Chapter 15
Fifteen
Matthew had to admit, Whitney wasn’t the only one who’d made some assumptions in those first couple of meetings. Being an attorney in an old-as-the-hills law firm, he’d expected her to be a bit uptight and snooty; she was anything but.
The first time they met, he’d been running from the threat of a lightning strike. Tonight, when he saw her all dressed up, he felt like he walked straight into one. It took him a moment to gather his wits and find something, anything, to say.
“These are for you,” he had said, handing her the bouquet. They paled in comparison to her. Her sleeveless gown wasn’t revealing, but it softly draped across her collarbone in an alluring way.
Even as he stood there in the gallery in a room full of his work and surrounded by admiring fans, his thoughts were on her. In his mind, he painted long, sweeping strokes of color, dark where the fabric folded upon itself and lighter where he knew it would shimmer as she walked across the room, her body gliding beneath the soft fabric. He could imagine the texture between his fingers.
She turned back, an impish grin on her face as she lifted her hand and pointed to a huge painting that took up a whole wall.
“I love this one,” she said. “I don’t even know why.”
“My best friend painted that,” he said. It was one of Skip’s super-sized pieces. “It had been hanging around for months. When I got the call about this gallery opening I insisted they include Skip’s painting too. I sort of fell in love with it. Never could put my finger on why.”
“Maybe it’s the turquoise and coral colors,” she said. “I love turquoise.”
He’d noticed that about her, even in the short time they’d known one another. “There is something comforting about the colors. I never paint abstracts. This one seems to move with you.”
“It’s amazing.” She stepped closer, tilting her chin up and moving slowly. “You’re right.”
“Stand right there in front of it. Let’s send Skip a picture and tell him what you think. It’ll make his night.”
She turned and struck a pose.
He raised his phone and took a few pictures, then walked over to show them to her. “See what you think.”
“Wow, my dress was made for that painting.” She took the phone and swept through the photos. “I like this one the best. See the way the light catches that long, sweepy part that looks like a wave… or maybe it’s supposed to be a mountain?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Matthew assured her. A few clicks and the photograph was on its way to Skip. “Come here. Can we get a selfie?”
“Yeah. Sure!” She leaned in close, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Her hair tickled his neck. “Got it.”
“Why don’t we get someone to take a picture of us with one of your paintings?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Are you kidding me? I’ll brag about you to my friends.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” he said.
“You’re so humble about your work. Don’t think that went unnoticed. It’s actually quite a nice personality trait.” She took his hand, and they walked back to where his paintings were on display. “I have two definite favorites.” Moving to the far end of the room, she stopped in front of the three multimedia collage pieces. “These.”
“That’s three.”
“Not if you buy them as a set.” She turned to a couple who were admiring one of the other pieces. “Excuse me. My name is Whitney. Would you mind terribly taking a picture of me with the artist in front of these?”
“Honey, help them,” the older woman said to her husband.
Her husband didn’t say a word, just did as his wife had instructed and took the picture, then handed the phone back to Whitney.
“Thank you so much,” Whitney said. “Happy to return the favor. Oh, and this is my friend, Matthew McMahon. He’s the artist,” she bragged.
He could’ve died. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.
The woman stepped forward, her chin lifted in such a way that not only was she impressed, but she was eager too.
Matthew shook her hand. “Ma’am.”
“Those caught my attention too,” the woman said. “Very interesting concept.” Her look was critical, but then she raised her hand toward a man in a red jacket. “I’ll have those three, please.”
He noticed that Whitney flinched, as if the woman had stolen them right out from under her.
“Do you hail from the Richmond area, Matthew?” the older woman asked.
“I do.”
“You’ve captured her very essence.”
It took a second for it to resonate with him that the woman was referring to the city of Richmond as a woman. Funny, he’d never considered it very feminine.
“I love what you’ve done with this landscape over here,” the woman went on. “Among all the buildings and hustle bustle of the city now, Richmond still holds on to that old-world charm if you know where to look.”
“Exactly.” He looked toward the painting she was talking about. “That particular painting hung in my apartment for ages. It always felt too personal to display anywhere. I had to fill a spot in a show when I was first starting out and included it on a whim. Bess Blackwell bought it the minute she laid eyes on it.”
