by Susan Hatler
I hurried to the living room and slipped into my gorgeous red stilettos. Every nerve in my body felt anxious. What if he didn’t show?
I couldn’t think like that.
Because what if he did show.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door, and held my head high. “I’m ready.”
No more playing it safe.
If Henry came to the art gallery tonight, I’d reveal my feelings to him.
****
As we walked into Ripple Art Gallery in downtown Sacramento, my mom and I speared in different directions.
“Gee, that dinner wasn’t uncomfortable or anything.” Rachel accepted a glass of champagne from a server, handed me a flute, and steered me toward an abstract painting that would’ve looked great in my living room.
“How does she have the nerve to be mad at me?” I pointed to my chest. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
Rach raised a sarcastic brow. “Perhaps because you insulted her marriage? Insinuated it wouldn’t last?”
Oh, right. That. “I was trying to illustrate that she didn’t have all the answers.”
“Nice approach.” She clinked her glass to mine. “Not.”
I sipped my champagne, then surveyed the large, trendy room that was divided by tall, detached, white walls that stood solidly beneath the high black pipe-exposed ceiling. The place was packed. Seemed like all of Sacramento had turned up for this art gallery’s opening. Everyone except one person. I turned back to the painting, trying not to show my disappointment. “I don’t see him.”
“Relax. We just got here.” She pivoted slowly, her eyes scanning the room. “Wait . . . yes, I think that’s him behind that wooden beam. Nice and early, too. Not exactly playing hard to get.”
I gasped. “Where?”
“Back left corner of the room.” She squinted, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, wow.”
“What?” I demanded, not daring to turn around.
“Yesterday he’d been wearing sweats and had major stubble.”
Sounded familiar to me. “And?”
Her eyes descended presumably from his head down to his toes. “Let’s just say, he sure cleans up well.”
As my heart thumped in my chest, I peeked over my shoulder. My eyes skipped past groups of people chatting, sipping champagne, and tasting hors d’oeuvres, until they came to rest on a GQ version of Henry. Wow was an understatement. He’d transitioned from sexy in an understated way to absolutely gorgeous in a universal cover model way. He wore slacks, a black collared shirt, and his tousled hair complimented his now clean-shaven face. Even from across the room, his eyes still got me, too. Deep, dark, and mysterious as he listened to whatever a woman with golden locks cascading over her shoulder was saying to him.
I grabbed Rachel’s forearm. “Who’s he talking to?”
“Ouch.” She yanked her arm away. “Get a grip, girl.”
Turning on my heel, I pretended to study a black and white painting. “If he’s trying to make me jealous, it’s working.”
Buzzing chatter filled the room and a couple pushed their way toward the painting we were pretty much blocking, so we scooted down the wall to the next one. “Think about it, Ellen. Why would he come meet you at this art gallery if he was on a date? That makes no sense.”
I nodded, thankful for her logic. “Good point.”
Then we both watched as the beautiful woman put an arm around Henry, gestured to the painting next to them, then whispered something close to his ear.
A pang jolted through me. “She must be a really good friend.”
“Well, you’ll never know who she is until you ask.” She laced her arm through mine and led me in his direction. “You were all desperate that you’d never see him again and now he’s here. So, go get him.”
The shy part of me wanted to run the other way, but I forced myself to keep walking. What if Rach had it wrong? What if he really was out on a date and had only come to meet us to be polite? Just a night out to talk about the dogs and what they’d learned in class?
“Good luck,” Rachel whispered, then made herself scarce.
When I was still several feet away, he glanced up, and met my gaze. As I approached slowly—turns out sexy heels are no picnic to balance in—I swear he did a double-take. Excitement flitted through me. He wasn’t the only one who’d gone from casual to sexy.
“Excuse me,” he said to the woman, then came toward me until we were standing face to face. “Ellen.”
“Henry.” Here he was, right in front of me, the guy I’d been obsessing over. And I could see why. Whether in sweats or slacks, he made me all gooey inside. He stood mere inches away and I could barely resist doing what every part of me wanted to do—snuggle up to him and breathe in his delicious musky cologne without space between us. “Thank you for the keychain,” I said, finally.
He looked almost shy for a moment. “I thought I’d be giving it to you in person. I was surprised when you skipped the last class. Your friend Rachel said you were . . . busy.”
So much for small talk. “Oh, that. Yeah, I’d been trying to fulfill a dating theory.”
He gave me a curious look, like he wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not. “You mean an experiment?”
“Exactly.” Without thinking, I tapped the back of my hand against his chest, which was solid in a very distracting way. Where was I? Oh, right. Baring my soul. Breathe, Ellen. “I’ve had this idea about love. That in order to find it and for it to last, I had to make sure to meet someone who had the same goals and interests as me, which is why I signed up for Detailed Dating. You remember, that online dating website—”
“—with the red pen.” He raised his brows in a playful way. “Right.”
“Good memory.” I lifted my glass toward him, trying to lighten the mood. “Through their recommended matches, I screened profiles, ruled out a few with probable conflicts, then emailed ten potentials. Out of those, only two made it past my third week of email screening.”
