Chapter 11
Eleven
“You cannot mention this to my mother.” Whitney took him by the elbow and escorted him out from behind her desk. “She’ll tell my father and things will hit the fan.”
“Right. Sure.” That tickled him. He liked a gal with a sense of humor.
“No. I’m serious,” Whitney said.
He glanced over at Carina who wasn’t laughing either. He met Whitney’s gaze. “Fine. How about dinner then?”
She froze. “What?”
“Have dinner with me, and this will never part my lips.” Matthew hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner, but the opportunity had presented itself. He’d be a fool not to take it. Carina’s smile showed approval, but Whitney didn’t look amused.
“I don’t even know you,” she said.
“It’s just dinner,” Carina pressed. “What’s the big deal? You gotta eat.”
She spun toward her sister-in-law. “Whose side are you on?”
Matthew widened his stance. “You gotta eat. You heard her.”
“I am hungry.”
“And I’ll walk you down to the gallery after dinner so you can see some of my other work.”
“Dinner and the gallery?”
His lips tugged into a smile. “Should’ve said yes when it was just dinner.”
Carina snorted. “Just go already. You have to eat, and this will not get any worse or solve itself tonight. You might as well have some fun before it ends up being dinner, the gallery, and a nightcap.”
“Are you sure you two are not in cahoots?”
They both shook their heads, but Matthew felt like Carina was surely on his side.
“Fine, but you’re taking me somewhere nice,” Whitney said.
“I intend to.”
“Oh. Well, fine then.”
“So let’s go.”
Whitney’s mouth dropped wide. “Now? I’ve?—”
“I believe you’ve met your match, sister.” Carina got up and walked out. “Have fun.”
Matthew took his phone out and texted a message, then tucked it back into his pocket.
“Okay, well, let me shut everything down.” Whitney turned off her computer.
He watched her scurry behind her desk, and if he didn’t know better, he might think she was buying time, hoping he’d back out or say he was kidding.
His phone pinged. He looked and was pleased to see the message. The owner of the finest establishment in the city had just answered his request. “Our table is waiting. I hope you enjoy a good steak.”
“As much as the next gal. Where are we going?”
“The Butcher Block.”
“No. Impossible. We need a reservation,” Whitney said, looking smug. “It takes months to get in there.”
“Not if you know someone.” He turned his phone toward her.
She read the message out loud. “Your table is waiting for you, my friend. Come on over.” She breathed a sigh. “And you really didn’t already have this planned?”
He shook his head.
“Then I’m impressed. Let’s go.”
He resisted placing his hand on the small of her back as he held the door for her. Overall, he was pretty pleased with the turn of events tonight. “You’re okay with walking over since it’s such a beautiful night?”
“Sure.”
They walked in silence. Soon, the turn came up where they could view his mural from the street. He was happy with how it was shaping up. All there was left to do now was some outlining to accent the images and give it more depth, and he fully intended to let Cammy and Sam take the lead on that.
Whitney didn’t seem to notice, so he didn’t mention it—not wanting to sound like he was fishing for a compliment. All that mattered was that he was happy with it, anyway.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
She took two steps and realized he’d stopped. She turned with a questioning look.
“This is where we technically met,” he said.
She looked ahead and behind her. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Recognition crossed her expression when she saw the mural on the building and gave him a wry grin. “This is your project. You know, I’m not usually a fan of murals.” She looked on, and he let her quietly take it in.
There was a lot going on in the mural. A replica of the town in years gone by with the original turn-of-the-century buildings, river boats in the distance, and a lot more green than was here today.
“I bet you could see so much back then.” She didn’t take her eyes off it.
“Do you like it?”
“This is where you were working when the storm came through?”
He nodded. “On the top level of scaffolding.”
“You mean the lightning rod?”
“Yeah,” he snickered, enjoying her quick wit. “There was no storm in the forecast that day. Not even a spring shower.”
“I don’t know how you can accomplish that and keep it all in proportion and—” She pointed to the water. “You are very talented.”
“Thank you.”
“It must take a long time to paint one of these.”
“It varies. Depends on the detail and the weather, and if I have help. I have some high school students on this project with me. I think some of them will be ones to watch.”
“Must pay really well. I mean, it’s such a unique skill, and it’s huge.”
“No. In fact, sometimes it’s all I can do to get permission to paint one for free. In those cases, I ask them to make a donation to my foundation. When I do get paid, I use the money to pay young artists to help out. For some it will be the only time they ever get paid for art, but for a few, it’s the gateway to something very special.”
“It’s interesting they’ll donate to the foundation but scowl at the thought of paying for your talent. That makes no sense to me.”
