“I’m here to meet someone.” He felt a tinge of guilt again. That was certainly stretching the truth a bit.
“Oh?” Her pale brows arched. “Someone in this gallery?”
“Yes.” He continued to move through the maze of divider walls, tilting his head from side to side as if doing a search.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” she persisted, still at his elbow.
To his relief, George spotted Willow West now. She was dressed in a flowing and colorful kimono, and her strawberry-blonde hair was piled on her head and secured with what looked like a chopstick. In the back of the gallery, she was surrounded by a small group of people. “Excuse me,” he told Lorna. “I see her now.” And before she could furtherquestion him, he went directly toward Willow and what appeared to be a fan club of admirers.
“Mr. Emerson.” Willow’s face lit up as he approached and, to his relief, she excused herself from the others and came over to clasp his hand. “I’m so glad you came tonight. Welcome!” Something behind him caught her eye. “Are you here with someone?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see that Lorna was still trailing him. “Not exactly,” he muttered, but remembering his manners, he quickly introduced the two women. “Mrs. Atwood is my neighbor,” he explained to Willow.
“We were supposed to have dinner at my house tonight,” Lorna chirped at Willow. “But Mr. Emerson suddenly remembered a previous engagement.” She chuckled. “And yet here we are at the same—”
“Well, we did arrange to meet here tonight,” Willow told Lorna in a surprisingly firm voice. “If you’ll please excuse us, I’d like to show Mr. Emerson something.” And before Lorna could protest, Willow linked her arm into George’s and led him around a corner, past a display of pottery, and over to the refreshment table in the corner.
“Thank you,” he murmured gratefully. “My neighbor is a most persistent woman.”
Willow laughed. “Well, I am very glad you made it tonight.” She nodded to the table. “Would you like something?”
“No thank you,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Oh?” She studied him closely. “Dieting?”
“What?”
“Watching your waistline?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m just not hungry.”
“Not even for this?” She held up an appetizer, smiling coyly as if to tempt him.
He resisted the urge to turn to see if Lorna was nearby, perhaps listening to his awkward conversation. He forced a smile and reached for the cracker and cheese. “Thank you very much.”
“This is a nice chèvre.” Willow’s eyes twinkled.
“Chèvre?” He took a tentative sniff.
“Very light and fresh and made in Oregon.”
“Oh?” He took a bite and chewed.
“Chèvre is cheese made from goat’s milk.”
He blinked as he swallowed. “Goat’s milk?”
“Do you like it?” Willow asked innocently.
He tried not to gag over the thought that he’d just ingestedgoat’s milkcheese. “I, uh, I guess so.” He reached for a cocktail napkin, nesting the remains of his appetizer into it as his cheeks grew warm.
Her turquoise-blue eyes twinkled with merriment. “Such an endorsement.”
“Well, anyway, thank you for rescuing me just now.” He lowered his voice. “Is my neighbor still lurking nearby?”
“She appears to be intently studying the large bronze in the center of the gallery.”
George grimaced. “I, uh, I don’t mean to keep you from your guests.”