“I can see why.” She motioned to the host. “Is that painting for sale? I’d very much like to purchase it tonight.” She swung her finger toward the door and instructed her husband to take care of it.
Whitney walked over to another painting. A countryside landscape with a horse in the distance. “This is my second favorite. The meadow looks so lush. I want to run through it.”
The woman nodded with approval. “Do you ride, dear?”
“Used to. With my uncle. He has a farm on the outskirts of Richmond.”
“Well, you know this gallery sits in the middle of a huge horse farm. Over the years, some notable race horses have been bred here.”
Matthew nodded. “It’s true. Barney Blackwell and his wife, Bess, have been in the horse industry way before Bess found her love of the arts. Bess was a very special lady. The lineage of the horses from here still has quite a following as I understand it.”
“Mostly excellent, retired horses end up here, living out their days like million-dollar lawn ornaments,” she said. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s really lovely that Barney takes them in. I tell him all the time that he’s giving all the profit right back to the horses.”
“There are worse things to spend money on,” Whitney said.
“He’s my brother. I can talk about him and get away with it,” she said. “And Matthew, he sings your praises, young man. My sister-in-law was quite taken with your work. I remember when you did the Secretariat mural at the Virginia State Fairgrounds. People still admire that one.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name,” Matthew said.
“Katherine Grace, and my slow-moving husband is Harold.” She glanced around as if looking for him. “Isn’t the fairgrounds where Barney and Bess first met you? It is, isn’t it?”
“I believe so.” He turned to Whitney. “Barney opened the gallery in honor of his wife. She was one of my first serious collectors. The pieces that are marked not for sale are all part of her collection.”
Barney’s sister liked to own the conversation. “Bess had such a good eye for art, and my brother adored everything about Bess. He lives and breathes the love he knows she would’ve had for all of this.”
“That’s so romantic,” Whitney said.
Harold came back with a woman who walked over to the painting that Katherine Grace coveted, placing a red dot on the embossed artist card next to it, and then three on the series.
Katherine Grace clapped her hands. “It’s mine. I love them all.”
“Thank you,” Matthew said.
“Would you sign the card for me?”
“It would be my privilege. Of course.”
Whitney stood by the picture of the girl on the horse when he walked back over after Katherine and Harold left.
“You like that one?” he asked her.
“I do. It reminds me of the best days of my life with my favorite uncle.”
“Touching a memory in someone’s heart, that’s special. I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“That makes two of us,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s funny how sometimes things come to me. I don’t know if they are memories or made up, but they are very real in my mind when I’m working.”
“You’ve sold a lot of paintings tonight.”
“And it wasn’t even the purpose of the night. Maybe you’re my lucky charm.” He stepped in closer, close enough to smell her perfume. “I might have to take you to my next show.”
She turned, his face only a breath from her. “I’d like that.”
He could kiss her right now. She seemed so genuinely interested. This kind of event wasn’t everyone’s idea of a good time, but he rather liked meeting people. You never knew who might show up on any given night. “Come on, let’s go grab some food before we miss that sunset. I’m starving.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her through the room. He caught others admiring her beauty, but she didn’t even seem to notice, which made her even more beautiful to him.
“This restaurant has been open for years, but not as a fine dining establishment. At one time, it served boaters who were enjoying the river, and the folks who were using the equestrian center. It was almost a sort of camp-style eatery or cafeteria, I guess. But now, you’ll see this is definitely fine dining.”
They walked through a beautifully manicured garden between the gallery and the restaurant. Fresh herbs grew between other ornamental plants.
“Smell that? Rosemary,” she said with a smile. “I love that smell. Do they have a specialty here?”
“Interesting that you ask. It’s a unique combination of southern cuisine and seafood with a twist, but the menu changes daily depending on what the chef has purchased locally. No idea what they’ll have out tonight since it’s more of a self-serve buffet.”
They walked inside. Crisp, white tablecloths covered every table. Hurricane chimneys protected them from the candles lit on each one.
