Page 52 of The Stipulation
“I did not nearly walk into a column.”
“You did. I had to steer you away from it.”
Her gaze flicks to my hand on the table. “You grabbed my waist.”
“It was a public safety measure.”
Her voice lowers. “It lingered.”
I don’t look away. “Did it?”
“Yes.”
A beat passes, the moment charged yet quiet, until the waiter reappears with our meals, breaking the moment. Our plates are set down with the flamboyant flourish of a five-star restaurant. Jo picks up her fork, but she doesn’t eat immediately.
“You know what surprised me the most today?”
“What?”
“You.”
“That’s vague.”
“You didn’t rush me,” she says. “Most people do in museums. They skim. They photograph. They move on.”
“I don’t skim.”
“No,” she says softly. “You analyze. You view art differently from how I do, but you still want to take it in. You stand there until you understand the structure.”
“I like systems.”
“I know.”
“And you,” I reply. “Don’t look at the structure first. You look at the intention.”
Her smile deepens at that, slow and deliberate. “You’re getting better at this.”
“At what?”
“Admitting you enjoyed yourself.”
I cut into my steak. “I enjoyed parts of it.”
“Which parts?”
I meet her eyes. “You.”
Her fork pauses in mid-air. The air between us tightens again, full of awareness. She looks down briefly, then takes a sip of wine to steady herself.
“You would have enjoyed it more if you wore more comfortable shoes,” Jo notes.
“I was wearing comfortable shoes.”
She smirks. “Polished leather brogues don’t get to call themselves ‘comfortable’.”
“I survived.”
“Barely. You winced on the marble stairs.”
