“And you’re too young to be talking likethat,” I said. “Why didn’t you ever pursue photography?”
“Photography,” Lacey snorted. “Art doesn’t pay very well. Life costs money. Or haven’t you heard?”
“Oh, I heard. Listen, my best friend used to work in the galleries. I have an in. You should think about having a show.”
“I haven’t taken photos in years.”
I frowned in thought. “Why don’t you photograph the burlesque show? Get some practice. Who knows, you might discover it’s like riding a bike.”
“I’ll take some photos of the performances, but I think I’d like to photograph you, Barrett.”
“Me? Why?” I asked in shock.
“Because you have this way about you. Especially when you’re performing. I’d like to see if I can capture that on film.”
“Anything, if it means helping you.” I looked at the framed photograph again. It was truly remarkable.
After Lacey left and my groceries were put away, I made a quick lunch. Flynn texted, asking me to meet him and Malcolm on the roof of The Rex. Though the sun was shining, it was chilly. I wrapped my arms around myself since the light sweater I was wearing wasn’t doing much to keep me warm. The view was unbelievable and Flynn’s glass lounge would make good use of the skyline.
“Barrett,” Malcolm greeted warmly, embracing me. “Are you cold?”
“Just a bit.”
Before I could protest, Malcolm shrugged out of his wool sweater and handed it to me. “Wool from Highland sheep. You’ll never be cold again.” He winked.
I took the sweater with a smile. “I don’t think you’ll be getting this sweater back,” I teased, rolling up the sleeves so I could see my hands.
“Consider it a gift.”
“Quit flirting with her,” Flynn growled, putting his arm around my shoulders and tucking me into his side.
Malcolm’s rumbly laughter was infectious, and I chuckled along with him. “How are you feeling this morning, lass?”
“Still a bit of scotch head.”
Malcolm grinned, his bushy eyebrows rising. “We were just heading down for lunch. Would you care to join us?”
“Oh, I just ate, but thank you for the offer.”
“Come and keep us company,” Flynn urged.
“Okay, then.”
Malcolm offered his arm to me and I took it. I shot Flynn a look. I was developing a soft spot for Flynn’s godfather. Once we were settled in a booth in the restaurant, Malcolm asked me, “Have you been to London?”
“Yes, a long time ago.”
“Like it?” Malcolm pressed.
“From what I remember.”
“Flynn is opening a hotel in London.”
“Malcolm,” Flynn warned. “I’ve already asked Barrett to go with me. And she said yes. So stop trying to make trouble, you old goat.”
I laughed. Malcolm watched us with a warm glint in his eyes, looking relaxed and happy because Flynn had found someone. I wondered what Flynn had been like as an angry teenager, alone after the deaths of his parents. It was a sobering thought.
“You all right, lass?” Malcolm asked.
