by Sara Celi
“Yep.” I threaded my fingers, placed them on the back of my head, and leaned back in the seat. How could I explain Margot? Quirky? Pretty? Unpredictable? “She’s determined. Really earnest about SocialKitten. It’s kind of cute.” She’s kind of cute.
Hugh put my phone back on my desk. “So, you do like her.”
“Maybe, but I’m not doing this with you right now. We’re not discussing any more of the attributes of my neighbor.” I turned to the paperwork on my desk. We had vendors to pay from the opening night party, contracts to finish with artists we wanted to feature, and sales calls to make. All this required intense focus if I wanted Gallery 29 to succeed. “Let’s get back to the task at hand. Have you read the invoice from Vanderhausen Catering?”
“Yes.” Hugh walked back to his workstation, picked up the ball, and began squishing it in his right fist. “We’re fine. The bill is still under budget.”
“Did you check to see if the charges were correct?” I picked up the invoice and turned it toward him. “I’ve noticed a few that seemed higher than the usual bid, and I wasn’t completely satisfied with their service the other night.”
“I thought it was fine.”
“They scrimped on the shrimp and the hummus platter. We shouldn’t pay full price for that.”
He frowned. “Are you kidding? No one noticed. I sure didn’t.”
“I did. And if you won’t call them about it, I will.”
“Stop being a hard-ass.” He nodded his head in the direction of the spreadsheet and his computer. “I’m doing the books, and we are fine. Do you hear me? Fine. We’re well under what we expected to spend on the gallery relaunch, even with the extra alcohol we ordered for the party.” He moved the ball from his right hand to his left. “A few overpriced appetizers won’t matter. And besides, the Andersons bought another Knightsbridge lithograph yesterday. That will hold over our operating expenses for at least the next month. Maybe two.”
I exhaled. “I know, but we have to go over our budget and the bills once a week if we want this to succeed, Hugh. Part of doing this well means knowing exactly what our cash flow is at all times.”
Those words felt foreign in my mouth, but I knew I was right. We had to keep track of everything if we wanted to make this work. I’d always been a “creative” type and not an “analytical” one, but putting up my life savings to make this gallery happen had altered my way of thinking. I had money at stake—a lot of it—and every dollar of which I’d earned myself. I couldn’t afford to take my attention off any details.
“Let’s get back to this Margot-Leesman-with-the-sexy-voice conversation,” Hugh said. “Tell me more about her. She’s gotta be more to you than your neighbor.”
“She’s nice. Funny in a quirky way.”
“And you like her.”
I thought about it. “Yeah, I do.”
Hugh slapped his desk. “Great.”
“She used to work at a TV station, but she got fired for some unknown reason.” I waved my hand. “She said it was a misunderstanding with a boss that was out to get her.”
“Blonde? Brunette? What?”
“Redhead. Dark red, with some brown.”
Hugh’s eyebrow rose.
“More of an auburn. It might not be natural.”
“Almost never is.” Hugh fiddled some more with the ball, rolling it in between his long fingers. “But that’s interesting. So, you said you like her.”
“No.” I waved a hand. “I didn’t say it like you’re implying. Not like that.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem, man?”
“Nothing.” I shuffled through a few papers on my desk to make it look like I had more important things to think about than my neighbor or my love life. “She’s fine.”
“You’re never going to meet someone if you don’t get out there and date, you know.” Hugh tossed the ball between his hands. “And she sounds like a decent place to start.” He cleared his throat, so I’d look directly as him. “You can’t stay married to your work forever, and I’m saying this as your business partner, as well as one of your closest friends. It’s not healthy.”
I considered my response. “She’s interesting. I want to get to know her better.” I paused. “And I invited her to the art show on Saturday. She said she’ll help us with social media.”
“Of course, she did,” Hugh said, then lobbed the stress ball at my head. It flew over my shoulder and bounced against the wall. “Sounds like your pretty little neighbor is into you, man. See where it goes. What have you got to lose?”
The answer was an easy one: my world. Gallery 29 was my world, and for now, it had to remain my focus. Cute, intriguing redhead aside.
I drove my car into the parking lot of The Overlook and found a spot in the second row. I turned off the engine and opened the visor mirror to check my makeup one more time. Mascara—check. Lipstick—check. Blush—just right. I opened my purse on the passenger seat, fumbled around inside, and found an old roll of breath mints. I popped one of them into my mouth. Breath—check.
Okay, Margot, you’re ready.
I knew what this wasn’t. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a pseudo date. This was a friend helping a friend do some charity work in town, and—that was all. James needed a favor and I had nothing better to do, so here I was.
Which was exactly why I’d once again obsessed over my outfit—a pair of black skinny pants, a romantic red and blue blouse with a pussycat bow at the neck, my lightweight black woolen vest, and some black pumps.
Friends dressed for friends, right?
As I walked through The Overlook parking lot, I took stock of the cars parked there, noticing most of the spots were taken. Two school busses lined the other side of the lot. Interesting.
