“No. It’s far and expensive, and as a lowly sidekick to an associate curator at the museum, I don’t have a lot of time off.”
“Still, being on staff at MoMA is impressive,” he said.
She laughed. “I’m actually living out my parents’ worst fears—I have an MFA, and I live in a dinky one-bedroom apartment that’s ridiculously small and expensive. You’re right, of course. But they don’t realize it.”
Nick had no idea what to say to that. Clearly there were some issues at hand. He shifted his weight uncomfortably and said nothing.
Kat flipped her hair behind her shoulders and added matter-of-factly, “I love it, though. It’s where I need to be right now.”
He thought he heard a touch of defiance in her tone. He could imagine the parents probably weren’t too excited about their little girl living in the big bad city.
Nick studied Kat’s face a moment, noting that her smoky eyes looked bluer today. Probably a reflection of the bright blue sweater she wore. It was a nice package. He sighed. Just his luck. The most interesting girl, correction—woman—he’d met in a long while lived in New York.
She stared back at him then gave a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. Too much information.”
Impulsively, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No. Don’t worry about it. I’m just sorry you live in New York. I–” He broke off.What an idiot.He was about to say he’d like to ask her out. Even if she lived in Denver, Kat Andrews was way out of his league.
She cocked her head and looked up at him, eyes questioning.
Nick’s heart slammed against his chest. He cleared his throat. “That’s so far away.”
Mrs. Andrews reappeared. With difficulty, he turned his attention to her, hoping he didn’t look guilty of drowning in her daughter’s eyes.
They settled on a date, and she snapped her calendar closed. “Excellent. We’ll see you then.”
“Oh, one more thing.” He retrieved the small box and held it out to her. “Just a little thank you.”
Her brows pulled together. “Thank you for what?”
“For the opportunity to show my work.”
Rebecca took the box but seemed uncomfortable doing so.
“Mom, open it,” her daughter urged with a light laugh. “Don’t you want to see what it is?Ido.”
“Oh, well, of course.” With an embarrassed glance at Nick, she lifted the lid of the box and slipped the bowl from the tissue paper.
Nick watched her run a finger along the smooth edge of the bowl and peer inside.
“This is lovely,” she told him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Kat held out her hand. “May I see?”
Her mother set the bowl in Kat’s palm.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Did you do this inlay by hand?”
“I did.”
“It all fits together perfectly.”
“That’s the idea.” Nick was ridiculously pleased with Kat’s reaction.
“Mom, did you see the design at the bottom?”
“Yes. It’s lovely,” Mrs. Andrews said again.
