The Art of Romance (43 page)

“Hi, I’m Emerson Bernard, the event planner. I hate to do this to you, but we really need our artist to mix and mingle and let the patrons have a few minutes with him. If they feel like they’ve gotten to know the artist, they’re more likely to bid higher on the paintings.” She wrapped her hand around Dylan’s arm and pulled him away from Caylor without a backward glance.

Dylan shot an apologetic look over his shoulder, and Caylor winked at him. Moments later, she’d joined Perty, Gramps, and Sassy, who were standing near the main showpiece examining it as if trying to figure out exactly what it was supposed to be. Perty gave Caylor a huge hug, and Dylan almost laughed.

When Sassy and Perty came up with the plan to make sure Dylan and Caylor saw each other by having him paint Sassy’s portrait, he’d at first been hesitant. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of their grandmothers trying to manipulate their relationship. But he’d come to see they did it out of love—for him and for Caylor—and a desire to see them both happy. That was the kind of love family was supposed to have for one another. And though he didn’t experience that with his own parents, from what Caylor had told him about hers, he had a feeling that becoming part of the Evans family would enrich his life in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine.

The backstage chaos greeted them when Caylor and Dylan joined the cast and crew in the workshop for the post-presentation rehash of the performance Friday night. Having participated in her share of productions over the years, Caylor understood the need to decompress, analyze each error, and pick on fellow cast mates for flubbed lines and the crew for misplaced props, late scene drops or changes, and microphone malfunctions.

But no matter how occupied the students were with their critiques of themselves and everyone else, no one seemed to miss the fact that Dr. Evans and Mr. Bradley were holding hands when they walked into the room.

Caylor knew the teasing would last only until discussion of tomorrow afternoon’s matinee put the relationship status of the English and art professors out of their minds.

Not so with Bridget, though, who hurried across the workshop and gave Caylor a rib-crushing hug. “I knew it. I knew it! I knew right from the very first time I saw the two of you in the same room that you were destined to be together.”

“Congratulations on the show, Bridge. They did a great job.” Caylor rubbed her sides when Bridget released her to hug Dylan.

He escaped her clutches faster. “Yes, the performance was great”—he raised his voice—”and the set pieces were spectacular.”

A cheer went up from the setting design team.

The other drama professors beckoned Bridget to join them. “Excuse me. Time for me to go take my knocks from my colleagues.” She shook her head, smiling.

Caylor spoke to several students, particularly the four leads, before pulling Dylan away from the design students so they wouldn’t keep Flannery, Zarah, and Bobby waiting too long at the restaurant—since the three had left right after the performance.

Midtown traffic resembled rush hour—even at ten thirty on a Friday night. Caylor directed Dylan to the parking lot behind the row of restaurants and shops on Elliston Place, and fortunately, a space opened up just as he pulled into the lot. Caylor waited for him to come around and open her door. “Are you sure you don’t mind eating here? I know it’s an expense you probably don’t need right now.”

He squeezed her hand and shut the door behind her. “It’s okay. And don’t even think about insisting on paying your own way. I looked at their menu online, and it’s actually not that bad. So don’t go ordering the cheapest thing they have just because you feel bad for the poor artist.”

Caylor did feel bad that he felt like he had to cover her meal because he didn’t want her friends to think less of him—but she also knew that if she offered to give him money or, worse yet, pulled her wallet out to pay for
his
dinner in front of them, he would probably never speak to her again.

They walked around the end of the building and down to Gold Rush. The hostess led them back through the bustling restaurant to the round table where Flannery, Zarah, and Bobby sat—a plate of half-devoured chili-cheese fries on the table in front of them.

Bobby stood and shook Dylan’s hand. Dylan greeted each of them by name before Caylor could remind him, and she hid her smile when he turned to assist her with her chair. After all, he had spent an entire evening around them at the Christmas dinner and visited their church at least once.

“So, Dylan, I guess you’ve decided Acklen Ave. isn’t the church for you?” Flannery handed Dylan and Caylor the extra appetizer plates and motioned for them to dig into the fries. “At least, I haven’t seen you around since before Christmas.”

“I’ve decided I’m going to be joining Providence.” Dylan pushed the small plate aside and rested his hands in his lap.

“Of course you are.” Flannery winked at him.

“Hey, now, don’t you go disparaging my church,” Caylor teased, hoping Dylan wouldn’t be offended by Flannery’s insinuation. “I believe Dylan decided to join the weekend that we were in New York, so it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“No—actually, Caylor’s nothing but a big distraction. It was much easier for me to find out how much I liked the church when she wasn’t there.”

Caylor turned, agog, at Dylan’s deadpan statement. But as soon as she saw the crinkles around his eyes, she burst out laughing. “It’s a good thing I sit in the back row of the choir loft during worship service, then, so that I’m not distracting you from close by.”

“I’ll just have to resign myself to sitting on the back row—where that pillar blocks my view of you—so I can concentrate on the service.” He grinned at her.

Oh, she wanted to kiss him so badly—but it wasn’t the right time for that. They’d decided together to wait, to take things slowly. But the fact that he was comfortable enough with her to tease her like this in front of her closest friends made her wish that they hadn’t agreed to proceed with caution.