When I paused for a moment, he said, “And?”
I bit my lip, remembering back. “My first date was scheduled the same night I met you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even sexier. “You mentioned the next day you were seeing someone you met online but your friend said that’s over?”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
I took a bracing breath. “Last night I almost called my date ‘Henry’.” My face flushed. “What does that tell you?”
The sides of his mouth turned upward. “I’d rather hear from you what it means.”
Mustering all of my courage, I blurted, “Dog class with you felt like a better date than the ones with my supposedly perfect match.”
“Really?” His smile grew and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked relieved. “Then why would you miss our last class?”
Our? As in Kenzie and him? Or him and me? So many ways to read one little word and I felt like asking him to clarify. Instead, I went with, “Last minute change of plans. Actually, I stopped by Rachel’s to pick up Chester when—”
“Sorry to interrupt.” The woman in the sleek black business suit, with the world’s worst timing, suddenly appeared beside Henry. She gave me an odd look, then put a possessive arm around him. “Mind if I have a word with the artist? Important business to discuss.”
“Artist?” Confused, my gaze passed back and forth between them.
“Why, yes.” The woman, who stood several inches taller than me, handed me a glossy brochure. “Aren’t you here to see Henry’s work?”
With my left hand still holding my champagne glass, I read the brochure in my right hand, which featured paintings by Henry Holbrook III. My jaw went slack. So that’s how he could spend every day in sweats. He’d been creating those beautiful paintings I’d admired. No wonder they’d moved me. Just like he always did. “You’re the artist being showcased tonight?”
Henry nodded, his eyes studying mine. He looked like he wan
ted to tell me something, but held back. I also noticed he didn’t ask the lady to remove the arm she’d placed around his waist.
“Didn’t you know?” the woman raised a perfectly penciled brow.
“No.” My blood ran cold as I realized what this meant. He was here for work and not to see me. No wonder Henry had sounded surprised when Rachel told him we were coming here. My heart sank.
“I’m Jennifer Cooke, owner of Ripple Art Gallery.” She reached out to shake my hand. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I need to discuss something in private with Henry.”
“Of course.” Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to ask my name because she obviously didn’t care. I quickly stepped away, feeling totally humiliated. I’d thought he’d come here for me. The fact that Rach and I were at his art showing tonight was just dumb luck.
And I’d poured my heart out to him. This is exactly what I got for not playing it safe.
I circled the room and sipped my champagne as if I weren’t totally falling apart on the inside. Where was Rachel when I needed her? Had I totally imagined that Henry had seemed relieved by what I’d told him? Did he like me or not? Because one thing was perfectly obvious, the owner of the art gallery wanted more out of Henry Holbrook III than a commission on his paintings.
****
As if my nerves weren’t raw enough from my encounter with the art gallery owner and Henry, my mother picked this exact moment to approach me. “Young lady, who were you talking to?”
Really? She had to do this to me now? “Um, have you seen Rach? I need her.”
“Was he the crush you were telling me about on the phone earlier?” she said, hot on my heels as I tried desperately to find my friend.
“Keep your voice down.” I gave her my scary look. “And it’s not a crush.”
More like a crush on steroids.
“That was Henry, right?”
I stopped in my tracks. “How do you know his name?”
She held up the brochure, complete with a photo of the artist, as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time earlier. You’re my little girl and I didn’t want you to get hurt. But, I think you should trust your instincts on this one.”
My jaw dropped. “Who are you and what have you done with my mom?”
She gave a short laugh, then wiped a tear that slipped down her cheek. “I’ve made my share of mistakes with men. Believe me, I don’t think I have all the answers.” Her voice filled with emotion. “I was just trying to look out for you.”
“I know, Mom.” Overwhelmed by her sudden (and strange) change of heart, I put my arm around her and gave her a side hug. “I’m sorry for what I said on the phone about you and Robert. You both seem really happy together.”
She kissed me on the cheek. “It’s about time for me, isn’t it? I’m sure it’ll be that way for you, too.”
I spotted Henry and Jennifer across the room. “Definitely not any time soon.”
Not with Jennifer Cooke around. She was clearly the better match for him. In addition to being confident and beautiful, she and Henry shared passion for the art world. I, on the other hand, had taken art history pass/fail so it wouldn’t ruin my GPA.
“Oh, Ellen.” My mom squeezed me around the waist. “He’s not interested in her.”
“Are you not seeing what I’m seeing? That’s the owner of the art gallery, Mom.” I gestured toward where they were having a serious discussion. Jennifer had her arm around him, yet again. “Face it, she’s way better suited for him. I can’t even tell a Monet from a Sisley. Well, not unless there’s a water lily involved.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s just business,” she said, dismissively.
This was getting scary. My very practical mom had sudden faith in Henry? An artist? Not exactly the stable career choice she’d normally opt for. Although a lot of his paintings did have a SOLD card placed over the title. I was about to ask Mom about her new attitude when Jennifer detached herself from Henry and strode off toward the front of the room. At the same time, my mom told me she needed to go check on something.
