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“Leafs playing tonight?” Oliver collected the mints and dropped them into his jacket pocket.
“No, but KISS are, if you’re looking to rock ’n’ roll all night.”
“Ahh! Right.” He laughed and pointed his pen toward the hostess’s desk. “The face paint.”
Twisting her bracelet, she glanced in the direction of the KISS fans. “You have to admire their dedication.”
Writing his name with a flourish, Oliver caught her awkward grin.
“Can I ask you something?”
He glanced downward and collected his credit card. “Sure.”
“This might sound strange, but”—she turned her bracelet again—“I’m a full-time teacher and I swear you spoke to my students at the museum this week. In the Egypt exhibit?”
Unease flooded Oliver’s chest.
“At least I think it was you. The PhD said his last name was Jönsson.” She gestured at the card in his hand.
He couldn’t deny it now.
“But the thing is,” she prattled on, “I was mid-migraine attack and couldn’t see you or anything else.”
Or could he?
“Your voice sounds familiar, so I thought I’d ask.” She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Hope you don’t mind.”
His name, his voice. Oliver couldn’t wriggle out of this one. He dissolved into a self-deprecating grin. “No, no. It’s fine.” Licking his lips, he slid his credit card into his wallet. “And you’re right. That was me.”
“Oh, good. Phew!” She half-laughed, her chin dipping toward her chest. “I didn’t want to apologize to the wrong person.”
He glanced upward, meeting her gaze. “Apologize?”
“For rushing out of there during your presentation. I didn’t want you to think I was being rude.”
If she was ashamed about her early exit, maybe she hadn’t left negative feedback. Oliver’s shoulders loosened. Maybe she still wouldn’t. Perhaps exchanging small talk wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Shrugging away his discomfort, he waved off her concerns. “Ah, don’t worry about it. How are you feeling now?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“Good. And there’s no need to apologize. Migraine attacks are awful. I understand completely.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “That’s kind of you to say. I hope I didn’t leave you with a bad impression of our school.”
Oliver thought her class was the best behaved and most engaged of the bunch, and she—well, she was something special. He grinned. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
The tilt of her head prompted Oliver to clarify.
“I overheard you speaking about Antjef’s hair. I couldn’t have explained it better myself.”
Her posture straightened. “Oh. Thanks!”
“It’s nice to meet someone who loves history like I do,” he replied honestly. Most of Oliver’s days were spent tucked away behind heavy doors, wearing nitrile gloves and a white lab coat with only rare antiquities or journal articles for company. Meeting someone outside the museum setting who could present such an enlightening (and accurate) explanation was intriguing.
And the alluring sparkle in her eyes didn’t hurt either.
He offered his hand. “I’m Oliver.”
