Love Story by Kathryn Shay

needed more education on the modern squiggles and blotches of color that comprised most contemporary paintings. She agreed to be his guide of sorts.
    He was sitting in front of Cezanne’s work. When he saw her, he said,
“Jak si
ę masz, kochanie.”
He always inquired about her health.
    After answering she asked,
“Dzie
ń dobry?”
    He responded he waswell.
    She nodded to the painting. “What do you think of Mrs. Cezanne?”
    “Prosz
ę!
I’d go running for the hills if I was married to her.”
    “I’m sure she was lovely.”
    “You would never know it from his depiction of her,” he said, and she realized he was teasing.
    She pointed to another painting. “Come on, Mr. K. You have to love
Mont Sainte Victoire
.”
    “Why, my dear? He paintedseveral of them. Can they each be unique?”
    “You know he painted that mountain at different times of day and at different points of the year.”
    “I do.”
    For fifteen minutes, she wheeled him around the room, discussed a few more artists then she heard from the doorway, “Excuse me, Ms. Ludzecky. We’re ready to work on the new exhibit.”
    Though his voice was controlled, the husky timbreof Nick’s words curled inside her, settled in and begged to be nurtured.
    o0o
    He hadn’t been prepared to see her. All morning long, he’d tried to convince himself of things: that she was a part of the job to him; that last night shouldn’t have happened because she could be in danger and he needed to protect her. And because of the fact that this whole emailer thing kept gettingmessier and messier. A new message had turned up on Delores Martin’s phone, and it was edgier than the others.
    So he thought he’d convinced himself that they’d had a one-night stand.
Recreational sex
, she’d called it. Nothing more.
    Then she turned and gave him a full, sexy, enticing smile that made his body clench. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Caseman.”
    He started out of the room, slowlythough. She bade the man she’d been talking to good-bye and caught up to him. “Hey.”
    Glancing down at her, he had to smile. “Hey.”
    Gone was the blue in her hair. She’d tied the mounds of it back in a braid that came over one shoulder. She wore very little makeup. But she didn’t need any. Except its absence made her seem younger, making him feel more like he’d robbed the proverbial cradle.

    “You know that guy?”
    “He comes in every Tuesday morning. I’ve made a point of being friendly. He’s trying to learn about modern art and its place in society.”
    “It has a place in society? Who knew?”
    She elbowed him.
    “Ouch, that hurts.”
    Does that hurt, Lizzie? You’re sure?
    They reached Gallery 12, which would house the exhibit of Dali/Picasso. As soon as they entered,he said, “The kiddies are here.”
    “Hi, Ellen. Jay and Marianne.”
    The four of them worked through the afternoon. It took a while to decide the color of the walls, and finally they picked a slate blue and a beige. She’d apparently asked one of the interns to make up posters on thick boards that were the exact size of the work they’d be featuring. He’d also pasted a copy of a painting on eachone. “Nice job, Jay,” she said with approval in her eyes.
    He beamed at her. Of course. He was a lot closer to her age than Nick. He wondered if she’d have
recreational sex
with him. The idea made Nick’s hand fist.
    You’re not that old, physically, Nick.
    If he recalled correctly, she’d made the comment while she was exploring his backside.
    Taut muscles here. Calves are toned. Feetare a little ugly…
    He even liked her sense of humor.
    At five, she said, “Time to quit. Marianne and Jay, I know you’re past your required time. You did a great job. Ellen, thanks for the suggestions on repositioning.”
    Casually, she turned to him. “Nick, can you stay back a minute? I want to ask you about something else.”
    Shrugging, he pretended nonchalance. He’d wanted a minutealone with her all