Page 60 of Love Me Sweet

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Sylvie considered attending the Wild 100 Artist Party at the National Museum of Wildlife Art a horrendous waste of money. The entry fee for the event was one hundred dollars. While it would be fun to view the art and mingle with the artists before the sale, the cost of attending was way out of her price range.

“Are you still upset I purchased the tickets without discussing it with you first?” Andrew took her elbow as they navigated the steps to the museum.

“What makes you think I’m upset?”

“You get quiet.” His tone was easy and conversational. “That’s what you do when you’re upset. You barely spoke on the drive here.”

She wasn’t sure why she was making such a big deal out of nothing. Two hundred dollars was pocket change to an O’Shea. Maybe because it reminded her that, despite the past few days, they came from two different worlds. “You think you know me so well.”

“I believe I’m getting to know you.” He reached around her to open the door.

For a second Sylvie forgot all about the conversation as she inhaled the scent of him. She loved the way he smelled, of soap, shampoo and that subtle, expensive cologne. Tonight, even dressed casually, he looked as good as he smelled.

Though he’d considered wearing a suit, she’d convinced him that from everything she’d read, casual attire was de rigueur. He’d settled for jeans but had topped them with a sport coat and cotton shirt. Her filmy dress with colors that brought to mind a Monet painting seemed to meet with his approval.

“If something is bothering you, you need to tell me.” His tone was equitable but some of the light that had filled his eyes when he’d heard his patient back in Boston was doing better, had dimmed.

“I’m sorry.” She shifted her gaze from the brochure she’d been handed. “It was kind of you to get the tickets. Thank you.”

He took her arm and she leaned into him, brushing her lips across his cheek.

“Who are you?” A tiny smile hovered at the corners of his lips. “What have you done with my Sylvie?”

She rolled her eyes, but shoved her sense of unease of aside, determined to have a pleasant evening. “When I get stressed, I tend to get quiet. I don’t know why. It probably has something to do with not wanting to let my emotions show.”

Andrew grabbed a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Sylvie. “What’s wrong with letting your emotions show?”

She shrugged and sauntered over to a painting of several red foxes. “This is very nice,” she told the artist then moved on.

“You like red foxes,” he said. “You liked that other painting at the gallery. That was of a fox, too.”

“I like the gallery one better.” Sylvie lowered her voice so she wouldn’t be overheard. The last thing she wanted was for the artist to think she was dissing her painting, which really was quite good. “That’s just a personal preference thing. When I looked into the other one’s eyes, it was almost as if I could read his thoughts.”

She gave a little laugh. “Silly, I know.”

“Not at all.” His eyes softened. “Paintings speak to us.”

His gaze settled on the one on permanent display, the wild-eyed buffalo he couldn’t help but notice during the Sweet Adaline’s event. “It’s like his gaze is following me wherever I go.”

Sylvie glanced around. “Who?”

Andrew jerked his head in the direction of the bison. “Mr. Crazy.”

Her gaze settled on the portrait and she laughed. “Yeah, definitely crazy eyes.”

It was pleasant, Sylvie thought, strolling with Andrew through the gallery, chatting with artists. Several of those displaying paintings had stopped by her booth at the Taste of the Tetons and remembered her.

Warmth coursed through her veins like warm honey at the thought of being accepted as an artist in her own field in this vibrant community.

“I’m having fun tonight.”

Andrew brushed a kiss against her hair. “You sound surprised.”

“I used to believe I wasn’t good at these kinds of events, but I’m starting to see that maybe I was mistaken.” She let her gaze slide around the large room and realized with a shock that she recognized many in attendance. “I never thought I’d find a place where I belong, a place that felt so much like home.”

The last of her words were drowned out by the classic rock blaring from Andrew’s pocket.

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