Page 52 of Mistletoe Face Off

“It's beautiful,” Holly comments. “Don’t you think, Harry?”

“It’s filled with lots of dots,” I say, peering at it. “I’m guessing that’s probably not the technical name for it, though.”

“You’re right, Mr. Clarke,” Edgar surprises me by saying, and I beam at Holly. “Seurat used dots rather than brush strokes. It’s called pointillism.”

I turn back to the painting to see every single bit of paint is in fact a dot. “That's a lot of dots.”

“It is indeed. In fact, it took over two years for the artist to complete this work. It contains three million dots,” Edgar replies.

“Someone counted them?” I ask.

“They did,” Edgar replies.

“So your guy Seurat did this three million times?” I gesture with my hand as though I'm putting dots on a page. “He sure had some serious patience.”

“He certainly did, Mr. Clarke,” Edgar replies.

“I think it’s time you called me Harry and my friend here, Holly,” I say, and Edgar gives a nod of his head.

“What do you think of it?” Holly asks.

I stand back and take the scene in. There's no denying it's really evocative of an afternoon on a warm sunny day in Paris a long time ago. The people are all dressed in old fashioned clothes, looking formal. “They’ve all got really good posture.”

Holly lets out a laugh. “Is that all you’ve got to say about it? The people have good posture?”

“But they do. See? Look at the woman holding the umbrella.” I point at the woman, one of the two largest figures in the picture.

“I think you'll find that's a parasol,” Holly corrects, but she's got a smile on her lips, her eyes shining.

“Looks like an umbrella to me,” I reply with a shrug.

“Shall we move on to another artwork?” Edgar asks.

“Lead the way, my man,” I say, and hand in hand, Holly and I follow Edgar through the gallery to the next painting.

“Are you enjoying your tour?” I ask Holly.

“Harry, it’s amazing.You’reamazing.”

I capture her gaze with mine and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I squeeze her hand, so small in mine. “Ditto,” I reply.

Edgar comes to a stop and it’s a good job I manage to drag my gaze from where my eyes want to be because otherwise I would have mowed right over him.

“Hey, I know this one!” I exclaim as I look at the next painting, a familiar image of two stern looking people, one holding a pitchfork.

“This isAmerican Gothicby Grant Wood, a very famous work and the first by an American artist this evening,” Edgar explains.

I nudge Holly. “They look like us when we argue.”

“Tell me you don’t plan on having a pitchfork at our next event.”

“Promise.” I give her hand another squeeze, enjoying our shared closeness.

“Tell us an interesting fact about this one, please, Edgar,” Holly asks.

“Of course. The woman and man in the painting were not actually a couple in real life, despite the fact that's how they appear in the painting,” he replies.

“Is that why they look so dang grumpy?” I say.

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