‘Would you? Would you really?’ Emma beamed at Russell. ‘I know this isn’t the time to ask this, but do you mean that, Hanna? Would you consider allowing me to exhibit some of your paintings? Or even one would be fantastic.’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Russell was a little anxious. He had known Emma was a fan, of course, but he hadn’t considered that she might ask to exhibit Hanna’s paintings, although obviously, he should have. Fortunately, Hanna didn’t seem to mind. Or if she did, she was good at hiding her feelings.
‘I hope Emma didn’t put you on the spot,’ he said, as they left for home later that afternoon. ‘It didn’t occur to me that she might do that.’
‘It’s not a problem. Emma is lovely and the gallery is wonderful. I’m happy to do it. She’s going to give me a call next week to discuss it further.’
‘I’m glad you liked it. I must admit, it’s larger than I’d expected and she did have some fantastic artwork. None as good as yours, of course.’
‘Naturally,’ Hanna laughed. ‘That goes without saying.’ And then she swivelled in her seat and beamed at him. ‘It’s been a brilliant day, Russell. Thank you for asking me to join you.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he said, as his heart thumped in his chest. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it too. Erm. I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow, are you?’
She looked surprised, but then again, he was surprised he’d said it.
‘Tomorrow? Erm. Yes. I could be. What did you have in mind?’
He couldn’t tell her what was on his mind right now. He wanted to pull the car over, take her in his arms, and kiss her. But obviously, he couldn’t do that.
He coughed and furrowed his brows. ‘Lunch in Folkestone? We could wander around the market and then have a drink or two at The Lighthouse Champagne Bar, followed by lunch in a little Italian restaurant I know. The place might be small but the food is the best you’ll eat this side of Italy. I seem to remember from our conversation at Easter that you love Italian food.’
She raised her brows. ‘You remembered that?’
‘I love it too, so it wasn’t difficult. Does that sound good?’
‘It sounds perfect.’
‘Great! So that’s a date then.’
‘That’s a date,’ she said, and there was something in her tone that made him think it might be.
It was just as well he hadn’t mumbled that he hadn’t meant to say it was a date. He didn’t want to scare her off.
But she didn’t seem scared. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he might think she was as eager about this ‘date’ as he was.
