“Shall we go?” he asked, holding out his arm to her. Olivia giggled. It was a bit corny, but she liked it.
She locked her door, and they headed down in the elevator. Olivia had to resist the urge to lean against him and snuggle his shoulder.
We aren’t up to that part yet.
Olivia frowned, trying to hold on to her objectivity. She wasn’t ready for a full-on relationship. She needed to remember that. Her heart wasn’t listening, though.
They got into a good-natured argument about classical painters on the way to the event.
“Monet is overrated,” she said heatedly. “There are lesser-known artists that did far better at capturing light and representing surrealism.”
“Did you just say that?” Henry asked, glancing her way as he navigated an intersection. “Any artists that came after him were using his paintings as the basis of their method, and Monet was the first.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said in a firm voice. “Maybe, you just haven’t done your research.”
Henry had a strange look on his face as he watched her. A grin of mischief that he tried to hide, but it flickered in his eyes. It was almost like he was going to tell her he knew Monet personally.
“Okay,” he said, grinning. “What about postmodernism?”
“Oh,” Olivia exclaimed, excited. “Have you seen Tucker? He does these weird, red-lipped faces …”
“Stop!” Henry actually waved a hand. “His work is infantile. I’d never take him on.”
Olivia giggled. “Then you’d miss out on a very lucrative opportunity.”
“So be it!” Henry decreed. “I wouldn’t want any of his paintings associated with my name.”
They arrived near the street fair, parking in a lot a few blocks away. The area was closed off with food stalls and a variety of shops crowding in around the artist displays. Olivia was immediately high on the atmosphere. Something good was cooking at those stalls, filling the air with the scent of fried batter and melted chocolate.
“Hmm,” Henry muttered, putting his nose in the air. “I do believe I smell deep-fried Oreos.”
“What?” Olivia asked, intrigued. He hadn’t even explained, and her mouth was watering.
“Oh, they batter them in this delicious, cake-type batter, and then they hurl them in a vat of hot oil and crisp them up. Served with melted chocolate and icing sugar. It’s absolutely to die for.”
“I’m dying, that’s for sure.” Olivia laughed. “Let’s head over and look at a few stalls before we stuff our faces, though.”
“Definitely,” Henry agreed. He took her hand and squeezed it gently as they headed into the bustling crowd.
Olivia almost felt as if she were swimming in joy. Henry kept shooting her appreciative, hungry looks. She reciprocated enthusiastically. The good-natured argument in the car had clearly been more about flirting than actually about their different tastes in painters. Already, Olivia loved the way they could disagree in a lighthearted way.
They wandered through the stalls, making comments on the artists as they passed by. Olivia took a few photos, talking with the artists about being featured on her pages. Henry seemed kind of aloof while this was going on, and she put it down to his reluctance to accept the new wave of advertising in the art world.
As they walked, Olivia found herself opening up. She told him about her mother and her sister, silly details from when she was growing up, and wild stories from college. She tried to rein herself in, but she felt so comfortable with Henry that she couldn’t stop the flow of words.
By the time they were halfway through and headed toward the Oreo stand, Olivia realized Henry had said very little … almost nothing … about himself.
No college stories. Nothing about his childhood. What’s up with that?
Olivia felt frustrated and a little insulted. She wanted to know everything about him. Her feelings for him were growing by the second and blooming into a full-on obsession she still tried to deny.
So far, all she had gotten out of him was that he didn’t get along with his father. Olivia gripped his hand tight as they waited in line for Oreos. When they sat to eat, she was going to ask him more questions and make sure she got answers this time.
Suddenly, Olivia’s phone rang, making her jump. Cursing, she shuffled away from the line and answered it.
Uh-oh. Evelyn.
“Hey, Evie,” Olivia said cheerfully. “What’s up?”