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“Same company.”

“I was talking about your mother’s photograph.”

He pulls my chair out, laughing. “You can give me one compliment without taking half of it back.”

“You look very good tonight.”

He bends near my ear. “I know. You’ve been looking.”

I sit before he can see how effectively that worked.

Dinner is unhurried. We talk about the artist, then about a man Jarrett knew when he first came into the league who bought things he disliked because somebody told him they would be worth more later. Jarrett says he doesn’t want to live with an ugly painting while he waits for somebody else to pay for it.

“That sounds sensible,” I say.

“He made money on it.”

“Still ugly?”

“Ugly as shit.”

I laugh, and he grins at me across the table. I like being out with him when neither of us is trying to manage what the evening means. He has chosen somewhere beautiful. I put on a blouse I wanted him to notice. We can enjoy that without pretending it happened accidentally.

“When did you start going to galleries?” I ask.

“My first couple years. I had time in places where I didn’t know anybody. Somebody took me to a show, and I went back by myself.”

“Did you buy something?”

“Not then. I didn’t know what I liked.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“Kept going.” He shifts his wineglass out of the server’s way as our plates arrive. “You can walk into one alone and take your time. Nobody thinks somebody stood you up.”

I recognize that relief. “I had to get used to eating out by myself.”

“What got you through it?”

“Hunger, initially.”

He laughs.

“Then I started bringing a book. Eventually I stopped needing the book.”

He cuts into his steak while I try my fish. It is good. His looks better. I look away before he can catch me, but a piece appears on the edge of my plate.

“I didn’t ask,” I say.

“You were comparing.”

“I was.”

“Compare it with your mouth.”

I take the bite. He waits until I have swallowed before asking whether I made the wrong decision.

“I made a perfectly good decision. Yours happens to be better.”


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