Tonight, the longest, white-clothed table that could fit from one end of the room to the other held a scattered charcuterie. Everything from the typical olives, cheese, spreads, and crusty breads, to caviar, paté and filet mignon bites, cured meats, and smoked salmon. Fresh summer vegetables, sliced and cubed, filled multi-level trays. Fruits and cheeses of all types looked like artwork.
The wine flowed, and there were bottles of red and white, as well as a champagne fountain.
“This looks incredible.” Whitney lifted a plate and handed him one. “Where do we even begin?”
Matthew pointed across the way, where a chef wearing a tall white hat carved a huge hunk of beef. “This boy is going right in for the good stuff.”
“Ooh. That looks great. I’m going to get a little of this. I’ll meet you over there.”
He made his way to the carving station. “Good evening,” Matthew said to the chef.
“Medium rare?” he asked.
“I’ll take rare if you can.”
“Absolutely.” With all the finesse of a sculptor, the chef served the beef to his plate.
To the right of the carving station, there was a simple layout of hot sides.
“What else did you find over here?” Whitney approached him.
“Hey, I was just checking it out. Looks like fingerling potatoes, broccoli, or braised brussels sprouts. Do you eat brussels sprouts?”
“Love them!”
“Ugh. Well, I guess it’s good we have some differences. For the record, not a fan. I love broccoli and asparagus, though.”
“Noted. I might mention now that I don’t cook very often,” she admitted.
“I do, but that means you won’t get brussels sprouts when I cook, so indulge on them here,” he joked.
She picked up the tongs and put a few on her plate. “I can take a hint.” She spun away from him and had the chef shave a little beef on her plate.
With plates full of food, Matthew suggested they walk outside. “It’s noisy in here. Let’s try to catch that sunset.”
“I’m with you.” She was on his heels as he led them through a set of French doors to a patio.
“Whew,” she said. “It was so quiet in the gallery and so loud in there. My brain is scrambled.”
“You and me both. I’ve never been much of a fan of loud places.”
“And yet you claim your heart’s desire is outside painting beautiful pictures in the middle of big cities.”
“That is true. Did I mention I keep my earbuds in most of the time?”
“You didn’t, but it makes sense now. What do you listen to?”
“No one has ever asked me that. It depends on what I’m painting.” He spotted a bistro table across the way and pulled out a chair for her. “This should be a pleasant spot.”
She took the seat.
A waiter brought by more champagne.
Matthew declined, as did Whitney. “Could I trouble you for a couple of waters?” he asked. “We have a long drive back.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll be right back.”
They ate, enjoying the quiet and being by the river. “It’s so nice out here.” She glanced around, then perked up. “I didn’t notice there was a mural back here.”
“One of mine, actually.”
“Really? That’s why you wanted me to come out here with you. You were luring me with a sunset, but this was on your mind the whole time.”
“The sunset is honestly what I wanted you to see, but I have fond memories of working on this mural.”
“Plus, it’s not too tall. You barely needed a ladder.”
“Didn’t,” he agreed.
She got up from her chair and stepped out further on the brick patio to see it from a distance. She nodded with appreciation. “It’s beautiful. It’s a mirror reflection from across the river, isn’t it?”
“It was an exact mirror image when I painted it. Things across the river have continued to grow. My mural is but a snapshot in time.”
“How long ago did you paint this?”
“This one was done about twelve years ago.”
“It looks like you just painted it. Are the colors still true?”
“They last for years.”
Amazing. She scanned the entire length of the mural. “Excuse me a moment.” Whitney walked down to the far end of the patio and then came back wearing a big smile. “I see where you integrated your father into this one.”
“Fly-fishing,” they said at the same time.
Matthew’s heart caught. Days in hip waders with Dad were some of his favorite memories. Not that anyone probably did any fly-fishing on the York River, but he’d painted this a few weeks after he died. It was top of his mind. Sometimes he worried those memories would fade, which was why he kept including Dad in every mural in every state. He only had two more to go before he’d covered them all. Experiencing every state in America with him, if only in his mind.
“I like how you added the old-timey straw creel at his feet, and I noticed the stringer of fish just beneath the water. It was subtle, but definitely plenty of fish for a feast.”
“Yeah. A good day.” Matthew looked at this woman, wondering if he’d ever met anyone so genuine. That she’d even thought to look for his dad in the mural meant so much to him. “Turn around.”
