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My lips land on hers, responding to her question without words, but she likes my response. As we part, she sets the ingredients on the metal countertop as we go to find Todd together, our fingers interlocking on the walk.
CHAPTER 23
Bennet
The Odyssey Art and Culture Center in LA is one of my favorite haunts in the city. I have no idea if the producers know this or if this outing is a complete fluke, but I’m secretly pleased to be escorting Stella down the red carpet as paparazzi take pictures and call out questions. It’s our last night in LA before we return to the cabin, and I’m glad I’ll be spending it doing something I enjoy before we take a redeye back to Montana.
“What is this place?” Stella asks, hiding her nervousness behind her beautiful smile as I guide her through.
“It’s a historical society,” I explain, the best way I can, acknowledging the doorman as we enter, classic music piping into my ears as we walk inside.
The lobby is flooded with the who’s who of Hollywood, no one paying any mind to the incredible pieces of art hanging on display, and I’m irked by their presence. No one comes here for the culture anymore, just for the photo op. I’m starting to understand why the director had arranged for the outing now.
Slipping my arm in hers, I guide her toward the display of paintings, avoiding the starlets and musicians who are making far too much noise in the foyer.
“They ruin this,” I protest. “I don’t know why they come here when there are bars and clubs they can go to.”
Stella makes a commiserating sound, but I doubt she understands my distress. I feel like the crowd is ruining one of the last untouched places in LA.
“Do you know these artists?” Stella asks, eying the paintings.
“Some of them,” I reply, turning my attention back toward the art. “The Odyssey Center often puts up lesser knowns to give them traction if they’re good enough.”
“That seems like a high honor,” Stella comments.
I glance at her again. “Do you know much about art?”
She shakes her perfectly coiffed chignon. “Not a thing. But I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”
I find my eyes lingering on her when she says this.Me too.
“Art is subjective,” I tell her. “As I’m sure you’ve heard a million times before.”
“Maybe not a million,” she quips back. “But yes.”
“It doesn’t matter if a piece costs five dollars or five million dollars. If it makes you feel something, it is priceless to you. Don’t let any pretentious asshole tell you otherwise.”
I clamp my lips closed at the sudden outburst and lead her toward the interior rooms, wishing I hadn’t been so intense. Stella hurries to keep pace in her high heels and swirling gown. It’s much quieter in here, the literary room sprinkled with an encasing of glass boxes, each holding antiquated works dating back as far as the eighteenth century.
“Oh, wow,” Stella breathes, approaching one of the cases. “Are these first editions?”
“Some of them,” I reply, impressed by her reaction.
I had expected her to be as bored as the Hollywood elite outside who were too busy snacking on canapes to notice the priceless works literally under their noses.
“Oh! It’sLittle Women!” Stella cries, her eyes glistening with nostalgia and pleasure as she bends down to peer at the words. “I can’t tell you how many times I read this book as a child.”
“Louisa May Alcott wrote it in ten weeks,” I say, and Stella gawks at me.
“You’re kidding!”
I nod. “Some say she was so consumed by the writing that she didn’t eat or sleep to get it finished, while others report her being so sick of writing, she just wanted it done.”
Stella continues to stare at me. “I can’t imagine hating writing such a poignant book.”
I raise my shoulder. “It may have been too personal to her. The characters were reflective of her sisters, after all. What started as a pet project may have become far too emotional.”
Stella frowns lightly, her eyes focused on me now. “You say that like you have some experience in the matter.”
