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“I collect vintage hotties,” she said, trying not to giggle at his incredulous expression.
“What?”
“You know, old hot water bottles made from porcelain.”
As if. The only old stuff she collected came in crates, the bits of scrap metal essential for her unconventional creations. However, Lana collected old hot water bottles and she’d been drilled in the finer art of what a good hottie entailed, considering the museum had an extensive collection and she’d need to expound its virtues on her tours.
“Really?” By the sardonic quirk of an eyebrow, he was having a hard time believing her. “Tell me about them.”
Wishing she hadn’t drunk her martini in record time, she tried to recall every boring detail Lana had imparted, though she doubted her cousin had envisaged the cozy couch and drinks when they’d been practising the Q and A routine.
She certainly hadn’t, and while she may have a razor sharp memory, sitting this close to him, trying to stay focussed on his eyes and not his lips, trying not to inhale for fear of copping another delicious lungful of the faintest ripe blackcurrant so reminiscent of her favourite Shiraz, it was increasingly difficult to string two coherent words together let alone recall boring facts.
“They date back as far as 1890. Of course they’re not practical, made from porcelain and all, but I love their uniqueness. My favorite is a cylindrical foot warmer made by Lambeth Pottery in London, closely followed by a brown ceramic hot water bottle in the shape of a Gladstone medical bag. That one’s made by Bourne Denby England. Then there’s the foot warmer in the shape of a pillow which bears the word Osokosi, a play on the phrase ‘oh so cosy’.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, pretending to shut herself up when in fact she couldn’t remember any more of the facts she’d rote learned. “I can’t help my enthusiasm when I start talking about my collection. I’m sure you didn’t expect such a long-winded answer.”
Something shifted in his eyes, a hint of shrewdness mingling with confusion, as if he wanted to believe her but didn’t.
“On the contrary, I’m fascinated by your hobby. Tell me more.”
He was testing her.
She could see it in the triumphant glitter in his eyes, in the smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Too bad she’d run out of hottie facts to bore him senseless with. Or more precisely, she was bored out of her brain. He probably lapped up mindless drivel like this, considering he had to be fixated on old stuff to be an archaeologist in the first place.
Faking a trill little laugh designed to distract, she placed her glass on the table in front of them and clapped her hands together. “That’s enough about me. What about you? Is there more to the professor than meets the eye?”
She half expected him to tell her to knock off the professor stuff but to her surprise he slugged back the rest of his beer before answering her.
“Not much to tell. I’m an archaeologist by profession who has temporarily traded in his trowel for a briefcase.”
“Why?”
“My dad’s unwell and asked me to fill in, though honestly? Living like a nomad has lost some of its appeal. I’ve explored the world, made my name, maybe it’s time to try something else.”
He spun the empty bottle in his hand, the expression on his face surprisingly somber for the discussion they were having. Since when did trading small talk get so serious?
“I’m a born and bred Melbournian, though haven’t spent much of my life here, so when my dad gave me the opportunity to take over as CEO of the museum I grabbed it.”
“Won’t you find the stability boring after all that adventure?”
She certainly would. In fact, she couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in an office job, compelled to enter the same building every day, cooped up in some dingy office, seeing the same people, doing the same tasks.
Give her the freedom of working from home when the mood struck, if her muse came out to play. Total freedom, just the way she wanted it, just the way she liked it.
“Do you find stability boring?”
Damn, he’d done it again, turning the spotlight back on her when it was the last thing she wanted.
“No,” she said, wondering if it sounded like the big, fat lie it was before rushing on, “Surely you’ll miss all that travel, the excitement of the search?”
He shrugged and placed the bottle carefully on the table, moving the coaster into place beneath it while hers lay scrunched in a used heap next to it.
“Time will tell, I guess.”
Chastened by his downcast expression, she aimed to lighten the mood. “So what’s been your biggest discovery?”