“What?” She spun to where he was pointing.
He stood behind her as they both watched the sunset on the horizon. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?”
She twisted, holding his arm still close to her body. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
“I know what you mean. I hoped you’d enjoy tonight, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t know much, but what I do know is sort of a mix and match… in a really good way. I know you wear beautiful designer clothes, and yet your office decor is almost rustic with the silver and turquoise frame compared to the others in the building. You also aren’t too fashion-conscious to wear sneakers with an expensive dress when it makes sense.”
“How did you know that?”
“Saw them in the corner of your office. Made an observation.”
“You’re good.”
“Too bad you weren’t wearing those in that storm, by the way. Maybe if you wear sneakers tomorrow we could go for a walk after work.”
“Tomorrow. I get to see you again tomorrow?” She looked very pleased at the promise of getting together again. “I like the sound of that.”
Tonight was so much more than he’d expected. All he’d hoped for was a companion to the event. Someone to walk with and share the ride, but he was already looking forward to seeing her again. Even tomorrow seemed like a long time to wait.
They stood there, watching the sunset until the orange ball finally settled below the trees, and the sky grew darker.
Soft light glowed around them as the sun got lower. Frogs and crickets added to the night sounds as the sun disappeared completely and a coolness dropped in.
“Are you ready to head back?” he asked. “We’ll walk back through the gallery one last time if that’s all right.”
“Whatever you like. Lead the way.”
He reached for her hand, waiting, hoping she’d take it, and when she did he felt as if he could leap three feet into the air and kick up his heels.
A few people stopped them on the way out. Previous customers, friends of friends, other artists. He introduced her to them all.
“I need to talk to Barney really quick,” he said to her. “I see him over there. Would you mind getting them to bring around the car?” He pulled the gold coin from his pocket. “Here’s the token.”
“Sure.” She walked off with an air of confidence that he appreciated, and he caught up with Barney for a final piece of business.
By the time Matthew walked outside, the valet attendant helped Whitney into the passenger seat of his car.
“Thank you so much.” Matthew slipped a healthy tip into the young man’s hand.
“That was fast,” she said.
“Barney is really pleased with how the night went. I’m happy for him.” Matthew pulled away to free up the valet line and drove out the front gates. “Thank you again for coming with me.”
They were on the interstate,and in the dark, under the rumble of the motor, he noticed Whitney’s eyes growing heavy.
He reached over and placed his hand on her leg palm up as an invitation to hold her hand.
She opened her eyes and smiled lazily. “It’s been a good night.” She placed her hand in his.
The ride back seemed so much faster. Maybe because he wasn’t really ready for it to end. He pulled in front of her building and shut down the engine. “Here we are.”
“I enjoyed getting to know you tonight.” She took a heavy breath.
He touched the bracelet on her petite wrist, allowing his fingers to graze her soft skin and the top of her hand.
“I’m so glad you found my bracelet, and it led you to me,” she said. “It’s always been my lucky bracelet.”
“No, I believe it’s my lucky bracelet, because if it hadn’t ended up on the ground that night, in the pouring rain… then we might never have met.”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“Me too.” He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to move too fast; and they’d really just met, no matter how easy it felt. He sucked in a breath, reminding himself to be a gentleman.
He pulled the handle and opened his door. “Let me get your door.”
When he got to her side, he took her hand and helped her up onto the curb. There, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug. “Mind if I call tomorrow?”
“I’ll even give you my direct number.” She took his phone and keyed it in.
“Thanks. I’m going to use this.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” She pecked him on the cheek and then walked inside her building.
He stood there, breathless for a minute, wondering what it might be like if this evening didn’t end just yet, but he knew it was too soon.
She entered the building and lifted her hand in a wave.
He waved and got back into his car. “Wow. Just… Wow.” He drove home and his head was still swimming when he got upstairs. He texted a picture of him and Whitney together to Skip followed by a note.
MATTHEW: This girl is the real deal. I’m soaring.
SKIP: You make a good-looking couple. Maybe it’s your turn to quit spending time alone.
Matthew’s insides were humming like a live wire. Rather than go to bed, he walked into his studio, lifted a fresh canvas to an easel, and began to paint.