“But you two go,” Derek said.
Krissa’s head shot up. “Really?”
The three of them all looked at each other for a long moment as they each weighed the implication of that. Krissa looked from Derek to Nate and back. Nate watched her, then looked at Derek.
Derek nodded. “Yeah. Go. Do what you have to do. It’s fine.”
“But we wanted you to be there when…” Krissa’s voice trailed off.
Derek shrugged. “I know. I want to be, too. But we don’t want to blow another opportunity and…” his gaze flicked back to Nate. “This might be the last chance.”
Nate had said nothing to Derek about leaving. Again, he felt that faint hint that Derek maybe wanted him gone. He wasn’t trying to convince him to stay any longer, that was for sure.
“Are you sure, Derek?” he asked quietly.
Derek was looking at Krissa, and he smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
Nate’s gut tightened as he walked into Gallery 228 on Melrose Avenue.
The buzz of conversation mingled with cool jazz sax music in the über-stylish building. Gleaming golden wood floors met stark white walls.
He and Krissa paused in the foyer. He took a long breath.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “It’s fine.”
He studied her. She wore a violet silk dress, strapless, with a big bow over her breasts that made him think about reaching out and tugging it. The dress skimmed over her slim body to just above her knees, and high-heeled barely-there sandals added a few inches to her height. With more makeup than she usually wore, she looked stunningly glamorous and sexy. She totally fit in with the hip urban vibe in the art gallery.
He’d had to dig deep into his bag for something to wear. The black jacket he’d pulled out had been wrinkled until he’d hung it in the steamy bathroom, an old trick learned while traveling. He wore it over dark jeans, with a loose white linen shirt and a thin scarf draped loosely around his neck. He hadn’t been sure about the jeans, but hey, he was an artist, he could get away with it.
“Nate!” Greg greeted him, a drink in his hand. He put out his free hand to shake Nate’s. “So glad you could make it!”
Nate shook Greg’s hand, taking in the owner of Gallery 228 in his gold velvet jacket and skinny black pants.
“Greg, this is my friend Krissa. Krissa, Greg Boscoe.”
Krissa shook hands with Greg with a smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
Greg eyed her and gave Nate an approving look. “Likewise. Come on in. I’ll get you a drink and then introduce you around.”
He led them into the gallery. People crowded the long space, standing in front of the images hung on the wall, artfully lit with small spotlights hanging from the exposed beams of the ceiling. Experimentally, Nate removed his dark glasses. He blinked. As long as he stayed out of the direct illumination of the lights, it wasn’t too bad in there, despite all the whitereflecting around him. He tucked the glasses into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Nate’s eyes went to the first image—his photographs of fishing docks he’d taken in Thailand. A thrill of pride rushed through him at the display of his work and all the people there to see it. He glanced at Krissa and she gave him an excited smile with a hitch of one bare shoulder. He reached for her hand and took it in his, held it as they followed Greg to the bar at the back of the gallery.
“This is very cool.” She squeezed his hand.
“I guess.”
When they each had a glass of Merlot in their hand, Greg began introducing them to other guests.
“And this is my partner, Denzel.” Greg slid an arm around the man. “He adores your work, Nate.”
Nate shook hands with Denzel. “Thanks.”
“What’s up for you next?” Greg asked. “You’ve been back in the States for a while now. No more traveling?”
Here came the stuff he’d been dreading—the questions, the curiosity…the pity. “Not sure. I’ve been taking some time off. I haven’t made plans yet.”
“I heard you were going to be working on a book. That’s so exciting!”
