Page 7 of Holiday Hoax

“I see a friend from college over there,” Annette says as she gently taps my shoulder. “Do you mind if I go talk to him?”

“Not at all,” I say, giving her my attention. “I see a family friend as well.”

“Oh, perfect.” She gives me a smile and walks off.

Mia subtly glances around the room while she chats with the two gentlemen in front of her. She does a double take when she sees me approaching. Her eyes light up as bright as her smile.

“Twice in one week, how’d I get so lucky?” She hugs me in greeting, the amber and vanilla notes in her perfume filling the air around us.

“It’s the other way around, I’m sure.” I squeeze her in a friendly embrace.

“These are two of my favorite clients, Chadwick and Thomas Worth.”

I extend my hand. “Ian Jameson.”

“How do you two know each other?” Chadwick asks.

“My brother is married to his sister,” she answers.

Thomas puts his hand over his heart. “I love Stella so much. Tell that gorgeous woman to get her ass back to Chicago.”

“I’ll do that.” I smile as they excuse themselves. “They seem great.”

“They are.” She watches them pluck hors d’oeuvres from a table and feed each other with a smile ghosting her lips. “What brings you here tonight?”

“My date actually. I think she knows the artist whose work is on display.”

“Oh, which one is your date?” She looks around the gallery curiously.

“Annette Carlson.” I gesture in her direction with my champagne glass.

Her eyes follow my movement until they land on the beautiful blonde. “I can see it. You guys make a stunning couple.”

“We might look good together, but the conversation is dry.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “That’s surprising.”

“How so?”

“You’re so easy to talk to, I just assumed it was a natural character trait.”

“I believe it’s you that keeps the conversation flowing. You have a certain charm that makes people comfortable with you.” I nearly tell her it’s irresistible.

Her cheeks flush pink, it’s the first time I’ve seen her blush, and I just want to see it over and over again. “It definitely takes two to make a conversation work.”

“Perhaps.” Our eyes lock for a moment, and she looks away first. “Do you see any art that calls to you?”

I turn my attention to the canvas nearest us. It has broad brush strokes in multiple colors, but that’s all I take from it. I’m not sure how people can look at paintings like this and see something more. “This one is bold.”

“That’s a good way to describe all her work. Can you tell it is meant to be the city skyline reflected in a puddle?”

I tilt my head one way, then the other, trying my damnedest to see it. My shoulders drop when I look over to her. “I don’t see it.” I grimace. “Art is not my strength.”

“Art can be anything you want it to be. What do you see when you look at it?” She watches me as I study the painting.

“It looks sad. All the muted gray and blue colors, the way the brush strokes look melancholy.” I immediately stop talking. What kind of statement is that? Inanimate objects can’t have human emotions. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“No.” She places her hand on my forearm and squeezes. “That was a really interesting take on this piece. We all see things differently based on our experiences and biases. Yours is just as valid as anyone else.”

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