When I arrived on the top floor of the event space, I stopped for a moment at the entrance to the main section. I had to get my bearings because what I saw in front of me didn’t match with what James had said about the event.
This wasn’t a typical showing of stuffy artwork from New York luminaries or well-known Californian photographers. This was an event featuring children’s artwork, and nothing else.
“Margot, you made it,” James called to me, as he moved closer from what appeared to be a check-in table. “Perfect timing.”
“I wanted to get here a little early,” I said. A man hurried past me holding a canvas covered in pieces of pasta, as two women near us set cups and pitchers of refreshments on a folding table. “And—hang on—I’m sorry, this is a kid’s art show?”
“Something like that.”
“You failed to mention that the other day.”
“Is that a problem?” He motioned behind himself at the wider space. “This is Art Swept, an annual show for elementary and middle-school students who have been affected by the opioid crises. We work with them all year. Well, I mean the team works with them, and then they put on this event at the end of the school year to showcase the talent these kids have.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I didn’t—you did this?” Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more perfect …
What kind of guy spent his time teaching underprivileged kids about art and photography? A prince, that’s who. A total prince.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I managed.
“No, it wasn’t only me. I just volunteer for the end-of-the-season show.” James shook his head. “Don’t think I’m the one who organized the event; I didn’t.”
“Okay,” I said, but still not buying that as I took off my vest. “How long have you been doing this?”
“This? I’ve been working with them for three years, but this is my first time helping with the art show.”
“And why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you want to work with them?”
Suddenly, I wanted to know everything about this, and especially about James’s involvement the project. I didn’t know what I had expected, but this wasn’t it at all, and t
hat made each second of this conversation intriguing and sexy. This guy was so much more than simply someone who liked horrible chili and wore stained T-shirts around town.
“I’ve had a few family members affected by drug addition,” he said, and looked away from me. “It’s complicated, but it bothered me a lot. Made an impression.” His gaze floated back to mine. “So, here I am.”
“This is amazing. You’re amazing.”
It sounded like a cheap line from a cable TV romance movie, but I didn’t care. I meant it. This guy was something else.
“Thanks, but really you’re too nice.” He smiled. “So, are you ready to take some photos?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s get started, SocialKitten.”
The sound of my Instagram name on his lips made my toes curl again, but I ignored it, and nodded in agreement. He led me to the check-in desk, where he made a few introductions. Then he explained to me that the Art Swept board hoped I’d take photos and videos of the pieces on display, a small activity taking place around six o’clock, the presentation of awards at six thirty, and the crowd who came to view the works. I agreed then set off to take as many photos and videos as I could, armed with the social media logins.
The artwork blew me away.
The kids who participated in Art Swept had unique points of view and interpretations of the world around them. They seemed curious, hopeful, and had found a way to share how they were affected by their experiences. I viewed masks made by eight-year-olds, knitted scarves and blankets by fourth graders from Over-the-Rhine, a pottery series by an eleven-year-old in Colerain Township, and oil paintings from kids at Riverside Elementary.
As I milled about the room, gathering images and posting what I could, the room filled with community leaders and guests who’d come to see the work. I knew a few of them and reintroduced myself a few times as I asked to take their photos and document their attendance.
I didn’t reconnect with James again until after the awards ceremony, where a ten-year-old girl won first prize for a collage piece she created that could have been found in any high-end bistro or boutique.
“I didn’t have any idea there were so many talented kids in the area,” I told him. “To say nothing of the kids like this, who’ve gone through some horrible things at such a young age.”
“Really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”
“And here I’ve been milling around acting sorry for myself because I got fired.” My cheeks heated. “I mean, it makes me—”
“Stop. Just stop. You were upset about what happened, and that’s normal. Anyone would be. Losing a job is a kick in the ass.”
I shrugged. “Just makes me think about it differently. I feel like I’ve been so selfish lately. I have a lot of advantages in life, and I’ve overlooked them.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, but that’s something that needs to change.”
Our gazes locked, and I felt something pass between us, an energy that I couldn’t place, but something I wanted repeated. Over, and over, and over again.
Thank God for that rainy day and the dead battery, otherwise I would have never had the nerve to introduce myself to this handsome neighbor of mine.
“Thank you for coming today,” James said.
“You’re welcome.” I glanced at my watch. 6:47. “I probably should go—”
“Why?” His face fell. “I mean, I was hoping we’d be able to get drinks tonight. If you’re free, of course.”
Drinks? Of course. And if you want more …
I tilted my head. “As long as we don’t go to another chili parlor.”
“Never.” He laughed. “I learned my lesson about that, trust me.”
James suggested we head to National, a watering hole and well-known upscale burger joint about two blocks from The Overlook. Relieved he hadn’t suggested chili again, I agreed, and we walked there after he said goodbye to a few of the Art Swept organizers.
We ordered two craft cocktails and found a table near the bar.
