“Maybe it’s you. Just sayin’.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind.” The two of them laughed. “I’m sure that storm made a mess of some of the work we put in today. I’ll have some cleanup and reworking to do in the morning.”
“Need a hand?” Skip shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “I could come help for a day or two.”
“Your fiancée won’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“It’ll be nice to have your help.” They hadn’t painted a mural together since college. “Just as my foot hit the ground, a gust of wind blew my paint buckets off the scaffold. It was like Old Faithful: paint went everywhere. The wall. The ground. Me!”
“We’ll clean it up in no time,” Skip said. “And maybe your bracelet girl will wander by and recognize you.”
“Doubtful. I don’t even know her name.”
Skip shook his head. “Matthew, my friend, in case you haven’t noticed, every relationship starts that way.” He put his arm around his shoulder. “Hello. My name is Matthew. I’m an artist. What’s your name? What do you do? How about meeting for a coffee? It’s pretty simple. I think even a brush-wielding bachelor like you can handle that.”
“Real funny.”
The two of them were enjoying catching up when Travis marched over and inserted himself in the middle.
“There you are!” He seemed a little irritated. “I’ve been looking for you.” He flashed a look of recognition toward Skip but didn’t address him. His eyes darted back to Matthew, his lips pressed tight. “I need to introduce you to someone who just purchased several pieces for a commercial building. I negotiated gold-plate signage to be hung with them. She’s the wife of a big-time local attorney.”
“Duty calls.” Matthew thrust his hand toward Skip, feeling like he’d just been caught sneaking in after curfew. “I’ll take you up on that help. Meet me at my place in the morning?”
Skip answered as Travis shuffled Matthew to the far end of the gallery where the walls stretched two-stories high, and a tall, silver-haired man in a fine suit stood next to a woman who talked with her hands.
Travis cleared his throat, and the couple turned toward them. “May I introduce the artist? Matthew McMahon.”
The woman swung around gracefully in what could be considered a pirouette. She sucked in a breath that should’ve lifted her from the ground, then clasped his hand with both of hers.
Matthew glanced over at the husband, who looked on with a lilt to his smile that exuded a warm appreciation of her.
The beautiful woman pulled her graceful hand to her breast. “I feel your work to my very core. I’m Mary Barron Winters.” She cocked a shoulder, still clasping his hands. “My husband, Bill Winters. We are so thrilled to meet the man behind this work.”
Mr. Winters nodded.
“I’m redoing our offices, so I’ve selected several pieces. We may need a few more. What do you think, hon?”
“Whatever you think. This is your area of expertise.”
“If you’re going to be in town, Matthew, I’d love to walk you through the building and discuss placement. Would you?” She tightened her grip. “Could you?”
Before he could answer, she continued, “It’s right here in Richmond. Our building is on the historic registry, and the architecture is simply gorgeous.” She leaned closer. “Might even inspire a new painting.”
“I'm a sucker for beautiful architecture,” he said.
“The lines and colors in your work… it’s going to just be breathtaking. I can be flexible. Anytime. Early. Late?”
It wasn’t something he’d usually do, but he was intrigued by the chance to hear about the building’s history and see the inside up close. “It would be my pleasure. If we could meet in the early evening, that would be best for me.”
“I knew it! See?” She turned to her husband with one of those I-told-you-so lifts of the brow, then faced Matthew again. “I told him you wouldn’t mind. I’m so excited.” She pressed anembossed business card into his hand. “You call me Monday morning, and let’s set up a time.”
Matthew couldn’t have asked for a better gallery night. Just from the work that he knew had sold, it might be his biggest night yet.
The sound of something tapping the side of a glass came from the center of the hall. Matthew turned, expecting to see Travis gathering the attention of the crowd to shut down for the evening, but to his surprise, it wasn’t. Instead, a man in an out-of-season tweed sports coat stood looking a bit out of place.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for one moment, please.” The man raised a half-empty champagne flute in the air. “I wanted to share something about your featured artist this evening.”