“Who ever said people make sense?”
“Mostly, they don’t.” She stood there looking at the mural. “The man in the corner there. Is that you? A self-portrait?”
“No.” He was deeply touched that she’d noticed it, though. “It’s my father.”
“That’s so sweet. I bet he’ll be surprised.”
He shook his head. “No. He’s in every single mural I’ve ever painted in every state across the country since he died. It’s how I keep his memory alive.”
She turned, a look of sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” He touched her elbow, and the moment eased. “Our table is waiting.”
“Yeah.” She fell into step with him.
When they got to The Butcher Block, the ma?tre d’ recognized Matthew immediately. “Mr. McMahon. This way.” He motioned for them to cut through the long line of people waiting.
“Impressive,” she whispered as they followed him to their table.
Matthew wished he’d made a little more effort with how he looked tonight, but he had no way of knowing that he’d wind up escorting Whitney to one of the finest dining establishments in town. Didn’t matter. Butch would welcome him even if he was still in a T-shirt and hiking boots.
They were seated at one of the best tables, outdoors on the deck, with a view of the James River. It wasn’t dark yet, but lights strung above the tables already cast a soft blue hue, which she looked beautiful beneath.
He watched her pause as she noticed the sun beginning to set between the buildings.
“The view is breathtaking.” Her voice was like a whisper in the wind.
It was as if she read his mind, only he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He couldn’t help but notice the sense of wonder, almost a dreamy twinkle, as she fixed her gaze on the horizon. The gentle sway of her hair in the evening breeze, and the way the golden sunset reflected in her hair contributed to the scene’s overall beauty and grace. So much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Definitely breathtaking.” Matthew was certain there wasn’t a man in the room not admiring her beauty.
The server approached the table with a bottle of wine. “From the owner.” He opened the bottle and poured a bit into a glass for Matthew to taste. “Butch sends his regards.”
“Thank you.” Matthew lifted the glass. He’d learned to appreciate good wine the year he’d spent in France painting in Van Gogh’s wake through Arles. He took the obligatory sip, knowing no matter how good or bad the wine was, he’d smile and be appreciative. “Thank you. It’s lovely. Pour the lady’s first, please.”
The server then informed them the chef was preparing a special off-menu meal for them.
“That’ll be fine. Thank you.” Matthew hadn’t really expected this much attention when he called in the favor. He was happy just to get a table.
“Thank you. This is really a treat. And I’m sorry I said you looked homeless.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. The doorman in my building pretty much had the same reaction. I had no idea paint had gotten all over me like that, but then, I wasn’t thinking about that when I reached for the umbrella. I was hoping to knock it out of the way.”
“But you caught it. It was like you were Spiderman or something.”
With all seriousness, he lowered his voice and said, “I hate to admit this, but I don’t look that good in tights.”
She giggled.
He liked the way her nose wrinkled when she giggled.
The first course came out. They savored every bite, and he couldn’t imagine having picked a better option from the menu.
“I rarely get this special treatment,” he admitted. “It’s nice, though.”
“Thank goodness, because it’s over the top. I’m honestly a pretty simple girl.” She twisted the stem of her wineglass. “The wine is a nice touch, but I’m pretty happy with a bubbly apple cider. Call me crazy.”
“Seriously? I’m the same,” he said. “Have you tried the sparkling apple cider from Muse Orchard? It’s only a couple hours from here.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I haven’t been in years, but I think I still have a case of it at home. I’ll get you a bottle.”
“Muse, huh? Now that makes sense, you being an artist and all. I’d love to share a bottle someday. Have you been down to Blue Bee Cider?”
“Many times.” He’d never had a muse, but he felt rather inspired at the moment. “Sorry about ruining your dress the other night. I had no idea that I was covered in paint.”
“It’s definitely ruined, but that’s better than getting jousted. You probably saved me a trip to the ER for stitches.” Whitney placed her fork down and took a sip of wine. “It’s fine. It’s just a dress. It can be replaced.”
“If you haven’t taken it to the dry cleaner yet, I’ve been pretty successful getting paint out of my clothes. I have years of practice.”
“No. You don’t have to do that. And trust me, if I could get away with it, you’d see me in jeans and a T-shirt on a summer day like today. But it’s part of the deal when you have a job at a big firm, and Daddy had to pull a lot of strings to get the old buzzards who call the shots to allow me to come in and spearhead the divorce and family law division. The least I can do is dress the part.”
“It’s hard to picture you in jeans.”
