffed.  "Sure.  You never know what kind of crazy people could be driving you to your residence."

Pace had never thought about that but refused to leave her alone.  "Would you just let me see you home?"

Joey sighed.  "No.  Thanks anyway.  Goodnight."  She waved as she rounded the corner.

"Dammit," Pace mumbled.  He stuck his head out the window and yelled out the first thing that came to his head.  "Would you get in the car Potter?"

Joey froze.

Pace had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He stared at her back, unsure of what had made him yell those words but thankful that it had made her stop. 

Joey pivoted around and stared at him.  "Why did you call me that," she demanded.

Pace shrugged.  "You're last name's Potter.  I call a lot of people by their last names."

"Yeah.  But most people never call me that.  It's a special nickname that only my close friends use."

Pace sighed.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend you.  Honest."

Joey took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "It's okay," she said softly.  "It just-it took me by surprise that's all."

Pace could tell from the expression on her face that there was more to the situation than she was letting on but didn't want to upset her more.  "I'm sorry."

"N-no.  I'm sorry for freaking."

Pace nodded and gestured at the cab he was sitting in.  "So…you wanna catch a ride or not?"

Joey smiled at him, defeated.  "Sure."

Joey closed the door to her studio apartment and leaned against the cool wood.  What a night it had been.  She'd sold four of her pieces and met the man from the street corner that had been dominating her thoughts since she'd run into him the evening before.  He seemed so nice…and sexy. 

"Shut up Joey," she muttered, going over to her desk and pressing the play button on her machine.

"Hey Joey!  It's Jen.  Call me when you get in."

Joey smiled and picked up her cordless phone, dialing Jen's number from memory.

"Hello," a tired voice answered.

"Hey Henry.  It's Joey.  How are you?"

"Hey Jo," Henry said, obviously glad to hear from her.  "Tired.  Jen and I had to meet so many stuffy doctor's and their wives that I thought we would both go insane before we got out of that benefit tonight."

Joey laughed.  "I understand.  I had a lot of uppity people at the gallery tonight."

"How'd it go?"

"Good.  I sold all of the ones that were up."

"That's great!"

"Yeah."

"Well, Jen's reaching for the phone.  I'll talk with you later.  Take care of yourself."

"You too Henry."  Joey waited until Jen came on the line.

"Joey!  How was the show?"

"Great.  I sold them all!"

"Oh Jo!  That's wonderful."

"Yep."

"Anyway, I was looking through a magazine tonight in the Ladies Room at the benefit, you know, getting away from all the stuffy people for a while and I came across this article about that songwriter we were talking about last night.  His name's Pace Morgan and he lives right here in New York."

Joey grinned.  "I know."

Jen caught the tone of her voice.  "Joey?  What are you hiding?"

Joey laughed.  "I saw him again tonight."

"What?  That's great!"

"Yeah.  He was at the gallery.  He's actually friends with my buddy Skip."

"Wow," Jen said, smiling. 

"Yeah.  Anyway, we had a very interesting conversation.  Of course, he made the mistake that most guys do.  He thought I was a guy."

"He didn't!"

"Oh but he did.  He stuck his foot in there big time!"

Jen burst into laughter. "Man, I would have loved to have been there so that I could have seen the expression on his face."

"It was pretty priceless," Joey admitted.

"So…what happened?"

"Well, we talked for a long time.  He wanted to buy the sketch of the man on the beach…and the one of the girl in the dark."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  Of course, I told him they were not for sale."  Joey sighed.  "Jen, I don't know what it is, but something really is drawing me to him."

"Well it's about time that you met someone that does that."

"I guess."

"No.  It's true."

"Something else happened."

"What?"

"We argued over a taxi and he said something that was exactly like something Pacey had said to me ages ago."

"Whoa."

"Yeah.  I mean, I know I told you that when I first met him that I thought he was Pacey but…tonight, I don't know Jen.  It was almost like we knew each other on a level that we were not even aware of."

"Wow," Jen said softly.  "Sounds like you've got a potential romance blooming."

Joey sighed.  "I don't know Jen."

"Well, did you give him your number?"

"No."

"What? Joey!  How could you not give him your number?" 

"I don't know.  I-I was still a little shaken up from what happened earlier."

"Well, do you think you'll see him again?"

Joey sighed.  "I don't know…but I hope so."

Jen smiled.  "Good.  I'm glad."

"Yeah.  I guess I am too."

"Well, it's late and I have to get up early in the morning to get started on my next job."

"Yeah.  I got a lot of errands to run tomorrow."

"Okay.  We still on for next week?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Joey said honestly. 

"All right.  I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay.  Night Jen."

"Goodnight Joey."

Joey went to her bedroom, sat down on her bed and opened the top drawer of her nightstand.  She reached in and took out a worn book with a black leather cover.  Joey gently unzipped the cover and opened up the book to a blank page.  She picked a pen out of the holder and began to write.
 

