“Hey!”
Penelope chuckled. “I hope you also brought some food for yourself.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t want to assume you have time to eat lunch together.”
“So, you’d have just brought me lunch and left?”
“Yes.” Lucia sat down, rummaging in the bag before pulling out her own sandwich under wafts of paper towels and condiments.
“How thoughtful.”
Lucia grinned. “That’s me.” She set her sandwich on the corner of Penelope’s desk and finally let her gaze wander around the office. The space was neat but lived in—books arranged with deliberate care along one shelf, a scattering of exhibition catalogs stacked in mostly orderly piles, and a mug filled with half a dozen different pens, grouped together rather than aligned.
A framed print of a Renaissance altarpiece hung just off-center behind Penelope’s chair, the gold leaf background catching the light. It was so very her: disciplined and exact, yet softened at the edges by use, by taste, by warmth she didn’t quite conceal.
The faint smell of coffee and paper mixed with Penelope’s perfume—something crisp and clean that still managed to linger.
Lucia quite liked it.
“Do I pass?” Penelope said after a moment, wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“Huh?” Lucia unfolded her sandwich wrapper.
“Your inspection of my office.”
“Oh.” Lucia’s cheeks heated. “No, yes.” She huffed a laugh. “I’m just curious. I wasn’t judging or anything.”
“Good to know.”
Lucia took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “People spent a lot of time at work and tend to turn their office into something of a second home.”
“Is that you angling for an invite to my place?”
Lucia straightened. “What? No!”
“You don’t want to see my place?”
“I mean, I do, but I’m not rude enough to invite myself over.”
“That’s why I used the term ‘angle.’”
“No. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re usually so unflappable. I’m just messing with you, and I know what you meant. I was just as curious when I entered your art studio.”
“You were on a mission.”
“That, too, but my interest in you has never been just…professional.” Penelope grabbed her water and drank a sip.
“I’m glad.”
Penelope heaved a sigh. “I still don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Eating lunch?”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yes, but you like me.”
