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“I have to take this,” she says.

“Give me two minutes.”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“I’m not abandoning you,” she replies

“I’ll survive.”

Rebecca smiles and steps through a side doorway into the corridor as I turn back toward the artwork.

“You always did…”

I hear Ross's voice say behind me and it makes every muscle in my body tighten. I close my eyes for half a second before turning around.

He stands a few feet away, one hand in his trouser pocket, expression composed enough to make me wonder whether I imagined the weight beneath his words.

I didn’t.

“I thought you were occupied?” I say.

“I was.”

“And now you’re not.”

“No.”

There is nothing flirtatious in the exchange, but the intimacy of the quieter room makes everything feel more exposed. Ross steps closer, though not close enough to crowd me.

“How have you been?” he asks.

The question is different from San Francisco.

Broader.

More dangerous.

“I’ve been well,” I reply.

Two words for an entire life he knows nothing about.

Ross studies me for a moment.

“I’m glad,” he says.

I nod once. “Thank you.”

His gaze moves over my face, then lower for the briefest second.

My hand.

Again.

I notice because I noticed the first time.

His eyes flick toward my fingers and return to mine almost immediately, subtle enough that anyone else might miss it.

I don’t.