“That art show was awesome,” I said after the server moved on from our table. “I’m so glad I got to be a part of that today.”
“It seems like you got a lot of good shots.” He took a sip of water from one of the glasses the hostess had brought us after we sat down at the table. “You were certainly busy.”
“Not just busy—enthralled.” I took a sip of my water. “How much money do you think they raised with the auction of the artwork?”
“I hope at least thirty thousand.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Last year they made twenty-five grand, so anything over that is a win for everyone.”
“Well, if the attendance is anything to go by, I bet they did very well.”
“We can hope.”
The server returned with our two specialty drinks, and we toasted the event as we took our first sips. I grimaced; the Lynchburg Lemonade I’d ordered tasted more bitter than I expected. I choked it down anyway, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Oh no, don’t tell me this is another dining disaster,” James said, as he set his drink on the table. A smile pulled at his lips. “Because I don’t know if I can take that.”
“It’s fine.” I placed my cocktail back on the napkin. “Okay, no, it isn’t. It was a little stronger than I thought it would be.”
“This place is known for its unique drinks.”
“So I’ve heard. This one certainly is.”
“Hmm.” He gestured at the drink. “Let me try a sip?”
I handed it over, and he sipped a small taste from the unused side of the glass.
He picked up a small folio on the other end of the table and examined its contents. “What do you say we order some real food? They have an extensive bar menu.” He folded the menu and handed it to me. “You know what? Why don’t I let you pick this time?”
This time.
A delicious chill passed along my spine as he said those last two words. This time meant “second” and if we were on second, then there might be a third, or a fourth, or a fifth. Plus, this might be a date …
It’s certainly starting to feel like a date.
Still mulling over that idea, I raised my eyebrow, took the menu from him, and skimmed the offerings. “How about the hummus plate to start? And perhaps the prosciutto-wrapped dates?”
“Excellent choices,” he said, and signaled for the server.
After we ordered, we fell into a familiar, time-tested conversation, one suited for any first or second date, but it somehow felt refreshing and new when I had it with him. He liked the Cincinnati Reds but didn’t follow baseball as an avid fan. He enjoyed binging TV shows on-demand and had several he needed to catch up on that had been recommended by coworkers and friends. He worried he might not be able to make Gallery 29 work, and he needed it to because he’d decided to follow his dream after years of working as a corporate drone at Cincinnati Savings and Trust, the leading bank downtown.
Every one of these facts would have seemed ordinary and simple if they’d been said to me by anyone else, but the fact that they came from him made them seem extraordinary. What was it about this man that made everything seem more intense? More … vivid? I’d never met anyone like him, and every moment by his side made me crave him more. Despite my quirks, he seemed to get me, and that was rare.
Good God, I needed to be careful. I hadn’t had this kind of feeling since at least two boyfriends ago.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he said, once we’d eaten the appetizers and finished our drinks. He scribbled his signature across the final bill and smiled at me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said and got out of my chair.
He led me through the now-crowded restaurant, and as we stepped from the entrance onto the sidewalk, I felt his hand find the small of my back. At first, I thought he’d simply done it to help me get outside the building, but when we began to walk the few blocks to The Overlook parking lot, he didn’t take his hand away
.
I didn’t ask him to, either.
Neither of us said anything about it. We didn’t acknowledge it.
But when we arrived at my car, I could feel it. Something had changed. We weren’t the same. We might be friends at that moment, but we wouldn’t be for much longer.
“Thanks for coming today,” he whispered. “It really meant a lot to me.”
“Meant a lot to me too. Great reminder that there are other things going on in this city besides my problems.” I smiled. “And it gave me a chance to stretch my social media muscles in a different way.”
“You’ll find a new job soon. I know it.” He lifted his fingers and brushed some wayward strands of hair away from my face. I shivered at his touch, and once again the electric energy between the two of us seemed to charge up, ready to make a connection. And oh, yes, how I wanted it.
“I’m glad you helped me the other day with my car,” I said, wanting to extend this moment, elongate it out if possible. “It turned out to be good luck, instead of bad.”
“For both of us.” He glanced at The Overlook building. “And those kids, who got some of the publicity they deserve.”
“Of course,” I whispered. “That’s the most important thing.”
He took a step forward and cupped my chin between his index finger and thumb. “I know I called you a basic white girl, but I was wrong about that, and I’m sorry. You’re more than basic, Margot.”
This was it. This was the moment. He was going to kiss me, and every cell in my body felt it almost as if it had been predestined. It was happening.
This is happening …
James moved his fingers from my chin, to my jawline, then underneath my hair. His hand encircled the back of my neck then proceeded to draw me toward him.
And that’s when my phone rang.
Not a quiet, vibrating, easy-to-ignore-in-the-moment ring. No, I didn’t have that kind of luck. This was the loud, shrill, alarm-clock-near-your-ear-at-six a.m. ring. In fact, this was a special ring I had for my father’s phone number, because he only called me during emergencies.
