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“That’s Dennis and Christina Mortimer. They're regulars and come all the way from Manhattan, just for the ambiance.”
I could relate to that. The lighting and placement of our pieces are quite clever. The gallery’s location is also attractive, free from the daily bustle of Manhattan. Not to mention my favorite part; the entire east wall is floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a stunning view of the Hudson River.
“Dennis was the ambassador to Thailand.” She sees my raised eyebrow. “Yep, and they never miss an exhibition, so don’t worry they'll be here for the exhibition. We’ve got a few regulars like them. I should probably compile a list for you.”
“That would be great.” The idea of forming new connections with others who share a love for the arts is exciting. I step out of my office and wander over to the couple.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I point to the newly mounted painting on the wall as I reach them.
“It is,” the man agrees.
“All of Eugene’s works are like that,” I explain. “His work with form and color is well praised. I’m Sabrina Wells, a curator.”
The woman gapes at me for a long moment, then as if just remembering her manners, smiles warmly but still doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, very nice to meet you, Chad mentioned about getting a new curator." Chad Fendrell is the gallery director and my boss.
"This is Christina, my wife.” He gestures to her before he introduces himself. “And I’m Dennis. We come here all the time. Practically part of the Century family aren't we?” He looks at Christina who only smiles and nods. "Christina does oil painting. You should see some of her paintings. Monet has nothing on her.”
At this, Christina rolls her eyes and nudges him shyly, then she begins to make signs with her hands.
I don’t know about Monet, Dennis interprets when he sees I don’t speak sign language, but life is art, and where words fail, a painting is our most eloquent communication with humanity.
“Oh, you couldn’t be any more right,” I agree and she smiles.
Interesting couple. Christina is non-verbal then. If they really are regular and high-profile clients, I should be seeing more of them.
“Well, I will leave the both of you to it. The gallery doesn’t close until 7 pm today so, please, take as much time as you want.”
I move away and they return to enjoying the artwork and each other’s company. Back in my office, I spot the couple once more and notice Christina keeps glancing in my direction. I wonder if I remind her of someone. I would certainly remember if we had met before.
Grant Hawthorne arrives just in the nick of time, and by the end of our meeting, I know for certain his pieces will be taking center stage in our upcoming next exhibition, and possibly in future exhibitions as well.
His photographic pieces themed ‘Emotion’, are breathtaking in their beauty, eloquence, and ability to evoke feeling.
Grant is easy on the eyes as well. Tall, lean, and dressed casually in jeans with his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in tattoos. His longish, dark hair, laughing hazel eyes, and easy smile complete the charm all too well. Something Dalia seemed acutely aware of.
She stayed for the meeting although I hadn't expected her to, but seeing her reaction to Grant I realized why she stayed.
Despite her coloring, I could see how she blushed when he looked at her for more than two seconds.
“So, are you going to ask him out or what?” Dalia and I are now in my office, digging into the lunch we ordered in.
“Who?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You had hearts all over your face, in fact, you were literally blowing heart-shaped bubbles while the rest of us discussed serious business.”
She giggles. “Bree! I can’t, he’s too...”
“What?”
“He’s too everything!”
I remember the feeling. Jordan Farrington had been larger than life, a completely jarring experience to my seventeen-year-old senses. But in the end, he was a douchebag that didn’t deserve me.
“He’s not out of your league if that’s what you mean. You’re smart and gorgeous, he’d be lucky to have you.”
“Aw thanks, Bree.”
