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Emma paused for a moment and Patrick saw something flicker across her face. Her pink lips parted and she seemed on the verge of saying something, but then she closed her mouth again and shrugged.
“I appreciate that. Now, are we going to this gallery? I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“Of course.” Patrick held out his arm, and she took it as naturally as though they’d been walking together for decades already. “Let’s go.”
“Are we stopping for dinner on the way?”
“Not exactly.” Patrick winked at her, and Emma let herself be pulled along with a small laugh.
“How secretive. I can’t wait.”
They took the elevator down through Ruben Adams’ building, then walked a few blocks along the sidewalk. Just like in Chicago, Cincinnati was chilly at this time of the year, and Emma pulled her scarf closer. Patrick hurried his step slightly to get them both into the warmth of the gallery as soon as possible.
When they reached the gallery, Patrick unlocked the doors and held them open for Emma. As she entered, Patrick heard her gasp slightly and grinned. Then he stepped into the gallery and saw what she was seeing.
Everything was exactly as he had planned. There was a single round table in the middle of the gallery, intimately decorated with tall white candles and a single rose. Two chairs stood ready beside it, kitty-corner to each other in the fashion of first dates. A string quartet played softly in the corner, and a waiter stood ready to bring out the food he had requested be prepared.
“Patrick.” Emma said his name softly, almost as a gasp. “What is this?” Her hand was at her mouth.
Patrick worried for a moment that he’d gone too far. Perhaps Emma didn’t return his feelings, despite the flirting and the way she seemed to seek him out and her blush when he spoke to her. If that was the case, then he had made a wildly inappropriate gesture to a colleague and needed to course-correct, stat. But then Emma continued.
“This is so beautiful. Is this really… for me?”
“Of course.” He smiled at her and escorted her to the table with a hand on her lower back.
“Wasn’t it a lot of trouble?” Emma asked as Patrick pulled back her chair so she could sit.
“Not at all.” Not for you.
The waiter came over with a bottle of wine and they both accepted a glass. Emma added a very polite “thank you” and one of her radiant smiles.
“I’m starting to feel like this trip wasn’t just about getting my opinion on your gallery,” she said as she lifted her wine glass in a toast.
“Not entirely, although I really would love to hear your opinion after we finish eating. But I also wanted to see you in a less professional environment. I would like to get to know you better outside of work.”
“Me too. I mean, I’d like to get to know you.” She gave that radiant smile again. “Thank you for setting this up.”
“It was my pleasure.”
The waiter returned with several covered dishes propped on his arms. He expertly set them on the table, then disappeared.
“What is all this?” Emma peered at one of the dishes with apparent curiosity.
“I asked them to prepare all the courses at once, then give us some privacy to eat.”
“Oh, that’s nice. As much as I appreciate all this, I’m not really used to having people wait on me.”
The waiter set another round of dishes on the table, then nodded and left. The string quartet finished their number and followed. Now Patrick and Emma were alone in the gallery, a table of food between them.
“Do you think the food would keep for a few minutes?” Emma asked. “I really would like to see the art.”
Patrick chuckled. “Choosing art over food — a woman after my own heart. I’m sure it will keep for a few minutes.”
They both stood, and Emma led the way to the nearest wall of paintings. Together, they looked at the first painting, an impressionist landscape filled with muted greens and browns.
“I can see how this artist drew from Monet,” Emma mused. “It’s very beautiful. If perhaps a little derivative.”
“I agree, but I heard from the gallery owner that this piece has been one of the most popular and that it’s likely to sell for over three times what I paid for it.”
