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“I have the invitations ready to go for the showing,” she says, checking something off on her iPad.
“There won’t be a showing.”
“Of course, there will be,” she says. “Kane, we don’t open up a new exhibit, a whole new wing of the museum, and not have a showing.”
“Then you’ll put it on hold,” I insist and turn to her. “I won’t be rushed in this, and it’ll be done the way I say. I know you’re the curator here, and I respect you, but this one is different, damn it.”
“Okay.” She holds up a hand in surrender. “It’s good I haven’t sent the invites out yet, then. Let me know when I can move forward with it.”
“I will. And in the meantime, no one comes in here but you or me. And I mean it, Debbie. If early photos get leaked, if anything happens to any of these pieces, it’ll be your ass.”
“Top secret.” She nods once and makes another note. “Got it. You’ve always been a mysterious man, Kane. Why change now?”
“I’ll set the rest of these and then I’ll be gone for the day,” I inform her. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll bring in some breakfast.” She walks out, leaving me alone in the room.
The seascape room, the one where I first met Anastasia, has always been my favorite. It reminds me of the dangerous and choppy sea of Ireland. My mind was there while I worked on the pieces, and the final result mirrored that vision perfectly. It’s where I go to think of home, and when I need a moment to remember why I work my fingers to the bone.
Yes, glass is in my soul, and I’ll work with sand and fire until the day I die. But I’ve never had a need to share the results of my labor with anyone else. If it weren’t for my agent, and the interest of some important people, this museum likely wouldn’t exist. I’d be content keeping it all for myself.
But the day I found Anastasia sitting on that bench, working feverishly with pen and paper, and she admitted to me that my art inspires hers…I was reminded that work fuels work, and art feeds art.
The work on display here has given my family a life none of us ever dreamed of. And it’s given me an outlet to share what I love most.
Soon, that will include Anastasia, although only she and I will understand that.
Once I’m satisfied that the pieces on hand are just the way they should be, I leave the museum for the day, waving at Debbie in her office as I walk out the back door to my car.
I have a date with a beautiful woman.
The drive to Anastasia’s place takes a while from Tacoma through the traffic. Still, when I park and walk into her bakery, it’s totally worth it when she smiles and hurries over to give me a kiss.
“How has your day been?” she asks, reaching behind me to flip the lock on the door.
“Busy. But it’s suddenly much better.”
“Same.” She kisses my chin and then walks behind the counter. “I decorated two cakes today, and it was glorious.”
“I hope you didn’t lift them.”
“No, Rebecca just left for the day. She’s been working extra hours this week, so she’s here to move the cakes for me. Being able to at least decorate them has been awesome, though. I’m a little tired, but my shoulder feels pretty good.”
“Just don’t get over-confident and hurt yourself again.” I lean over to kiss her nose. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. Where are we going?”
“I seem to remember you saying you’ve been in the mood for a burger, so we’ll go to Red Mill.”
“Holy shit, now I’m hungrier.” She laughs, tidies the desk, and once she’s locked up and turned off the lights, I lead her to my car.
The drive back across the Seattle metro area isn’t fast, but now that I have her with me, holding my hand, I don’t mind the traffic so much.
“There’s not even a line out the door,” she says with excitement as we approach the building. “That’s unusual.”
“Is it that good?”
“You’ve never been? Oh, you’re in for a treat. Yes, it’s that good. Come on.”
We order our burgers with bacon and all the fixings, fries and drinks, and then find a table in the tiny dining room.
“Not a lot of space in here,” I say.
“When the weather’s nice, a lot of people sit outside. Or wait for a table.”
It doesn’t take long for my name to be called, and when I take my first bite of burger, I close my eyes in delight.
“Told you,” Anastasia says. “Best ever.”
“I’ve had burgers all over the world, and this is the best one I’ve had.”
She smiles smugly and pops a French fry into her mouth. I can’t talk because I’m too busy stuffing my face. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.
