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“You mean Claude Jefferson?”
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s what he calls himself.” She extends a hand. “Sarah Millstone. Art critic.”
“Ian Reynolds.”
She eyes me, dipping her chin. “So, Ian, you love art, or you’re just here to support a friend?”
I smile. She’s lovely, alright. Her hand is small and soft within mine. I recognize that look in her eyes all too well. Usually, I’d engage in some flirting, maybe ask her on a date if I’m in the mood for some slow seduction. Or if I sense otherwise, take her home for the night.
The look in her eyes tells me she’s ready for the latter. Somehow, there’s no urge to fan the flames. No desire at all because the only person on my mind is the one person that shouldn’t be in my thoughts at all.
“Well, I–”
A flash of red catches my eye. Kaylee’s standing at the entrance, wearing a short flowy red dress and holding a tiny purse. Her hair looks different. More sleek, like she’s just got her hair done. She fumbles with her bag, glancing around the room with an uneasy smile. Kaylee has never been one for crowded places.
Her eyes land on mine, and everyone else fades.
“Ian?” Sarah’s voice is almost an echo. She waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Ian.”
“Excuse me.” I step around her, heading for Kaylee.
She smoothens her dress and clasps her hands in front of her. Her sweet flowery scent envelopes me as I approach.
“Hi.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I hope Dylan won’t be mad I came late. Busy day at the shop.”
“I just got here too.”
She looks behind me. “You made a new friend already, by the looks of it. She doesn’t look too happy that you left her standing there alone.”
“She’ll get over it. You’re more interesting, anyway.”
She cocks her head, and a corner of her mouth twitches. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Ian?”
Yes.
“Never mind. Forget I said that.” She clears her throat and scans the room. “I think I’ll wait till the crowd’s cleared out before admiring my brother’s new work.”
She heads for a door I didn’t notice. Pushing it open, she glances at me over her shoulder.
“Coming?”
My feet move and the door shuts after me. It’s a small space, with half a dozen of Dylan’s works enclosed in glass. Kaylee’s standing in front of a white-and-black painting of several hands.
“Finally.” She releases a long breath. “A reprieve from all the noise. Everyone here is always talking over each other, trying to prove that they understand art better than the next person. It’s so annoying.”
She reaches a hand out to caress the glass and her lips form a curve. “I’ve always liked this painting. Dylan’s probably forgotten about it. It was one of his first paintings when he set up this gallery.”
The murmur of conversation is a distant hum. It’s like we’re cut off from the rest of the world, alone in our little corner, alone with her.
She glances at me.
“What do you think?”
I study the painting. “It’s colorful.”
She chuckles. “Sarcasm? That’s all you got?”
