“Sounds great. I wish there were more shops like that, more places for artists to sell their work. Seems like there isn’t much between high-end galleries and weekend art fairs.”
Meaning she was familiar with those? An art shopper? “Right. I like to think it fills a niche.”
“What’s it called?”
“All Things Beautiful.”
“Oh, that’s cute. Where is it?”
“Colorado Springs. That’s where my studio is, too. I’m expanding into the Denver market, but Colorado Springs is home.”
“Have you ever thought about consigning to galleries in places like California or New York?”
He shook his head. “I’m not much of a big-city guy. Concrete and steel jungles like New York City feel cold and commercial. I’ll take mountains over skyscrapers any day. Plus, I like the idea of bringing art to ordinary homes.”
“Got it. You have a right-brain/left-brain thing going.”
He took a drink of his coffee and shrugged. “I never planned to open a retail store. I try to stay flexible and be open to new opportunities. You never know where they might come from. I like the idea of having multiple streams of revenue. One artist in my shop got a corporate commission worth thousands of dollars after a guy bought a card for his wife in the shop. The card was just a small print of an original painting, but it opened a new door for her.”
“That’s great. Actually, I—”
At the sound of sharp footsteps, she broke off. Mrs. Andrews appeared in the open foyer. A frown etched her face as she looked toward the living room. Her glance moved from Kat to Nick. “What’s going on? Mr. Summers, did you forget something?”
“Seems the battery in Mr. Summers’ car doesn’t love the cold weather.” Kat spoke for him. “He’s waiting for roadside assistance.”
Her mother gazed out the window, and Nick would swear her face pinched slightly as if someone had passed gas, but she didn’t want to let on she’d noticed.
“Oh, dear.” She glanced back with a smile that barely turned her lips.
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Nick assured her.
“Ah. Do let us know if we can help,” she said then proceeded toward the kitchen.
He took another drink of coffee and willed the fix-it service to hurry up and deliver him from this awkward predicament. Although, he found he didn’t mind talking to the daughter. In the short time since he’d met her, she’d asked more questions about his background and business than his potential client.
“Do you have an interest in art?” he asked.
“I do. Oh, here’s the motorist assist.” She nodded toward the window.
Nick stood and looked toward the kitchen to set down his mug.
“Let me take that.” Kat stood also and reached for the mug, her fingers brushing gently against his.
He had the ridiculous urge to take her hand. With heat crawling up his neck, he cleared his throat. “Didn’t take as long as they thought.” Good. Kat seemed nice enough, but he figured she was simply being polite and had other things to do. He needed to get on with his day and overstaying his welcome probably wasn’t the best strategy for securing the job.
Kat took a step toward the door. “Actually, I was an art major.”
“Was? Did you change majors?” Made sense she’d be home on winter break.
“No. I have an MFA from the Art Institute of Chicago.”
Surprise stopped him, and he and turned to look at her. “No kidding? That’s impressive.” He’d seriously misjudged her age.
At the door, she gave him a wide smile. An odd light danced in her eyes.
“I work at the Museum of Modern Art. In New York City.”
* * *
