He lowered his voice, but looked straight ahead. “Speaking of missing. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
My stomach flipped. I wanted to brush my lips against his, to run my hand over his arm. To let him tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. Tenderly. He would do it tenderly. “Same here,” I said.
“Kat.”
There was something new in his voice. Something softer, more vulnerable. Something like love, perhaps? My heart trembled with hope at the possibility. I ached for him to feel the same way. I was falling for him again, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I would be smacked hard with the I have to go again. Of course, I hadn’t uttered a word about feelings this time around, and I supposed I could walk away from this strange us with some shred of dignity. I could protect myself from feeling that kind of hurt again. But at this point, even without the contact, even with the rules, I was all in.
He shifted gears. Back to banter. “So, you’re going to Paris, you’re going to find new designs, and make more necklaces and be a superstar, right? That’s the plan? And I can say I knew you when?”
“Ha. I honestly just want to make enough money from My Favorite Mistakes to help out my parents. Mystic Landing isn’t doing well.”
“I didn’t know that. You hadn’t mentioned that.”
I shrugged. “I’m pretty good at keeping some things buttoned up.”
“Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help. I do know a thing or two about running a business.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space.
I gave him the rundown, then said, “They’ve been trying everything to drive more traffic to the store. And, frankly, I just want to help them pay off the loan so they can have some breathing room, you know? Things have got to pick up soon. I just want to buy them some time.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
He stared at a Monet again, but he wasn’t looking at the painting. He was simply gazing off in the distance and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He looked back at me. “It might not be a traffic issue.”
“But there aren’t as many customers.”
“Right. But maybe the solution isn’t in driving more traffic. Sometimes it’s something else.”
“Well, let me know when you figure out what that is.”
“Would it be okay with you if I visited the store?”
I furrowed my brow. He couldn’t be serious. “You would do that?”
“Of course. I’d love to just take a look around, and see if I can come up with an idea. Their daughter Kat is my protege after all. It seems the right thing to do,” he said, and leaned a tiny bit closer to me without touching.
“That would be above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Consider it done, Kat.” Then he said my name again as if it were a strange object he’d never seen. “Kat. What’s the story with Kat? Your parents didn’t actually name you Kat, did they?”
“Like that’s so implausible?”
“It’s like a writer’s name. A made-up name. It has to be short for something.”
“Didn’t my brother ever tell you?”
“Never.”
“Never ever?”
“I swear.”
“So guess then.”
“Ah, so it is short for something.”
I nodded.
“Here’s what I think. I think people guess first that it’s short for Katherine, or Kathleen. Or even Kathy.”
“They do.”
“And then, they guess Katie, or Kaitlin or even Katalina.”
“Those are next.”
“And then the slightly more adventuresome guess Katrina or Katya.”
“Katya? You do your homework.”
The gold flecks in his forest green eyes shimmered with playfulness. “But, I don’t think any of those are right.”
“They’re not.”
He leaned his shoulder closer to me. “You’re Katerina.”
He pulled away to gauge my reaction. My eyes were big and wide and sparkling. They said everything.
He pumped his fist in victory. “Damn. I impress myself.”
“You should be since I’ve never told anyone the name and haven’t used it.”
“Why not?”
“My mom always wanted me to be Kat. My dad said I needed a real name, so they named me Katerina. But no one ever called me that. So I’ve always been Kat. Funny, because now my mom calls me Katerina.”
“Kat is a perfect name for you. But so is Katerina. Did you ever think about using it?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I got used to Kat. Once you’ve had a weird name, you just don’t give it up when you’re older. It becomes a badge of honor. Like you made it through life with people saying ‘Here, kitty, kitty’ or ‘Cat got your tongue?’”
Bryan laughed once. “Tongue.”
“Tongue?”
He leaned closer without touching. “So many things I want to do with my tongue.”
I smiled knowingly at him. “Like what?”
He downshifted his volume. “Like taste you.”
I lowered my eyes, as if that small act would hide the way sparks flew inside me.
“Right here? At the museum?”
“Here. There. Anywhere. I think about tasting you all the time.”
“You do?” The sparks became fireworks, crackling and zinging.
“Sometimes when I’m in a meeting I have to force myself to focus because I’m thinking about burying my face between your legs.”
“I guess our minds are never really on the meetings.”
“I’ll sometimes imagine everyone else is gone, and I’m in a conference room just with you, and you’re in a chair. Maybe even the power chair. And you spin around. You’re wearing a tight white blouse and a short skirt and you call me over, and all you do is point to the edge of your skirt.”
“And what do you do then?”
“I get down on my knees and push up your skirt and go down on you.”
“I bet that makes it really hard to focus at meetings.”
“Incredibly hard.” I raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze to his pants. I wanted to press a hand against him.
“What if I put my computer bag on your lap right now as a shield? Would you touch yourself?”
“Right here? On the bench in the middle of the Impressionist Gallery?”
He nodded, and lifted his computer bag, holding it above my legs.