“I used to spend all my time on my uncle’s farm in blue jeans. I had to muck stalls to earn riding time. I love the smell of freshly cut hay. Climbing on the bales like stairs when they are stacked to the top. I love that stuff. And I might add, I’d be just as good of a lawyer wearing them. Unfortunately, it’s the price of entry to work at Barron, Winters Wall. It’s sort of a stuffy old firm with lots of history and tradition.”
“Pomp and circumstance.”
“You got it,” she said. “I’m sure you encounter it in the art world too.”
“Old money. Unspoken rules. Things I’ve learned to quietly navigate.” He rested his forearms on the table. “It’s refreshing. This. I mean, I like this side of you. I get worn out with the schmoozing. It’s nice for a little while, but I like the simple stuff too.”
“I totally get that.”
The second course came, and it was a small portion, but rich and decadent.
“I was going to make a smart comment about not worrying about fitting into my jeans with this teensy portion, but it was so rich, I’m not sure that’s going to hold water.”
He picked up his glass. “The portion was deceiving.”
The food kept coming, until they both looked at each other and Whitney said, “I can’t possibly eat another course. Please tell them to stop.”
“I know how to make them stop.” He pulled out his wallet and placed a tip on the table. “Come on.” He stood and extended his hand for her to get up.
“What are we doing? We can’t skip out.”
“I know you don’t know me, but you do not have to worry about that.” He led her back to the front, released her hand, and walked over to tell the host he’d like to settle the bill.
“It’s been taken care of, Mr. McMahon.”
They walked outside. Matthew patted his stomach. “That was good, but you’re right—I couldn’t take another bite either.”
“It was amazing, and beautiful to look at too. I can’t believe I called you homeless. I’m still dying over that.”
“You’re forgiven, but I might still tease you about it. Come on. Let’s burn some calories.” He broke into a run down the sidewalk all the way to the gallery. “I want to show you something,” he encouraged her to catch up.
She jogged toward him, laughing.
Matthew stopped in front of the gallery abruptly. “Shoot. It’s closed.”
She actually looked disappointed. “Maybe I could get a rain check.”
“Without the rain next time?” he teased.
“Definitely.”
But he really didn’t want to wait. “Or… you could come with me to a new gallery opening in Williamsburg Thursday night.” He turned to face her, and it surprised him that he had an overwhelming desire to have her accompany him. Something he usually avoided. “It’s going to be quite the gala. Black-tie and all. Please say yes.”
“Just so happens that I’m free this Thursday night, and I love Williamsburg.”
He’d been half-joking, never expecting her to accept the invitation after she gave him such a hard time about a simple dinner, but he was so pleased that she had. “I’ll have the prettiest woman in the room on my arm.”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, I look forward to seeing what you have up your sleeve. Are you sure you’re an artist and not a magician?”
“I promise to wear sleeves. It is black-tie, after all.”
“Please do.” She shook her head, laughing at his joke. “I probably should call it a night. I have a busy day tomorrow. I’ll call a Lyft.” She reached for her phone.
“No, ma’am. My folks raised me better than that. I could drive you if you want to walk about eight blocks in the opposite direction to my car. It’d probably be faster to just call the Lyft. I’ll ride with you to drop you off, which will let me know where to pick you up for the gala, and then I’ll have them take me home.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Good.” He plugged in the request on his phone. “Two minutes away.”
“Perfect timing.” They stood there quietly for a moment, waiting, and then she asked the most random question. “Do you have a favorite color?”
“I’m an artist. I love all of them. Why?”
“I was trying to decide which dress I should wear.”
“In that case,” he stepped back and looked at her, imagining all the colors of the rainbow against her skin, and which one would show off her beautiful blue eyes. “Something vibrant. Purple, maybe?”
Her lips parted as she smiled. “I have the perfect dress, and you’re tall so I can wear my favorite shoes.”
“Call me lucky.”
The car pulled to a stop in front of the gallery. The driver rolled down his window. “Are you… Mural Guy?”
“That’s me,” he said.
“That’s what your account is under?” She bumped into him with her shoulder and whispered. “Mural guy. I like it.”
He held the door for her and then slid in beside her. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for letting me take you to dinner.”
Whitney gave the driver her address. “I’m really glad you and Carina shamed me into it.”
It was only a short ride before the driver pulled in front of Whitney’s condominium. “This is me,” she said. “What time should I expect you Thursday?”
“Can you make five thirty work?”
“I’ll be ready.” She slid out of the seat, then leaned back in. “Good night, Mural Guy.”
“Good night, Fixie Chick.”
“You did not.”
“Couldn’t resist, but I promise it’s our secret. Well, ours and this guy’s now.” He winked, pressed the button to close the window, and told the driver to head to the final destination.