Lost and Found Husband. Sheri WhiteFeather
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look incredible,” he said.
“Thank you.” She spun around and showed him every curve. “I primped for hours.”
“It paid off.”
“Is that for me?” she asked.
The accidental orchid. “Yes.” He handed it to her.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She hugged it to her chest, much too close to her heart. “Come in, Eric.”
As he entered her home, she put the potted plant on the windowsill, where a host of herbs created a fragrant mixture. Everything in her young vibrant world was tuned to the senses. A mosaic-topped café dining table was paired with mismatched chairs, and a mint-green loveseat that served as her sofa was bursting with tassel-trimmed pillows. A wooden coat rack held a collection of fringed shawls, and glass lamps were draped with feminine scarves.
“You have flair,” he said. “This is like an antique gypsy cart.” Gypsy included, he thought.
“Oh, thank you. I always thought it would be exciting to be an artist, but I don’t have any talent in that regard. So I try to make up for it by keeping artistic things around me.”
Did she keep artistic men around her, too? Was that part of her attraction to him? By most creative standards, Eric was on the conservative side. But he still fit the bill, he supposed, with his art-teacher vibe.
“You could be an interior designer,” he told her.
“Really? Do you think so? That’s something to consider. I’m torn about what to be when I grow up.” She flashed her twentysomething smile. “If I ever do grow up.”
“Being grown-up is overrated.” Nonetheless, he was as grownup as it got. “Are you ready to head out?”
“Sure. Just let me get my wrap.” She removed one of the shawls from the coat rack. They weren’t just for show.
Before they exited her yard, she led him to the fountain. “Isn’t he adorable? He’s one of the reasons I want to see the Valentine art show. I love angels, and cherubs are my favorite.”
He studied the statue in question. “People often mix cherubs up with putti. Unless you know the origins of the art, sometimes it can be difficult to tell.”
She made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Putti is plural for putto. They’re childlike male figures, predominantly nude, and sometimes with wings.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Cherubs appear in a religious context and are angels, whereas the genesis of putti is mythical or secular, like Cupid.”
“So what is Tinkle?”
“Tinkle?”
She gestured to the fountain, and he smiled. She’d named the little guy after his antics. “I’d say he’s a putto. They’re prone to naughty deeds.”
Dana laughed. “And here all this time I thought he was a misbehaving angel.”
Eric laughed, too. “I’m sure we’ll see plenty of cherubs at the gallery. And putti, too.”
“It will be fun trying to tell the difference. We can make a guessing game out of it.”
They walked to his car, and he opened the passenger side and watched her slide onto the seat. She was fluid and graceful, and he was still hoping that he could handle their date.
He got behind the wheel, and she gave him the address of the gallery. He typed it into the navigation system and drove into the night.
They barely spoke on the way. Mostly they listened to the female computer voice giving directions.
Finally Dana said, “I don’t have one of those. I just take the chance of getting lost. Besides, sometimes you end up in interesting places when you go the wrong way.”
“Do you have a bad sense of direction?”
“The worst.” She grinned like an imp. “That part of my brain never developed, I guess. But we all have something not quite right about us.”
His “not quite right” was his attraction to her. She didn’t make sense in his organized world. She was too young, too free, too far from his norm.
They arrived at their destination, and he drove around to find a parking space.
“I love this area,” Dana said.
Eric kept quiet. He used to love it, too. The oceanfront hotel that hosted his wedding was nearby.
He nabbed a parking spot, and they walked a block or so to the gallery.
They entered the reception area, where food and drink were being served. But they didn’t make a beeline for the buffet. To do so would have been tacky and insulting to the artist, or, in this case, the group of artists being showcased. Eric did opt for the bar, though. He needed a drink. Dana accepted a glass of wine, as well.
Together, they wandered around. The Valentine theme played out in different ways. Some pieces were warm and whimsical, others deep and epic. One spicy collection presented a sensual tone, whereas another was tragic.
The tragic art impacted Eric the most. Love found, love lost. He was morosely drawn to it.
Dana stood beside him as they gazed at a painting of a man reaching toward the sky, where a woman was fading away from him. The emotion it evoked hit him square in the gut.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked her.
“No, but I hope to fall madly in love someday. It must be an incredible feeling.”
“It is.”
As he continued to study the piece, she studied him. He could feel her blue eyes burning into his soul.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult for you,” she said softly.
He denied his pain. “I’m fine.” He turned away from the painting. “Do you want to sample the buffet now?”
“Sure. That sounds good. But afterward, I’d like to go through the other parts of the exhibit again.”
The other parts. The non-tragic works. “And play a cherub/putto guessing game?” They hadn’t done that yet. There had been too much to look at, too much to take in, especially with Eric spending so much time on the sad images.
“Yes, I want to see the cherubs and putti again, but I want to take a closer look at the sexy artwork, too.” She flashed her scarlet-lipstick smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see that sort of thing included in the show.”
Her mouth looked downright lush. To keep his brain from fogging, he tried to say something intelligent. “Sex is an important aspect of love.”
“And sometimes sex is just sex. That’s the only kind I’ve known. Not that I’m an authority on the subject or anything. I’ve only had a couple of boyfriends. Men I liked, but didn’t love, obviously.”
“I used to have uncommitted sex before I met Corrine. I barely remember those affairs now. But it was ages ago.”
“Time slips by.”
“Yes, it does.”
He led Dana to the buffet, and they put appetizers on their plate. He tried not to watch her eat. But it was impossible not to be fascinated by her mouth. The kiss they’d promised to exchange was still imbedded in his mind.
She nibbled on an array of fruit. As his attraction to her heightened, he said, “You could be an artist’s muse, looking the way you look tonight.”
“Thank you. I think it’s the nicest compliment a man has ever paid me.”
“Young and nubile, as they used to say.”
“You