Page 8 of Keller

West will figure it out. He's a big boy and can fend for himself.

The crowd shifts as I cross the ballroom, parting just enough to let me through without collision. I keep my pace easy,nothing rushed or intentional. By the time I reach the edge of the colonnade, the woman in the green dress is standing near a pillar, her glass balanced in one hand, watching the orchestra tune a violin.

I stop beside her, not crowding, angling toward the music instead of her directly.

“I’m not usually an orchestra guy, but they’re kind of killing it.”

She glances at me, probably wondering who the masked stranger dropping a line is. Her hazel eyes catch the chandelier light, sharp and assessing. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t dismiss me either. She turns back to the stage.

“I was actually looking at the woodwork behind them,” she says. “But yes. They’re good.”

I follow her line of sight and admire the intricate hand-carved wainscotting behind the band that climbs all the way up to the wide dentil work around the top of the room.

She turns slightly to face me without moving closer, studying the mask for a beat. Her expression is neutral but focused as she tips her chin slightly toward the ceiling, studying the beams overhead. The chandeliers throw light across old timber and plaster.

“It’s survived worse than this crowd, that’s for sure,” I say, nodding toward the cluster of men near the bar.

That earns the smallest hint of a smile.

“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid. Before all the polish.”

“So you knew it before it was pretty,” she says. “That has to change how you see it.”

“It definitely makes you appreciate it more.”

She studies me a second longer. Her brown eyes twinkle slightly under the low lights. A strand of hair is out of place andhanging slightly in her face, and I fight the urge to push it behind her ear.

"You're familiar." Her voice stays low, but the certainty is unmistakable. "Hard to say with that mask on. You aren't the man that saved me from certain death on Decatur Street a few weeks ago by chance, are you?"

I don't deflect. "I could be. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?"

Her gaze flicks to the silver filigree, then back to my eyes. "So you're the mysterious type, huh?"

She takes a sip of her bright orange drink. She lowers the glass slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Not so mysterious," I say. "I just like to read a room before I expose myself."

Her lips twitch. "Oh, you're smooth."

"Honest."

She takes another sip, buying herself a second before responding. The orchestra starts to play. It's something slow and familiar, filling the space so we don't feel the need to fill it.

"So, Mr. Mysterious, can I get a name? I'm Quinn, by the way."

I raise my mask at this point to avoid being the douchey guy that West accused me of. "I'm Keller. Nice to meet you, officially, Quinn."

She blinks, a recalibration happening in real time as she takes in my face fully now, no filigree between us.

I put the mask in my breast pocket and ask her if I can get her another drink before asking what she's having.

"Screwdriver."

"You're seriously drinking a screwdriver? Holy shit, that's amazing. Can I get you another?"

"Hey, I'm a fan of Sunday brunch, what can I say? I'm good right now, thank you, though." She goes back to looking at the architecture, ignoring my reaction to her drink of choice.

"This building is so neat. I've always wanted to come in here. It's the only reason I agreed to come with my cousin."