James flicked the tag on a deep purple silk scarf. “This one’s from India.”
She pointed to others displayed on the same wall. “That one’s from Bolivia. And here’s one from Nepal. And another from Bangladesh. That’s why I love to shop here, knowing those talented artisans all around the world are being paid fairly for their beautiful work.”
Standing close in front of her, he made a slight adjustment to the scarf she still wore. “You have a big heart. And a big imagination.”
His proximity—not to mention his touch—made her mouth go a bit dry. She moistened her lips and tried to speak casually. “I have to use my imagination. I’m an armchair traveler, I’m afraid. I’ve never left the continental U.S. and I haven’t traveled that much within those borders. What about you? Have you been to any of the places where these scarves were made?”
“Yes.” Without elaboration, he turned to pick up a paperweight made of a river rock decorated with a swirling pattern of brilliantly red goldfish. “This is nice.”
“I have one of those on the writing desk in my bedroom. They’re from Vietnam. The scales on the fish are made with the thumbprints of the artist. Each one is unique.”
He looked at her again, his dark eyes gleaming like the lacquered stone in his hand. She swallowed, wondering if her artless mention of her bedroom had sparked the sudden flare of tension between them. Or was she the only one now picturing James in that particular room of her house? His expression was so hard to read; maybe she was simply projecting her own unbidden fantasies.
Dragging her gaze from his, she reached up to remove the scarf, which was priced a little higher than she could afford to spend just then. “Why don’t we walk down to the Arkansas Studies Institute art gallery next? I’ve haven’t seen the new exhibits there yet, have you?”
“No.” He caught her hand before she could take off the scarf. “I don’t suppose you’d let me buy that for you? It looks good on you.”
She twisted a little, stepping out of his reach as she slid the scarf from her shoulders and returned it to its peg. “Thank you, but no. It’s still a little too warm for it, anyway.”
He looked at the scarf with a frown and for a moment she worried that he was going to try to overrule her and buy the scarf anyway, the way he had with the coffee at the bookstore. To her relief, he merely nodded and turned away, carrying the paperweight to the register to purchase for himself.
They spent some time in the four galleries of the Arkansas Studies Institute perusing the paintings, drawings, sculptures and other art, mostly by artists with Arkansas connections. She realized immediately that James had a keen interest in art, and a good eye for unique talent. It was a pleasure to walk beside him and listen to his analyses of the various pieces, and she encouraged him to continue when he hesitated as if i
n concern that he was boring her.
She couldn’t imagine being bored by James. Perplexed, maybe. Discomfited. Intrigued and aroused. She could even imagine having her heart broken by him. But she doubted she would ever find him boring.
They were walking toward the exit when James paused to examine a small watercolor in the retail gallery. Depicting a rose garden with a copper watering can lying on its side in the dirt, the little painting wasn’t up to the standards of some of the ones they had admired, but something about it seemed to catch James’s attention. Studying his face, she made an effort to decipher his expression. His features were as smoothly composed as always, but there was something about the set of his mouth…
He turned her way, smiling a little when he saw that she was looking at him. “Ready to go? I don’t know about you, but I’m a little hungry.”
Glancing at the watercolor again, she decided to wait before asking him about it, to give herself time to mull over whatever she had seen in his face. “I could eat.”
Accompanying her out the door and back onto the sidewalk, he named several restaurants within walking distance. Several of them were out of Shannon’s usual price range and certainly didn’t fit into this month’s budget. She usually ate in the Market Hall food court, where a wide assortment of international dishes were available for very reasonable prices. But the food court was already closed for the evening, so she motioned to an establishment only a block away. “How about burritos?”
She’d eaten there before and knew she could afford the prices. Besides, she liked burritos.
Again, his expression showed no particular reaction. He merely nodded and fell into step beside her toward the invitingly open front of the burrito establishment. The front wall was made up of lifting glass doors; in nice weather like this, the only barrier between the tables and the sidewalks was a low wrought iron fence, giving an illusion of dining outdoors.
As the shops and galleries closed for the evening, more people milled on the sidewalks. The bars and clubs were just getting wound up for the Friday-night crowd. Shannon could hear strains of several types of music coming from open doorways.
“This is on me,” she told James firmly as they stood in line to order. She already had her credit card in her hand and the look she gave him dared him to argue with her.
He tried, anyway. “Dinner is more than the cup of coffee you said you owed me.”
“Don’t care. It’s still my treat.”
He swept her face with an assessing look, then shrugged. “Thank you.”
His unexpectedly quick capitulation made her smile in satisfaction. “Order whatever you want,” she told him magnanimously.
His gaze locked on her mouth, long enough to make her smile quiver before he lifted his eyes slowly to hers. “I’ll do that,” he murmured.
Resisting an urge to fan her face with her hand, she glanced quickly at the menu board, trying to concentrate on burrito fillings rather than the enigmatic and so darned fascinating man at her side.
They were lucky to find a little table right on the railing, an ideal spot for watching the parade of people on the sidewalks. James had ordered fish tacos and a beer, subtly choosing one of the less expensive options on the reasonably priced menu. Shannon had a chicken burrito and a diet cola. Between the delicious, but messy food and the noise and bustle around them, it wasn’t easy to have a conversation, but they managed a little small talk, mostly about her work and his.
When she finished eating, Shannon sipped her cola while James finished his beer. Setting her plastic tumbler aside, she leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “Can I ask you a question?”