“You mean the lightning rod?”
“Yeah,” he snickered, enjoying her quick wit. “There was no storm in the forecast that day. Not even a spring shower.”
“I don’t know how you can accomplish that and keep it all in proportion and—” She pointed to the water. “You are very talented.”
“Thank you.”
“It must take a long time to paint one of these.”
“It varies. Depends on the detail and the weather, and if I have help. I have some high school students on this project with me. I think some of them will be ones to watch.”
“Must pay really well. I mean, it’s such a unique skill, and it’s huge.”
“No. In fact, sometimes it’s all I can do to get permission to paint one for free. In those cases, I ask them to make a donation to my foundation. When I do get paid, I use the money to pay young artists to help out. For some it will be the only time they ever get paid for art, but for a few, it’s the gateway to something very special.”
“It’s interesting they’ll donate to the foundation but scowl at the thought of paying for your talent. That makes no sense to me.”
“Who ever said people make sense?”
“Mostly, they don’t.” She stood there looking at the mural. “The man in the corner there. Is that you? A self-portrait?”
“No.” He was deeply touched that she’d noticed it, though. “It’s my father.”
“That’s so sweet. I bet he’ll be surprised.”
He shook his head. “No. He’s in every single mural I’ve ever painted in every state across the country since he died. It’s how I keep his memory alive.”
She turned, a look of sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” He touched her elbow, and the moment eased. “Our table is waiting.”
“Yeah.” She fell into step with him.
When they got to The Butcher Block, the maître d’ recognized Matthew immediately. “Mr. McMahon. This way.” He motioned for them to cut through the long line of people waiting.
“Impressive,” she whispered as they followed him to their table.
Matthew wished he’d made a little more effort with how he looked tonight, but he had no way of knowing that he’d wind up escorting Whitney to one of the finest dining establishments in town. Didn’t matter. Butch would welcome him even if he was still in a T-shirt and hiking boots.
They were seated at one of the best tables, outdoors on the deck, with a view of the James River. It wasn’t dark yet, but lights strung above the tables already cast a soft blue hue, which she looked beautiful beneath.
He watched her pause as she noticed the sun beginning to set between the buildings.
“The view is breathtaking.” Her voice was like a whisper in the wind.
It was as if she read his mind, only he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He couldn’t help but notice the sense of wonder, almost a dreamy twinkle, as she fixed her gaze on the horizon. The gentle sway of her hair in the evening breeze, and the way the goldensunset reflected in her hair contributed to the scene’s overall beauty and grace. So much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Definitely breathtaking.” Matthew was certain there wasn’t a man in the room not admiring her beauty.
The server approached the table with a bottle of wine. “From the owner.” He opened the bottle and poured a bit into a glass for Matthew to taste. “Butch sends his regards.”
“Thank you.” Matthew lifted the glass. He’d learned to appreciate good wine the year he’d spent in France painting in Van Gogh’s wake through Arles. He took the obligatory sip, knowing no matter how good or bad the wine was, he’d smile and be appreciative. “Thank you. It’s lovely. Pour the lady’s first, please.”
The server then informed them the chef was preparing a special off-menu meal for them.
“That’ll be fine. Thank you.” Matthew hadn’t really expected this much attention when he called in the favor. He was happy just to get a table.
“Thank you. This is really a treat. And I’m sorry I said you looked homeless.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