December 5, 2010

I realize that I'm a little early this year. I know that a lot of people would ask me why would I decide to continue writing in something that holds so many memories?  I guess you could call it a need to fulfill a promise that I made. A promise I made to Pacey that I would live my life.  Writing in this journal at the end of each year has been my way of making sure that I am fulfilling that promise.  It was my way to tell him about it.  I know that this sounds crazy but I feel like he's here with me when I write in this, reading over my shoulder, laughing at some of the stupid things I say and do. I had no intention of breaking that yearly tradition until I got what I can only call "a blast from the past".

I was walking down the street yesterday evening, lost in thought when I ran into someone.  I looked up at him and I swear, I thought that Pacey had come back from the dead.  I was so shocked that I almost wrapped my arms around the guy.  Then I realized that, of course, it wasn't Pacey.  But this man, I don't know, he's got me captivated.  And that's something that I was not sure that anyone besides Pacey could ever do. 

Now you're probably wondering if the only reason that I'm interested in this man is because he reminds me of Pacey.  I've thought about this and, even though I only met him a little over twenty-four hours ago, I can honestly say that this is not the reason I'm attracted to him.  I'm not really sure what the reason is yet…all I know is that I want to get to know him. 

His name is Pace Morgan.  I know, good lord, the irony.  He's tall with dark red hair and deep piercing blue eyes.  He's got a wonderful smile and a very nice package (ass included).  Pacey would be proud.  He's a well-known songwriter and he lives here in the city.  He was at the exhibit tonight and bought a marble sculpture of the True Love that I made.  He seemed very intrigued with my work and I'm intrigued with him.  And I can't help but hope that he's at least a little bit intrigued with me. 

I think he is because he chased me down and wouldn't let me walk home alone.  We argued, which was kind of reminiscent of when Pacey and I used to bicker, and he even said something that Pacey had said to me once.  Anyway, I finally let him take me home in a cab.  I caught him looking at me several times.  Who knows? Maybe this is just the beginning.  And I can't help but wonder if Pacey is looking down on me from heaven and pushing me towards this man.  Maybe he found him for me.  I don't know.  All I know is that I owe whoever decided to let us meet a huge thank you.  And wherever Pacey is, I really think that he would approve.
 

Joey closed the journal and placed it back in the drawer, shutting it gently.  She put the pen back in the holder and got up to take a shower.

A storm was raging outside as he let himself into the apartment.  He closed the door behind him and stopped in his tracks.  She was standing in front of the window, her back to him.  Lightening split the sky as he cautiously made his way over to her.  He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.  She turned around to face him and he sucked in his breath.  Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders in dark waves, her eyes were swimming with passion and all she had on was a very skimpy dress.  She reached out and touched his face, smoothing some of the rain off, gazing into his eyes.  He smiled at her and she returned it, running her fingers through his damp hair.  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.  She gasped as his wet clothes met her flesh.  Her lips were glistening in the dim light and all he wanted to do was kiss them.  She tilted her head as his mouth descending upon hers, her fingers trailing down the column of his neck until they were under his jacket.  She peeled it off of his shoulders and he hastily broke away from her and tossed it to the floor.  His mouth was on hers again, his hands roamed over her body, exploring something that he never thought he would have.  She sighed against his mouth and his grip on her tightened.  Her hands were underneath his T-shirt, gliding over his wet skin.  He had never felt anything like this before in his life and he never wanted it to end.  She pulled back and gazed into his eyes.

"Make love to me," she whispered.

Lightening split the sky again and he gasped.  Her face was gone and all that was left was a black hole.

Pace woke up with a start.  "What the hell was that," he muttered, realizing that he was washed down with sweat.  He got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower, trying to purge himself of what could only be called a half-fantasy/half nightmare.  Once he had toweled off and put on a pair of pajama bottoms he went into the living room.  He sank to the couch and stared out the window, trying to figure out why he had dreamed about her and why her face had disappeared.  Pace turned on the lamp and picked up the notebook that he kept on the table next to the couch. 

You and I, alone at last
We gaze at each other
Not wanting to think about the past
And I know that there will never be another
Because I love you like I have loved no other

Pace put down the notebook and turned out the light.  He leaned against the back of the couch, trying to get all of his thoughts in order.  He couldn’t stop thinking about her…Joey.  He'd seen something tonight that had inspired him.  Her strength and the emotion that she put into her work.  Pace could tell that she had a lot of secrets…just as he did.  And he was terrified of the feelings that he experienced every time he looked at her or even thought about her.  But, he was also relieved.  Pace had begun to think that he would never be able to find someone that could make him feel like he belonged.  But Joey had spoken to him with such sincerity, her eyes had shone with such passion and she was beautiful in a way that defied description.  Everything that he had learned about Joey told him that he could fall in love with her…and that scared the hell out of him.  So, instead of calling Skip and demanding her phone number, Pace sat on his couch gazing out the window feeling as lost as he ever had and as empty as the space around him.