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Her eyes meet mine and soften, turning a lighter shade of violet. “Thank you, Nick. I appreciate it.”
“You going to pitch a fit every time I buy you dinner?”
She reluctantly shakes her head.
“Jesus, babe, what kind of guys have you dated that would ever let you pay?”
I can tell I struck a nerve and instantly regret my question.
“My last date, Pledge, was a struggling artist and didn’t have much money.”
My stomach turns at the mention of her ‘last date’, even more so at his manners. “You dated a guy named Pledge?”
Her face starts to heat up, and she nods. She surprises me when her lips twitch, and she starts to giggle. “He wasn’t really the dating type.”
“I don’t know the guy, and he sounds like a tool.”
Her giggles grow into full blown laughter, and she shakes against my chest. “He was! My grandpa shot his taillight out!” she rasps.
The laughter is infectious, and soon, I’m chuckling along with her. She peers up at me, her eyes shining.
“It’s a long story, but let’s say he never spoke to me again.”
“Good.” I slide her off the counter and set her back on her feet. “One less asshole to compete with.”
We make our plates, still laughing, and I follow her to sit at her dining table. “So what happens next now that the reset is done?” I ask before taking a bite.
“We’ll open on Thursday for a few limited hours. Each artist has been invited to see the displays. Logan has a press plan that goes into action on Thursday as well. Then, on Friday night, we have a cocktail party planned for an exclusive showing. Monday, we open to the general public.”
At her mention of a cocktail party, my subconscious tells me to push for more. “What kind of cocktail party?”
“The kind where Logan and I schmooze with our loyal clientele and hope for new business. We put on our biggest smiles, work the rooms, introduce the artists, and promote the gallery.”
“Is this your first time doing one of these?”
She looks at me regretfully, shaking her head. “It’s my second. I did one last fall after a reset then had to get back to school. It was a quick trip.”
Her statement came out more as an explanation, a guilty explanation. I reach over and lay my hand on hers, squeezing lightly. “You don’t need to feel bad, Grace. We’ve already established you came to Miami several times. As much as I wish you’d have called, I understand. Second chances, remember?”
Relief washes over her face as she nods. “Nothing we’ve ever done has been as big as this showing. I’m extremely nervous and excited at the same time. When I think of it, I feel a little queasy. My hope is that it goes well. Logan’s been on his own for a while, and I want to pull my weight. This is my chance to really show him I can.”
She puts her fork down and takes a sip of her wine. I notice her hand shaking a bit, and her words sink in. Her expression changes to one of unease and apprehension. Her easygoing attitude disappears as self-doubt takes over.
I move both our plates and scoot my chair closer to hers. She looks at me in confusion until I bend and pluck her into my lap, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling over.
“W-w-what are you doing?” she stutters.
“I’m putting you in my lap,” I point out the obvious.
“I can see that, but why?”
“Because you were too far away.”
Her eyes start to soften in the way I’m growing to understand. “And I want you in my arms when I tell you that without a shadow of a doubt, you have nothing to be worried about. Friday night will be incredible. I’m an idiot when it comes to art, I’ll be the first to admit it, but you make it interesting. Your enthusiasm and knowledge make even the most ignorant want to know more. As for Logan, he knows how hard you’ve worked. When I walked into that gallery today, he had pride written all over his face.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
