An Irresistible Bachelor(48)

She had six different solvents of graduated strength and she picked out the weakest one, opening the lid and releasing the familiar sweet, chemical smell. Before she set to work, she opened two windows a couple of inches to make sure that Artie would have plenty of fresh air. Strapping on her breathing apparatus, which would filter the vapors as she worked so closely over the solvent, she plucked a wooden stick from the can and wrapped a small amount of cotton around one end. She dipped the bud, as it was known, into the solution and gently brushed over the canvas. She wasn't surprised when there was little effect and moved up a grade.

After considering the effect of the stronger solvent, she went back to her jars and readjusted the strength one more time to settle on the perfect composition to dissolve the varnish layer safely. She was careful to document the chemical compounds she tried out, noting when she had reached the right balance.

And when she had, she ventured out onto the painting proper. Whenever the bud became too dirty, she disposed of it in a sealed jar, wound another one on the stick and kept going. This was the part of her job that she loved the most. The quiet, the intense focus on such a small area, the delicate work, the solitude. It gave her peace, focusing her mind while she used her hands. The world and her problems faded into the distance, no longer crashing cymbals, not even a whisper.

It was just her and the painting.

While she worked, her eyes traveled over the portrait intermittently. She was learning the landscape of the masterpiece, the vast darkness around Nathaniel's head, the dense grays and deep blacks of his jacket, the frothy cream and white of his shirt. His tormented, handsome face was her favorite part. She was enchanted with the faint blush of pink across the cheekbones, the dark velvet of his pupils, the thick browns and blacks of his hah;

It was quite possible she'd be in love with him by the end of the project, she thought, looking into the eyes again.

They were so like Jack's.

A couple of hours later, the quiet of the studio was broken.

"Hello?" Thomas's voice barreled through the silence. "Mind if I come up?"

"Hi! You're always welcome."

She got up, as did Arthur. The dog had been a patient observer throughout the morning, and as he put his front paws out and lowered his shoulders in a big stretch, he looked as if he had high hopes for the man's arrival.

"I've brought you lunch," Thomas said as he clomped up the stairs. He was carrying a picnic basket and a phone jack.

Arthur loped over to him, ignoring the wire and sniffing the wicker. His wagging tail suggested he was touched by the gesture.

"That's awfully nice of you," Callie said, accepting the food and frowning as Thomas got down on his hands and knees under her table. "But you didn't have to. Er—is something wrong?"

"Just hooking up a phone for you." His head popped up and he nodded at the basket. "Would you mind? It's in there."

She laughed and took out a small cordless unit. "But I don't really need one."

"Jack called this morning. He wants me to install one for you."

"Oh."

When Thomas was finished connecting the wires, he checked for a dial tone. "You're all set. Now, I've got a message from Jack for you. He wanted to know if you'd meet him in Little Italy for dinner tonight. At seven, at Nico's."

Nico's. At seven. Her heart skipped a beat.

At least they wouldn't be alone. Restaurants had people in them. Lots of other people.

"Okay."

"And don't worry about getting there. I'll drive you. Hey, can I look at what you're doing?"

"Sure."

As Thomas studied the portrait, Callie set the basket down on a side table. Arthur put his snout right next to it, as if to remind everyone of the pivotal role he was going to play when it was opened.

She was stroking one of his ears when Thomas looked up. "How long did it take you to do those four square inches?"

"A couple of hours."

"You've got some work ahead of you," he said with a grin. "I better get out of your hair."

"Thanks for the lunch. And the phone."

"No problem."

Thomas went over to the stairs and paused. When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed somber, as if he was debating the merits of saying something. Evidently he thought better of it, because he just lifted his hand in a wave and disappeared.

Callie stared into Artie's brown eyes, telling herself not to get worked up.