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I look at Ezra and cock my head slightly, accepting the glass of sparkling water he hands me. He holds on to the glass before I can take it, bringing his other hand around to squeeze a lime before relinquishing it. Blinking rapidly, I try to overcome my shock that he knows what I like to drink, and try not to imagine licking the lime juice from his fingers while simultaneously listening to him talk.
"Cal is an old friend of mine. A mucholderfriend." The sarcastic playfulness in his tone makes me fall a little deeper in love with him. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him like this, although to be fair, most of our interactions are professional.
"Watch it," Cal growls. A shiver makes its way up my back. He looks at me with an exaggerated exasperation. "I'm like a month older than him."
"Look, man, it's not my fault. Blame our parents for timing, but no matter how old I get…"
"I'll always be older. Yeah, yeah." Cal waves Ezra off and they both laugh. My cheeks hurt from smiling, their infectious laughter infiltrating my earlier upset. "That's better," Cal’s deep voice says softly.
Cal's words break through my amusement, and I look up to see him watching me. "I'm sorry?"
"You’re smiling, I like it." I'll be damned if that doesn't make me smile wider. I can't help it.
His brow furrows. "You said your last name is Heaton?"
"That's right."
"So,you'rethe one I've been emailing back and forth with?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You schedule your own events? I assumed I was speaking with an assistant or manager." The only artists I’ve ever dealt with one-on-one have been what Mr. Greggs referred to as “fresh”, still relatively unknown and not earning much notoriety yet. Callaghan Flynn is quite famous, though. Probably too famous to be showing at our little gallery.
He doesn't answer, instead pushing ahead with whatever thought he'd had before. "I thought Bitch Barbie was the event coordinator?"
My sip of sparkling water ejects from my mouth in surprise. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" I apologize, grabbing a napkin and wiping the front of his jacket. Thankfully, he doesn't seem annoyed. Instead, he seems rather amused, laughing at my panic about his expensive suit. "That caught me off guard."
"He does that," Ezra says, both apologetic and amused.
"It's okay," Cal insists, stilling my hand, and perhaps holding it against his chest for a beat too long. His skin feels like it might burn through the top of my hand.
I look around to see if any other employees are nearby, noticing Cherith herself watching us with narrowed eyes. I clear my throat and whisper, "sometimes that's what I call her, too, actually. That’s why it caught me so off guard."
Both men laugh heartily, and it fills me with an odd sort of joy to have amused them so much. Cal's laugh is wide open, deep, and loud. Ezra is quieter, but his face lights up, eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking.
"So, question, Miss Heaton." I want to tell him to call me Beth, but something about the way he saidMiss Heaton has my veins trembling.
"Yes, Mr. Flynn?" I answer, impressed by how level and flirtatious it comes out. Flirting is not something I really know how to do. I notice Ezra's eyebrow raise.
"If Bitch Barbie over there is the eventcoordinator, why wereyouthe only one Icoordinatedwith for this event?" He puts emphasis on the meaning of the word, suggesting that he knows I do her job for her.
I stammer, not wanting to make The Gregg Gallery look any worse than it already does. "Oh, well, um… I'm basically her assistant. I handle a good bit of the communications." It’s a lie. My official title is receptionist, and my pay scale certainly matches it, despite how much work I actually do here.
Cal nods. "The setup is perfect. It doesn't look at all like the pictures Ezra showed me of his last exhibit, or the others I saw on the website."
Ezra looks around the room, his eyes tracing where I set up portable walls and platforms to display the art. "The set up tells a story,” he says thoughtfully.
I nod, probably too aggressively, but I am really proud that I executed the idea I had in my head when I saw all the photographs that were to be exhibited. That Ezra notices the flow makes me feel accomplished.
Clearing my throat, I answer their observations with enthusiasm. "I love that your style of art is so expansive, from the subjects that you photograph, to the choices you makewith lighting and focus. It really feels like each photograph is so in the moment, like you're just out there enjoying all that the world has to offer…"
Trailing off, I realize that I'm completely geeking out over this man, who is watching me with avid interest.
"So, you handled the communications, and the design for the exhibit,andyou thought to ask Ezra what my favorite type of beer is?" He tips the bottle of imported Irish beer towards Ezra, who is shaking his head. I never asked him a thing, because I had no idea they knew each other.
"I, uh… might have done a deep dive and found some old interviews and press photos of previous exhibits."
"And you do this for all the clients that exhibit here?"
"Of course. I want them to be comfortable and know how much we appreciate the opportunity to show their art—" I stop when I realize I've given myself away.