Out of nowhere, a face appeared in front of me. “Ellen.”
I jumped back. “Rachel! Where have you been?”
“Major emergency.” She held up her cell phone. “Gina finally broke up with George. She needs me to come over pronto. I want to bring champagne and celebrate, but obviously she’s not there yet.”
“No, I’d wait on that one.” I sighed. “Guess my mom can take me home. Another love bites the dust.”
“Yeah, but we knew their days were numbered.” She gave me a concerned look. “Oh, wait. Did you mean Gina or you? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you with Henry?”
“The owner of the art gallery, that’s why.” A waiter strode by and swapped my empty champagne glass for a new one. “Henry’s the artist she’s showcasing tonight and judging by her actions, she’d like to showcase more than his paintings.”
Rach threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good one.”
Not the sympathetic response I’d expected. “Are you laughing at my misery?”
“Oh, please.” She fiddled in her purse for her keys, then adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “First, you thought he was after Abby-what’s-her-name. Now, he’s after the art gallery owner? Stake your claim and get on with it.”
I pointed across the room. “You saw her hanging on him.”
“Yeah, I saw her when I should be seeing you.” She glanced behind me. “He’s directly across the room, talking to some guy, so stop making excuses and go for it.”
My pulse rate picked up. “How?”
“Show me less jealousy and more action.” Her voice held an edge of ‘duh’ to it. “I’ll tell Gina you’re thinking of her. Bye.”
My eyes narrowed at her as she slinked out the door. Mostly because she was right. I knew it was time to face my fears. I downed my champagne, set the empty glass on a table, and headed toward Henry.
****
My heels clicked across the gallery’s hardwood floor and my heart pounded in my ears. I’d confront Henry, once and for all, and nothing would stop me this time.
“Ellen!” a female voice cheered.
I flipped my head around to see our perky blonde dog obedience instructor. “Abby?”
She bounced over and threw her arms around me. “We missed you yesterday, but Rachel’s such a sweetie, too.”
I peered around Abby, but couldn’t see where Henry had gone. “I heard Chester learned a special talent.”
“It was fabulous. That cute snickerdoodle will do anything for a treat. And you probably already know that Kenzie learned how to shake. Sweet angel put her paw right in my hand. Exciting progress, huh?”
“Yes.” My heart warmed that Kenzie was learning to trust people. But why would Abby assume I knew about Henry’s dog?
“Come.” She led me over to a group of people I recognized from the Simply Skilled class: the elderly woman who owned the poodle, the mom with the outspoken boy, the young guy with the bulldog, and a few more. “Look who I found, everyone.”
We exchanged cheerful greetings and it made me nostalgic for doggy class, Kenzie, and even crazy Chester. Abby latched onto the arm of a very handsome man who smiled down at her. Okay, maybe I’d jumped to conclusions when it came to Abby. But, I still didn’t feel secure about Jennifer Cooke.
Abby’s eyes shot just above my shoulder and she waved. “Henry! Thanks so much for inviting us to see your amazing work. Especially the—”
“Thank you all for coming,” he said.
His shoulder brushed mine as he came up next to me. Everyone started giving us looks and I wondered if they knew something I didn’t. Maybe I could get them to signal with a thumbs up or down?
Henry’s hand wrapped gently around my elbow. “Would you excuse us?” he said to the others.
They murmured affirmative remarks and before I knew it, Henry and I were walking away from the group and towar
d the left side of the gallery, which seemed to be a quieter area.
Finally, he stopped and faced me with an apologetic look. “Sorry about the interruption earlier. Jennifer had a business question she needed to ask me.”
Time to jump. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re an artist?”
His facial expression changed. “Well, because it’s only recently that I’ve actually made a living at it.”
My mouth twisted. “Why would that matter?”
He hesitated a moment. “When I found that pen, you told me you were really into Detailed Dating . . .”
Was I mistaken or did he look nervous? “So?”
His gray eyes flooded with emotion. “I looked up your profile online.”
Oh, man. I’d laid out in detail exactly what would and wouldn’t work for me in a relationship. No exceptions allowed and an artist probably wouldn’t have made the cut. “You, uh, did?”
“Hard as that is to admit, yes.” His gaze stayed on mine. “Everything in your profile told me you’re organized, know what you want, and, to be honest, it seemed like an artist would rank low on your professional stability requirement.”
Oh, man. Why did I have to be so anal? “But that was before I met you.”
His shoulders relaxed. “So you might be willing to take a chance on an artist who has never tried online dating, never filled out a compatibility profile, and is hoping he never will?”
I wouldn’t know the answer to his question until he revealed the mystery behind the dark circles under his eyes all week. “Is this why you were so tired in class? Because you were preparing for this show?”
He paused way too long. “Yes. I’d spent all night painting and well . . . it was important to me. That particular painting, I mean.”
What was he holding back? “Are you and the owner of the art gallery . . . dating?”