Once Bobby and Dylan found out that they both liked hockey and basketball, Caylor, Zarah, and Flannery were left to their own devices and topics of conversation. Zarah didn’t want to talk about the wedding—she’d had lunch with Beth and was wedding-talked out—so they fell back on talking about starting their own book club.

“It’s a great idea, but none of us ever has the time to read.” Zarah pushed the last chicken tender around on her plate. Bobby reached over and speared it with his fork and chowed down on it.

“Or the energy.” Flannery popped her last potato chip in her mouth. “Reading is the last thing I feel like doing when I get home after a long day of editing manuscripts or arguing with—excuse me,
negotiating
with—agents and authors.”

“And my agent just told me that I should expect a new contract for the historical romance any day now. With that to write on top of everything going on at school, extracurricular reading isn’t high on my agenda right now.” Caylor sighed and pushed her plate back. The grilled cheese sandwich had been good—she just wasn’t accustomed to eating this late, so the homemade potato chips weren’t sitting well in her stomach.

“Trade you.” Dylan pushed his plate—with only a lonely pickle spear on it—toward her and nodded toward her chips. She grabbed the pickle and set her plate on top of his. He immediately went back to talking college basketball championship prognostications with Bobby.

Caylor used her teeth to scoop out the soft inside of the spear first, then bit into the firmer exterior.

“What if we do movies instead of books?” Flannery suggested. “We always seem to be able to find the time to go to the movies together.”

“But that’s not anything new,” Zarah said, averting her eyes from Caylor’s enjoyment of the pickle. “We’ve been doing that for years.”

“Not with them.” Flannery inclined her head toward the guys. “We could start a group blog, and every time we go see a movie, each of the five of us could write a one-paragraph review of it to post sometime during the next week. Caylor could link to it from her blog, and maybe some of her readers would come over and read it.”

“I could just make it the Friday feature on my blog,” Caylor perked up a little bit. “It would keep me from always having to come up with that fifth topic every week, and my blog readers love discussing movies.”

“And we don’t have to always go out to the movies,” Zarah added, also seeming to warm to the idea. “It could be something we each agree to rent or something that’s on TV that we watch.”

“What are y’all volunteering us for?” Bobby asked.

Caylor chewed the last piece of pickle, unsure of how Dylan would take such an idea. She was pretty sure she’d heard him say once he liked watching movies with his brothers, but to then be forced to sit down and write about it?

But as Zarah explained the idea, Dylan’s smile grew. “That sounds like a great plan. I’ve toyed with the idea of starting a blog—I always feel like there are things I want to share with…whomever. This would give me a good feel of what it would be like to do it. Plus”—he edged closer until his shoulder touched Caylor’s—”that means I don’t have to put so much thought into what we’re going to do on our dates every week.”

She leaned forward until her nose almost touched his. “So long as you don’t mind Sassy and Sage being there when we watch movies at home.”

“You can bring them over to Gramps and Perty’s house—there’s a fabulous big-screen HDTV in the upstairs bonus room that’s great for watching movies.” He kissed the tip of her nose then sat up straight again and looked at Bobby on his other side. “And they’ve got all the video game systems up there, too. When my brothers are in town later next month, you’ll have to come over and join in.”

As soon as Caylor recovered from Dylan’s flirting, she glanced across the table—to see a sappy smile on Zarah’s face and…Flannery masked her expression too quickly for Caylor to be sure, but it had almost looked like jealousy.

Flannery—jealous? Flannery, who’d once told Caylor she didn’t believe true love existed? Or if it did, that she didn’t think she was capable of feeling it?

Taking a cue from her grandmother, Caylor made a mental note to start thinking of ways she and Zarah could try to start setting Flannery up. Because now that they’d both found love, there was no way they were going to leave Flannery out in the cold.

D
ylan scanned the crowd funneling past the security gate. Ken had said the time apart—while Caylor was in New York with her friends for dress fittings and stuff for Zarah’s wedding—would be good for them. But four days of total separation, including the agreement that they wouldn’t talk on the phone or so much as text or e-mail while she was away, had only made Dylan’s desire to be with Caylor expand to the point that he could hardly think of anything else.

Except when he was painting. Because of course when he was painting, he wasn’t thinking about being with her; he was focused on re-creating her face, her eyes, her nose, her hands….

There—above the crowd, a crown of stylishly messy red hair. Caylor bounced up on tiptoe and waved at him over the heads of the cattle-call crowd between them. He waved back, heart strumming his ribs like an electric guitar.

He yearned to run to her and kiss her when she finally cleared the secured area, but he held himself back to just a peck on the cheek and a long hug.

“I missed you.”

“Me, too.” She wove her fingers through the hair at the crown of his head, and prickles of pleasure pursued each other up and down his spine.

An anonymous wolf whistle from the crowd teeming past them sent flames of embarrassment licking up the back of Dylan’s neck. He reluctantly pulled out of the hug but then wrapped his arm around Caylor’s waist, not wanting any more distance between them than possible.

“Did you have a good trip?” They strolled toward the escalator that would take them down to baggage claim. Several people brushed past him, obviously annoyed with their slow pace. But he didn’t care. All was once again right with the world.

“Zarah’s dress needs more alterations—she’s been so nervous and consternated about this whole wedding that she’s lost about fifteen or twenty pounds.” Caylor dug her knuckles into his side at his chuckle. “Yes junior high boy, I said
consternated
not
constipated
.”