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Leanne couldn’t hold back anymore and leaned in with a grin. “You should check out Samantha’s portraits sometime. They’re honestly incredible.”

“Leanne…” I started.

“Oh really,” Richard said, still focused on me. “Are you in any galleries?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “I hope to be one day.”

He held my gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m sure you will.”

The gallery noise dipped into the background for a moment.

Richard glanced at the painting again. “You’re right about those hands, too. Most artists soften them up and make resilience look fragile. This one makes it look ugly and scarred.”

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of how intently he was watching me.

He eased back slightly. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Samantha.”

Then he walked off.

Leanne turned to me immediately. “Okay spill, who was that? Because that back-and-forth had some serious weight to it. You two were practically boning each other with words.”

“He was just insightful about the piece.”

“Insightful? That man was flirting. Really flirting. The way he looked at you? Like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in here.” She nudged me. “You should have seen your expression. This is exactly what I meant earlier. Forget another solo gallery night. Let something like that turn into an actual date.”

“It’s probably just the atmosphere.”

“Or the start of something that could pull you out of your shell. Think about it. One conversation with someone who actually matched your energy, and suddenly a date doesn’t sound so impossible.”

About twenty minutes later, after Leanne stepped away to use the restroom, Richard joined me near the painting.

“You came back to it,” he said.

I glanced sideways at him. “You’ve got a real gift for popping up out of nowhere. Ever consider wearing a bell?”

He smiled. “Where’s the fun in that? I could try a megaphone next time if you want.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh. “Tempting. But yeah, maybe tone down the ninja routine.”

“Deal. I’ve never been big on making a scene anyway.”

I tilted my head. “So why do you keep circling back to this piece?”

“Because I found something more beautiful than the art.”

I felt my cheeks heat instantly.

“Do you really like this piece?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, looking back at the canvas. “There’s just something about it. It pulls me in.”

His gray eyes caught mine for a long beat. “Or maybe it reminds you of something you know too well.”

“Aren’t you the observant one?” I said, trying to play it cool.

“Can you blame me? You don’t often see someone lose herself in the art instead of just posing in front of it.”

The jazz hummed along as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a cream card with his name and number. “If you find yourself wanting to continue our conversation, call me.”