His pout vanishes in an instant, a flirty smile sliding into place. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’. I mean, have youseenyou?”
I tip my head. “You are a persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
He grins as I hand him a ten dollar bill and walk away. He really is such a sweet guy. If I weren’t almost thirty, I really would consider letting him take me out. I savor the chilled, earthy liquid as it puddles against my tongue.
“Same time tomorrow, babe?” he calls.
I spin on my heel and walk backward into the lobby with a wink. “You know I can’t resist my matcha lattes.”
Rohan’s cheeks puff out when he laughs.
I’m still chuckling as I make my way up the twisting ramp of The Spiral. My fingers skim along the shimmering limestone walls. They’re only about four feet tall, offering a gorgeous view of the marble lobby and arched ceilings.
The Spiral is a work of art all on its own. Prismatic winter sunlight dances across the walls, and I crane my neck to see the glittering skylight three stories above refracting the light.
I step off The Spiral, taking a right on the second floor. Sipping my latte, I stroll to the Employee Only access door. The drink slides down my throat and into my very hollow stomach. I grit my teeth and pray that if I drain the rest of my latte, I’ll be able to be on my best behavior, sans calories.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” I’ve barely stepped inside the curation wing when Amantha, my best friend, yanks me into her new office. “Office” is a generous term, since it’s basically an old supply closet with a skinny window, but I’ll never tell her that. We both were thrilled when she got promoted to Junior Curator five months ago.
I skid across the threshold before she prods me toward a chair and slams the door. My knees bang into her desk in the tiny space, but there’s not enough room for me to scoot back. Her curly-haired fiancé stands beside her.
“Hey, Val,” I say.
“Hi, Kate.” He gives me a small smile, bright against his olive skin. His dark brown eyes twinkle, as though he’s enjoying some inside joke I’m not privy to. He looks crisp in his impeccably tailored expensive black suit as he lingers by Amantha’s chair.
Val Russo is one of the two Senior Curators at the museum. I’m an assistant curator for the other one, Blythe Barlow.
Amantha plops into her chair and spreads her arms wide before gripping the desk. She huffs a dishwater-blonde wave out of her gray eyes and pins me with them.
“Kate.”
“Amantha.” I draw her name out like a question. Her eyes are shining, and she’s fidgeting in the way that tells me she’s excited but nervous. I pull off my snow-dampened beanie and gloves.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“We picked a wedding date.” She does a weird happy dance, wiggling back and forth in her chair.
I shriek, standing and knocking Val out of the way so I can hug her. He graciously flattens himself against the tiny wall with a chuckle until I return to my seat.
“When?” I demand.
“May first. I know, it’s insane to rush a wedding with my first exhibition coming up, but”—she tugs Val down and smooshes her porcelain cheek against his stubbled one—“he just couldn’t wait any longer.”
“We,” Val amends, face still squished around his smile. “Wecouldn’t wait any longer.”
“True. Anthony and I can’t wait for us to finally be a family,” she says.
My eyes are hot, brimming with sudden happiness that my friend and her son are finally getting their happily ever after.
Val’s dark brown eyes twinkle as he gazes at Amantha. “And I don’t want to wait either, Angel.”
“Awww, Russo.” She ruffles his dark curls. “You’re such a softie.”
I watch this exchange with a mixture of amusement and nausea. Hearing Val Russo call someone“Angel”is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. Before Amantha came along, he was all chiseled jawline, Tom Ford, and harsh words. But Amantha puddled him in a matter of months, and now he’s nothing but a six-foot-three teddy bear.
“Kate. I’m going to need lots of help planning this wedding. Say no if you need to, but would you be my maid of honor?”
Warmth flutters in my heart. “I’d be honored.”
