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Conlin looks at me.

I shrug. “You’re already here.”

He considers it for another second. “Fine.”

Ruby grins. “That was easier than expected.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

The streets are busy without feeling packed, with people moving between galleries, restaurants, and shops. Some businesses have tables set up outside. A guitarist is playing near one corner, and farther down the street I can hear another band setting up.

Ruby slows almost immediately when she spots the first gallery.

That pretty much determines the rest of the evening.

She moves through the exhibits the same way she works at the tattoo shop. Nothing gets a quick glance. She steps closer, backs up, studies texture and color, reads the little cards beside the work when something catches her attention.

I’m not nearly as interested in every piece as she is, but I like watching her look.

At one photography exhibit, she spends several minutes in front of a series of coastal images that use long exposure to blur the water until it looks almost like smoke. I can practically see her filing something away for later.

Sloane and Conlin trail behind us for a while. They’ve stopped in front of an aerial photograph of a burned stretch of forest, dark ground broken up by new green growth. Conlin is saying something about the fire damage, and Sloane is listening closely enough that neither of them seems to notice we’ve moved on.

A couple of galleries later, a woman stops Ruby near the entrance.

“You work at Black Fern, right?”

Ruby looks surprised. “Yeah.”

“My sister showed me a piece you did for her last month. The black and grey flowers around her shoulder.”

Ruby’s expression shifts into the focused interest she gets when somebody brings up her work. “The peonies?”

“That’s the one. She loves it.”

They talk for another minute before the woman leaves, and Ruby looks a little stunned afterward.

“You’re getting recognized now,” I say.

“Apparently.”

I slip my hand into hers as we head back onto the sidewalk. “Better get used to it.”

She looks at our joined hands, then at me. “Advice from a pro.”

I understand what she means, but there’s no edge to it. I squeeze her fingers once and keep walking.

We stop for drinks at a place with tables spilling onto the sidewalk, then wander toward the music we heard earlier. Somewhere between there and the next block, a guy I knew in high school spots me and comes over.

We talk for a minute about the band and Europe. Nothing long. He tells me he saw Hollow North play locally a few years ago and can’t believe how far things have gone.

Ruby stands beside me, close enough that her shoulder touches mine. After another minute, he looks over at her and holds out his hand.

“You must be Zander’s girlfriend. I’m Nate.”

“Ruby.” She shakes his hand and glances at me. I know she heard what he called her, and she knows I did too. I don’t correct him, and after another minute, Nate says goodbye and heads off down the sidewalk.

Ruby and I fall back into step together without mentioning it, but I can feel the question sitting there between us.